the saddle is very comfortable on my high horse

And so it begins. The memoirs musings malaise? of a soon-to-be-32 year old single male. In Melbourne. In marketing. In search of...

...well, nothing in particular. A new avenue of creativity perhaps? 

Because I'm in 'no-junk July' phase, and my usual Saturday afternoon outlet of baking is off-limits given that it's been five days since my last piece of chocolate. Five days, 11 hours, 46 M&Minutes and hundreds and thousands of seconds since happiness deserted me...

Desertion. Dessert. Stop it!

Why no junk? Well, it was my sister's initiative and we're tired of the stranglehold sugar has on our lives. An exhaustion that will no doubt have worn off come August 1 when sugar and I become reacquainted : )

But this isn't supposed to be a diary. Bleah! Because no-one's interested in the minutiae of anyone's day, and if they are there's this thing called 'Twitter' that might appeal to them.

I don't know about Twitter. I've a disinterest in Pinterest. And if it were up to me Facebook would be spiral bound. In the digital realm I'm an old man who's set in his ways.

And I like my ways. It's very comfortable up here on my high horse. I have a bird's eye view of tan tote-toting Toorak twenty-somethings, and I can easily reach down to swipe the orange Oakleys off Kayden on day-release from Bendigo.

I have a fabulash life, and I make no apologies for it. Actually I apologise several times a week during Catholic guilt pangs. But no one takes those protests seriously. In fact, very few take me seriously.

And I like it like that.