Trrd

There were so many blog­gers at Hide­out tonight that when I was look­ing worse for wear from an increas­ingly annoy­ing stom­ach ail­ment and tired­ness, one of the Sarong­par­tyfrens asked if I was ill, and that if I were, and if it were con­ta­gious, he’d have to kick me out of the place. Because he was afraid the whole Sin­ga­pore blo­gos­phere could be struck down with illness.

In other news, I am very, very, very tired, and quite ill. So it wasn’t ‘quiet con­fi­dence’ or ‘aloof­ness’. It was ‘my stom­ach is in the third wash­ing machine cycle’.

The notebook’s totalled, so I’m typ­ing this directly into blog­ger instead of using an offline client. No surf stops, no iTunes info.

This post is brought to you cour­tesy of a five year old Celeron with a dodgy keyboard.

Break com­ing up, and this is where I want to be