If there was anything I could claim to being an expert at, it would be the art of sleeping on public transport. With the amount of energy I spend daily just... watching football is enough to justify a lifetime of sleep. Butlerip van Winkle sounds tempting.

If anybody should be prevented from falling asleep on public transport at all, or at the very least, be discretely covered with an innocent sheet of cloth, I'm afraid it should be me. Considering how I usually find myself waking up the experience of being stared at by a group of children in open-mouth amazement, who would then squeal and run away having found out the drooling ang moh hulk is alive and capable of movement.

It's usually after the time when I pretend as if the production of the cobweb of dribble connecting my lips to my left knee was a conscious decision that I realise I'm being observed with alienlike dispassion from an old uncle, who'd bare his toothless gums (or what could be a cleverly disguised supremely advanced communication device) once in awhile to frighten away potential commuters who might want to share the seat with him.

I have been planning to blog for the past week (this particular post has gone through 4 drafts... Yes I draft my blogs to obtain maximum frustration to annoy myself) in order to talk about the School Holidays to keep some semblance of chronological order usually associated with a journal, it seems that I've once again failed.

I can only remember one sordid event that I partook in during the holidays that involved a mind-numbing 12 hours of Lord of the Rings Extended Edition movie marathon, which never ceased to remind me how non-existent my social life is (or remind my faithful readers how sad my existence is). If for a single moment you thought that wasn't sad enough, the company and I present managed to have the fastest "baking extravanganza" ever, which consisted of 5 people crowding around watching the only proficient baker (I prefer to label myself a chef... a widdly inadequate one) mix cookie dough.

On hindsight, it was a great deal of fun.

What seeks to do Butlerman next?
(Editors note: That didn't come out right, it almost made it seem as if I had an active sex life)

And what doth Butlerman seek to accomplish next?

I've been meaning to conjure up homemade pasta with salmon in cream cheese sauce as well as bake lava cakes with the guidance of the afore-mentioned proficient baker, though the former intention may be as likely as the chances of England winning the World Cup (which is to say, none whatsoever)...

I'll end of here, because I'll know that the perfectionist Butlerman is would be satisfied with this substandard post. That and the fact I have $35 to win if Australia can somehow score against Italy.

TO THE BATMOBILE