Postal

I think my postman is stealing my fucking mail. Just mine, mind, and not my flatmate's. The bastard.

When I got paid last month, I ordered quite a bit of shit from various sites, which arrived in dribs and drabs. Well, most of it. I'm still waiting for some CDs and t-shirts nearly a month later.

I get all my fucking bills and that, all the bumph, but I'm still missing some pretty expensive items. I haven't really seen what the postman looks like, recently - maybe he's changed and we've got some shifty criminal.

I don't have a webcam or anything to set up, so I may have to wait until I'm off work on Tuesday to peer out the spy hole. I can spot the awkward gait of a lifelong lawbreaker from twenty paces. Fucker

In other news - there's a couple of new shirts over at essenem.co.uk, with a couple more in a few days, hopefully. We're actually selling some, which is lovely, and we might be getting some press coverage. If only I had time and talent to design a better looking site. Boo hoo.

Oh, there's a Myspace, too. There's gotta be in this fucking day and age - http://www.myspace.com/essenemclothing