Now.

You already know a little bit about me, and for that I apologise.
Hopefully this somewhat accurate autobiography will elucidate some details that may have been pestering you. Details such as "Was this twit deprived of oxygen at birth?"

I can honestly say 'No', that was my little brother.

My story begins in a quaint yet utilitarian maternity hospital in the poppyseed in the teeth of the world, Auckland, New Zealand (which ISN'T in Australia). Amid gouts of amniotic fluid I was ushered brusquely into the arms of the Midwife, whose surname was to be my appelation for the duration of my stay in this life. Which is to say I got her last name. As my first. One can only hope that my parents were under the influence of some mind altering substance, because if they had given me my name in control of their faculties, I do not think that I could continue to be as forgiving as I have been so far.

Various accidents and "deliberations" (my fond term for an overly physically oriented older brother i.e. punchy punchy ow ow, and a paternal child endangerment case just waiting to happen) shaped me to the individual that is myself today.

Thus we come to the present time, after leaving high school, immersed in the torrid world of university and discovering that relationships are slightly more complicated in NZ than depicted in American cinema, where interesting conversation topics are optional, if not strenuously supressed.

There are many characters in this burlesque of megalomaniac proportions, and frankly there isnt room to describe them all in intricate detail, so I shan't. Mostly, I love them all dearly, and would gladly help them rob a bank, but since I haven't been invited, i shall make do.

Look at me, i'm cool and with-it, i have a tattoo. 'Tisn't it smashing? I have three more in the pipeline. But i thought i'd let the first one cease to be all scabby before i go maiming myself again.

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