You know, it's incredible, but each of the entries I've written in this journal sounds indescribably wanky. In half-a-decade, I've managed ten stabs at the thought- chronicling venture - and they all sound hideous. Even the last one, six months ago, sounds like it was written by a fourteen year-old with a thesaurus and a desire to impress.

What can be done? Oh, nothing much, they're a beautiful snapshot of how life used to be, or at least, how unable I was to convey how life exactly was. So, until I update this thing next year, whereupon I'll make the discovery that I've been logged in this entire time, here's a summary of the last five years:

2003: 18 and greasy.

2004: 19 and greasy.

2005: 20 and haircut.

2006: 21 and without sideburns.

2007: 22, with sideburns.

2008: 23 and sideburns getting out-of-hand.

2009: 24 and with trimmed sideburns.