Wednesday, 23 February 2011

I escape the gang of horse-burglars! Using all my cunning, tact and dexterity, I ran away from them. Well, ok, that was a terrible plan - they just chased me, clearing obstacles with ease. So I hid in a phonebox, and held the door shut. Not having hands, the horses simply bashed at the sides for a while, until they got bored and went away.

 Another brave victory over the forces of darkness, methinks!

 Anyway, since I was in a phonebox anyway, I decided to make a call. If there was one person who would survive a horsepocalypse, it was Max. Carrying on with life out a sheer willpower. Or annoyance.

 After a few rings, he answered the phone. My phone, it should be noted. I knew he was after my house - a belief further enforced when he answered with my name. He's stolen my identity! That little bastard, I'll have to get it back now. Or, at least, an identity of equal worth. Or a better identity. That's really what I want.

 Oh, and he told me the horse-thing was just localised, they'd taken over a small area of the city. So there'll be no more talk of horses, ok?

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