He told me I had a literary face -
every reaction it's own story.

Just because you're a raconteur doesn't mean you can tell my tale.
Just because your face can lie doesn't mean you understand mine.

What's your worst habit?

Wandering off alone, into the middle of the night, loaded.
Telling secrets to strangers.
Obliterating complex emotions with alcohol.
One night after another.

These unshakable wonts prove my irresponsibilty and my occasional, opaque stupidity. Regret crawls underneath my skin like a kind of formication.

I met slight erotomania. Blushed more than I can ever remembering blushing before - cheeks blazing as I my eyes darted over his familiar features. So I did what I always do. Got more drunk. Later, I wanted to talk to him about 'Nights at the Circus'. "Ah yes, Fevvers," he said, "hasn't someone just made that into a play?". "Yes, I went to see it the other week. It was good, except one of her wings fell off."

Slight erotomania.

I can't decide if I get more or less obsessive as I get older - still feel like a teenager most of the time. Still cutting and pasting photos of boys.....

I don't seem to be able to keep my bedroom any tidier, or understand who I really am, or have a better complexion. I used to be much slimmer, and I think I used to be smarter, but I had a lot more time to study the things I wanted to learn and I could never cook a thing.

I saw the Mighty Boosh perform at Norwich Arts Centre when I was 17, and they were still doing some of the same jokes they still do now. Doesn't mean I'm not busting my ass to get tickets to see them again in the next couple of months.