SIMON WAN

  
Watching Jeremy Kyle as I do in secret, I am always amazed by the level of personal outpouring these people do. Airing bedroom antics and sibling rivalries for the world to see! Who would do that?

Shit! I guess I would.

I’m starting to worry a little about how my books going to be received. I’m sure it will offend someone along the way and selfishly I used the experiences that shaped my past to fuel the pages, but what is a story without experience? A comic strip adventure perhaps? Who knows. I certainly don’t. All I do know is that I love watching Jeremy Kyle and in less then 3 minutes I’ll also know if he is the Father. 

I wonder if it will look like the mum?

I spent all my life playing video games and playing with things with buttons and lights that made noises so why is it so hard to design a website that isn’t a compromise. Okay, I haven’t paid for the ‘Premium’ version and I’ve chosen to make it myself, which could be part of the problem.

I wish I ticked the box that said ‘web design’ instead of ‘massage’ when I chose my Uni timetable. Don’t get me wrong, spending an afternoon with a class full of hot nubile students was a delight, but now as I sit here and hold my breath each time I try and change one single full stop in this self promoting vanity fest of a website, I wish I’d ticked the other fucking box.

Having spent most of today trying to fadge together a presentable website so I can hopefully sell this book I wrote and get my old face in at least one episode of Dr Who before I knock off to the big beach skatepark in the skizzle, I feel that the world is now too full of passwords.

Secret phrases that stand between you and your money, your details your train tickets and your sanity.

Even the polite friendly lady on the phone laughed when I said that calling an eight digit number a ‘secret word’ was possibly confusing.

It was good she laughed.