Gideon Crumb's Journal

Everyone else took their turns at taking a vacation and getting away. I think it is well past time to take my turn.

Now I just have to figure out where to go. I hear Jamaica is nice this time of year, and it has the bonus of being very far away. Here's hoping Merton doesn't forget to feed the menagerie while I'm gone.

[Private to the Band/Leigh]
I'm not fit company to be around right now, and I need to clear my head. If you desperately need me for something, which I doubt highly will happen, I'll keep this thing with me and check it occasionally. Otherwise, consider me incommunicado. Someone check on Mert occasionally, so he doesn't burn down my house, yeah?

Having just removed a small colony of lobsters from the guest bathroom tub (somehow I doubt they were there for dinner, but don't blame me if seafood chowder is on the menu for the next few days), and realizing neither one of my house mates is home to entertain me, I've come to the uncomfortable conclusion that I am utterly bored. Someone should so something about that.

Or I should. Except generally when I do, Leigh yells.

So I was in Diagon the other day, innocently flirting with this pretty bird, who wandered into the bookshop. Of course, being in the bookshop, there were books, and then I came upon this great big display stand of these journals, after properly securing the bird's digits, of course.

Now, mates, I'm not talking just journals where the Weirdies write down their innermost thoughts and desires and the ten different ways they will try and get into my bed, no, these journals are interactive. Even now, as I write this, dozens, nay hundreds of gorgeous birds (and pretty blokes, I've never been discriminating) are able to read my words and clasp their journals to their buxom (or not) chests and squeal in rapture, because one Gideon Crumb, modest rock star extraordinaire, is penning down nonsense at four in the morning after a grueling practice session because Kirley is a bloody tyrant.

Live. Uncensored, unrestrained. I can hear our PR agent having a cow right now, all the way over the Channel. I bet McFussy our assistant is having a kitten or two as well, but she'll do it more gracefully, because she's much prettier then our agent. Also, she probably will cover the kittens in color-coordinated sticky notes.

This is bloody brilliant. I have to owl some of these to the other blokes as well. Imagine how much trouble I can get into with this.

Right now, however, I'm off to find something to eat. Someone better not have set anything on fire in the kitchen today.