  well now. please excuse my absence, and also the fact that in the near future i may not be around so much. there was this thing, you see, and there was an issue, and so we all moved and we're not there any more. and i'm so tired of running around being responsible that i shan't say much more. urlLink greg , less uprooted than myself, has written an account of the last couple of days. all i shall say is: no internet connection is losing, secretly stealing illegal mini-fridge for personal use is winning. in other news i now have my mouse up and running, and it is lovely. i am also considering buying an inexpensive digital camera to supplement this here site with illustrations of exactly what the hell i'm talking about.
you have been warned. on monday night, as i lay awake before the onslaught of the day to come and during the onslaught of the rain which surely played its part, i got to thinking of a story from my past that i should like to share. the reason i thought of it was my (by now usual) insomnia, and all those fruitless efforts people make to try to sleep when their body (albeit ready to drop) is having none of it. secondary school; before i gave up my childish dreams of doing something i wanted in life, i took a GCSE in drama. part of this course was taken by a large, somewhat sweaty man called george cockroft, who looked not a little like urlLink john mccririck . which, thinking back, is a bit weird. i liked him a lot; he was an intelligent man who (for all i know on the subject) taught us well. but there is one lesson that still stays with me: in the drama studio (a big room that could be blacked out, essentially) one time he had the entire class of around twenty five lay flat on our backs, completely relaxed, whilst all the lights were turned out. and as we lasy there in the dark (the giggling subsided eventually) he began to talk to us, taking us through a systematic relaxation of our bodies. it was amazing; i think over half of us fell asleep, and the rest of us had never been so still.
i still use the same technique today; and with discipline, it works. at the end of the fifth year, when we had taken our exams and all was done, mr cockroft was leaving the school. and i remember one day (it may have been sports day), a beautifully sunny day, being outside on the field and having a brief talk with him. i imagine i said something like how much i'd enjoyed the drama course, and doing the plays, and the such.
i imagine he said something like he was glad i'd enjoyed it, etc. and then i said something like "so, i'm not sure when i'll see you again", and i remember him looking at me in a mysterious, almost mischievious way (this man was about fifty-five, i reckon), and saying "oh, i think it'll be sooner than you think..." i never saw him again. n. 
