It's all bloody Simon Trafford's fault. AS USUAL. If it wasn't for him then I wouldn't have spent the last two weeks listening to The Cure's Pornography on repeat and falling into a torpor of louche adolescent misery. I HATE YOU SIMON. I HATE YOU. I DIDN'T ASK TO BE BORN. NONE OF YOU UNDERSTAND ME. NO ONE LOVES ME. IT'S NOT FAIR. MY LIFE IS RUINED NOW.