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June 20, 2006
It’s funny how there are some days when there doesn’t seem to be anything I want to write about. It’s not that I can’t think of anything. I could rabbit on quite easily about all sorts of things, like how entertaining Big Brother is this year, (yes, yes, I confess! But I also listen to Beethoven and read Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy too!), or how annoying the hum from the clapped-out fridge in the cafÃÆ'© downstairs is tonight, or how I’ve only got 6½ months of my 1979 diary still to type up. But anything of significance? Nope! I’m afraid not.