Not only did I go to my first barbeque of the year on saturday but it was also the first barbeque I have been allowed to attend since the one where toasted up my fingers and added relish and a bun and tried to eat the charcoaled remains when the actual burgers and sausages were finished off by the fat fucker relatives. This was around the age of 9 when food had begun to become the biggest part of my life, more so than my female teachers and babysitters. I think that's also where the cycle of self abuse begun. No, that was the time when I threw myself face first down the stairs when I was 3 so I could get a plaster for all my friends at nursery to sign and draw pretty pictures on it, cause I'm considerate like that. I love a good bruise and a pretty scar and all the attention that goes with it. Even more so I love the elaborate story that gets concocted to distract from the fact that you've smashed a paper weight into your eye to blacken it or the fact that you've stapled your arm repeatedly to give the impression of an inkless tattoo. Stories such as, 'my dog headbutted me' and 'I caught my whole body on a giant bit of paper while coming out of the closet' are tales that I adore greatly. It's also impossible to tell whether people believe your ott excuses for the simple cut on your arm that could have easily been caused by walking too closely to a hedge or actually by jamming your fingers in the till as your tried to slip yourself a tener. The more far out the story, the more likely it is to be believed. Or so the self injured person likes to believe. How is it possible to have split your head open after falling on the balcony, over a kids toy in Spain when you have never even been out of Scotland let alone on a plane to lands a foreign and Spanish like? How is it possible that you have about 23 scars on the top of your arm and these were caused by falling through the glass door in you shed which has no glass door and no other part of you was damaged in the accident? Ignorance is often bliss and very often appreciated when you try to explain yourself but lie as well as straight boys lick out. People probably just shouldn't ask full stop. Usually it's pretty obvious when someone is a bit too handy with a kitchen knife or rusty razor and really it's no one's business and is something that's pretty much common practise. It does make people awkward when you ask them in front of all your friends and family so maybe some consideration is in order sometime. I don't know why I got on to this subject because all I really wanted to tell you about was my barbecue which was rain and vodka with no coke filled but that's another entry, having as much time to write as I have money. And till the next time when I fail to astound you with my tales of nothingness, goodbye and enjoy massive fannies worldwide, wherever you all may be.