So, I was supposed to be taking a holiday this week. Five days in Prague, very cultural, cheap flights, far away from a whole load of stuff that’s got pretty annoying lately, this was the plan and it was good.

Sadly, I messed up. I was all sick, as you all know (hint: scroll down a couple of posts) and held off booking the flight until I was sure I’d be well enough to travel. By which time the cost had tripled, while my window of opportunity had remained unchanged. I ought to be there right now man, sightseeing, chilling out or otherwise thoroughly enjoying myself. Part of me wants to have a proper little-baby-style tantrum with all the crying and pounding the floor.

Meanwhile Derbyshire is being either boring or outright lame with notable exceptions involving friends and alcohol, but being few and too far between for my liking. Of course, I’m pretty sure that, barring natural disaster or similar, if you’re not enjoying yourself at any given time that is due wholly to your own innate lameness. This, while kind of a revelation, does not really help me out.

Also: I am incapable of being attracted to women who are ultimately available, in one sense or another. Have I mentioned that before? Rargh. Angst. Grawr.