Here's an odd thing I found in my writing folder. It's a description of myself. Although the very weird thing is I have simply no recollection of ever writing it. The style is different to mine and I'm starting to wonder if it's not just a freakishly close description of someone else's character I found and saved. Here it is. --------- I dunno if you’ve ever managed to look at yourself. Not in that way that you do in the mirror when you stand up straight and you comb your hair backwards with your hands and do that pointless thing where you pull at the bottom of the your eyes for no reason. No, I mean look at yourself, like you’re looking into a window. I’m not gonna say soul, don’t worry about it. My film studies teacher often tells me mirrors are used for objects of desire, but windows see what you really should. Maybe she had something there. I mean, look at this guy here. He’s a bit built like a scarecrow, in a ramshackle way. He stands up straight, but then sways around by the weight of his own inflated head. He wears long sleeved shirts over the top of tshirts, because it’s simple and you have no idea how easy it is to express yourself in a tshirt without having to even say a word. T-shirts are great like that. Although to be honest I have no idea what the plain brown, over a purple-and-black pinstriped shirt are meant to say. They say that vertical stripes make you look thinner, so I probably shouldn’t be wearing any.

He sits in the train, big coat on, stubble purposfully left unshaven, Belle and Sebastian in his ears, pencil in hand, sketchbook out and placed just in the right way so that it looks natural but people can see what he’s been drawing while he looks out of the window pensively. It’s all about the look of the thing. No sense being involved in art, whatever that is, if you’re not gonna look the part, after all.