2003-02-14 at 5:05 p.m.

So. It's Valentine's Day.

Not a day I pay much attention to, for obvious reasons- not the least of which is my enduring state of unattachment.

Not once in my 22 years have I ever received a Valentine's present. No, wait, I tell a lie. Back when I was twelve, I received a rather interesting Valentine's gift- a whole heap of popcorn neatly held together with about three rolls of sellotape. Of course, it was two of the neighbourhood boys playing pranks. I must praise their creativity- they'd obviously spent upwards of half an hour taping all the popcorn together. I was just thankful that it wasn't something that had once been alive, and had recently (or not so recently) been alleviated of that condition.

So, what exciting and romantic things have I been doing today? Well... today I have-

-taken the rat to the vet

-made and consumed several toasted sandwiches

-finished reading 'Playing the Moldovans at Tennis'

-struggled along with Mendelssohn's 'Variations Sereuses'

-Listened to a surprising amount of Joni Mitchell

-laughed heartily at the car driven by one of Natalie's friends. It's a boxy old little Holden Astra which has been sprayed completely white- by the looks of it, by the owner himself, with a series of spray-cans. To complement this, the car has been outfitted with some sort of fin on the front bonnet, hugely ostentatious blue chrome Mag wheels, and the words 'LIL DEE' proudly displayed across the windscreen with custom transfer letters.

It's things like this that confirm my belief that culture, in accordance with the universe, has a sense of humour.

And my plans for tonight?

-watch an hour and a half of 'The Simpsons'

-make and consume several more toasted sandwiches

-struggle with the Mendelssohn a bit more

-get shitfaced on cheap wine, and end the evening curled in the foetal position, crying 'I'm so alone! Why? Why me? What did I do to deserve this life of barren joylessness?'

But then again, that's how I end every evening.