Seachain an duine a bhíonn ina thost

Why do I look so pixelated in that picture? Spencer, Tom and I have been bashing out poster ideas. I think I'm just not going to have a slogan. I can't think of one that I'm not going to get sick of within a couple of hours. Wonder-Tom has gone away to do some designing, and hopefully Spencer's going to sleep. Me, I'm typing up Storm minutes before going to the sailing club AGM. Wooopdiwoo.

I'm feeling very virtuous today because I gave blood for the first time. Sam accused me of just being in it for the ice-cream, but I didn't get any ice-cream! Just lemon, tea and Jammie Dodgers. Mmmm. It was much less painful than I'd expected. It wasn't as sore as having a blood test. I didn't feel faint either, which was nice. The chocolate cake I ate before going to the blood clinic probably helped. Weirdly, when I turned up they told me I was already registered (with my Dean Street address) and I had been declared medically unfit to give blood. But I've never given blood before! Now that they remind me, I did register in September 2004, but I didn't live on Dean Street then and I didn't give blood or even have a blood test, so why do they think I'm unfit to donate? I think someone's been giving blood in my name. Anyway I convinced them that I was able to donate so it worked out fine in the end, but it meant waiting around for a long time while they sorted it out. I have this morbid fascination with bandages. I always want to look underneath. The urge is really quite difficult to resist.

I've been listening to Talking Heads all day, jiving and bopping around my room. I was delighted to discover that the one Mariah Carey song I'm ashamed to admit I really do like is actually a Talking Heads cover. I feel credible again. What a relief. Actually on further inspection it's by Tom Tom Club, a Talking Heads side-project, and only part of the Tom Tom Club song is in the Mariah Carey song. Damn.

The nursery petitioners emailed to ask if I'd like to be on the petition. I don't know whether to email back debating their argument or just to leave it. They want to know how many children I have. I have twenty-three sons and I've named them all Dave (a Jammie Dodger for the first person to spot the reference).

Oh and I've finally booked Bliss for my birthday party. Be there or be ostracised. It's on March 21st, and I need to find 100 friends or they'll charge me £150. I think I'll manage, but Bliss'll be pretty jammed. It's teensy. While sitting in Mr Man's office I noticed an award on the wall: apparently The Octagon was Wales Nightclub of the Year 1986. Imagine, living on the same street as the legend that is The Occy.

I'm feeling more confident about the elections now. I'm going to make a million friends and convince them all to vote for me. It's the only way. Also, I'm pleased that everyone I've spoken to seems to think Sam's the best man for the job. I agree completely.