On the desk of Marc Haridimou resides a Christmas greeting from Mel Gibson himself. Mel is a very holy man, as you all know. He is willing to consume a large amount of alcohol and go for a drive in the name of God. Such devotion is unprecedented in this day and age. Mel loves Christmas because there's always some Sherry laying around. He really enjoys it when his parents set the Christmas pudding on fire, he sucks in the Brandy fumes like they're going out of fashion. He's a nasty little gas sniffer.

Mel Gibson's Christmas greeting is essentially a miniature version of Mel Gibson. It showcases some of the things he likes: Pencil sharpeners, Hallowe'en sweets, bendy straws, Diet Coke, bulldog clips, and pictures of Mel Gibson. The below diorama is the most complete and accurate representation of the great man himself. Feast your eyes upon it's majesty, and don't forget to salute him. He can see you.

Mel Gibson is going to come to your house and make love to your mouth and eye sockets.

This is Mel Gibson, please look after him:

Going off to Spain on Friday, chumley. We're driving down to it, all across France. I'm looking forward to seeing the Pyrenees all up close and personal like. I'm taking the digital SLR with me to capture those rare moments of beauty, like a plastic bag rustling around in the wind, or a dead bird, or some naked people.

So we're off on Friday, chummers. Going to spend a couple of weeks in Spainland. It will be nice, actually. We rarely spend Christmas at home, but I've gotten used to the continental way of life at this time of year. Turkey dinner will be neglected and it'll be tapas instead. Hot dog! I am looking forward to playing Trivial Pursuit DVD Edition with my family, I will prevail.

All this means that I will be away. Who cares? There is a desk move happening at work, so I'll miss all the fun of the fair. Maybe someone will find my handwritten lists and drawings of motorised lounge furniture, who knows?

I took a moment to continue sorting out my new room. Here is a photo diary of it all.

This is the desk, right here. You can see the new PC making itself comfortable in that little cubbyhole. Upon the widest monitor known to man sits the artwork for an album by This Will Destroy You. It's well epic. Also in this frame you can make out a Spiderman advent calendar, a stereo, some deodorants, a glass which previously held some milk, and the arms of a stuffed toy version of Spiderman. On the desk is a PowerBall and some guitar stuff.

All that's going on here is where the Xbox 360 meets the TV. It's the event horizon of my Media Center. Thanks, HP. Atop the screen sits a Live Vision camera, a dusting cloth and a poseable Spiderman figurine. Off to the right is some Xbox 360 games. Off to the left is a small selection of vinyl.

This is the aforementioned "small selection of vinyl". Some of them were harvested from my Grandad's collection. I like to put the Scott Joplin one on and pretend I'm living in a real world version of the Felix cat food adverts. Ragtime is well ripe for sampling, this is why I horde. The other LPs are mainly instrumental stuff, some of my most favourite albums in analogue format. Nothing else is happening here, so stop looking for it.

This is the guitar rack. This is where all three of my guitars reside. They are present and correct in the order that they were bought, going from right to left. This means that the newest one is on the left, and the oldest is on the right. You could say that the leftmost one is the newborn, and the rightmost one is the Grandfather. This would make the one in the middle the Father. I digress, they are just guitars at the end of the day. They live opposite the amplifiers.

And this is them. The amplifiers. Although it's something of a misnomer because it's not just amplifiers. No no, this is also a footswitch, a phrase sampler and a control switch. All these things are sent to try. Of particular note are the two Xbox 360 controllers upon the futon sofa. It's just what they're capable of.

And this is the large bed. Don't worry, I tidy it up before I sleep in it, I don't sleep around the jumper, bag and various cables. I quite like that pillar there, although oftentimes I hit my leg on it when I get out of bed in the morning. That's right, I get out on that side of the bed. Next to the bed is an alarm clock. I don't use it, but it is nice for finding out the GMT. There is also a washing basket, I use this.

And thus concludes the tour of my room. Did you like? I like.

Hello, here's what I'm on about.

It was the weekend, right. Friday night was spent running around between various locales. First off I went down to The Priory, Reigate's premier rainbow flag-less gay bar. I say this because I've been there a few times and encountered girls kissing girls and boys touching boys. There was nothing of the sort on Friday, which was a shame in a way. There's nothing like a dab of debauchery to get the weekend up and running like Linford Christie on nandrolone.

So that's where I was for a spell. Come 6:30pm I got a call from my parents requesting a pick-up and drop-off service, both of them hyphenated to the most severe degree, as per what I just said. So I left the pub and picked them up, dropping them back down to Reigate. After this I went back to the pub to rejoin the people I had earlier deserted. Back to the pub for me, it was.

Before long we left the pub in search of food. In the back of my mind I knew that I had to pick my Sister up, so I neglected to join my compatriots for a bite to eat in the case that I might have to leave them once again to pick up another family member. Consequently I went home and had something that I like to call "dinner". Lo and behold, I had to go and pick my Sister up at about 10pm, so I was right to avoid the restaurant in the end.

Saturday was spent moving things around from one bedroom to another. You see, I have switched bedrooms, this is why I turned removal man for the day. I felt a bit sad for my old bedroom, but I'm quite alright in my new pad. This new room is a great deal bigger to what I was previously camping in, I like to run around it in a big circle just because I can. As long as my legs will allow me, I'll continue to run around the room like a priest chasing an altar boy. Dirty, noncing little God botherers.

Part of Saturday morning was spent on a trip to Redhill. Now then, Redhill is the shithole of the world, and I wasn't happy at the steadily increasing number of shoppers getting in my merry way. A bit of ducking and diving was implemented to ensure that I didn't come into physical contact with the uncultured swines. This was also in aid of avoiding any diseases that the commoners may be carrying. Redhill residents are like those filthy pigeons that you find in Paddington station; you know, the ones with stumps for feet and flies coming out of their mouths. Filthy little nudgers.

Before long my Father and Sister joined me. This was quite alright, but it did mean that long after I had finished my errands I had to follow them around. I did my usual trick of standing outside whatever shop they're in and pretending that I'm a plain clothes Police officer. I even started following a gang of street urchins what were up to no good. Scabby little rotters.

Just before we were leaving the living dump that is Redhill, I went to the video game shop and bought a PlayStation 3. This was my Christmas present to all and sundry, as it now comfortably resides in our lounge quarters, hooked up to Patrick Viera, the supreme HDTV of Gloucestershire and the nether regions. The main reason for this purchase was to take advantage of the Blu-Ray capabilities of the PlayStation 3, which I shall forevermore refer to as Peter. Peter and Pat, sitting in a tree, showing off their HD capabilities. Simple and effective use of rhyme.

I then returned home and set about moving the remainder of my belongings into "the top room". I say this because it is, quite literally, a room at the top of the house. It's lonely at the top. The problem with moving shit is that dust gets all up in your face, and when you're allergic to it like I am, it creates a problem of epic proportions. Needless to say I spent most of the weekend coughing and sneezing. Thanks, dust. Thust.

Saturday evening was another taxi service. I dropped my Sister off at the cinema in Epsom. Then I went home and had a look at Peter the PS3. This "look" lasted for some time. Then I went to pick my Sister up. Same place, natch. Upon returning home I found that I couldn't sleep, I had not fully adjusted to the new king size bed that I found myself in. I went downstairs and watched some episodes of "Oz" before falling asleep on the sofa until 5am. My trick had worked.

It was Sunday morning and I went with my Father to PC World to buy myself a new PC. This is my Christmas present from ma famille. We thought it would be a simple in-and-out type of deal, a bit of the old in-and-out. 45 minutes later we emerged looking haggard and ever-so-slightly angry. The sales assistant was a pleb. I hate it when people try to get you to sign up for all sorts of cack. Our wait was compounded by their computer system being really shit. Another problem was the monitor situation. You see, I bought a PC that was supposed to come packaged with a monitor. They didn't have the right one in stock, which was not much good. I told the peon to get me the next best one for the same price. To my surprise he went along with it, and I ended up with a far superior monitor for less than the price of the one that was supposed to come bundled with the PC. Here's mud in your eye, PC World.

So when I got home I set up the PC, and it's bloody lovely. The monitor is all HD ready, HDMI heaven. I'm very impressed with the whole package, thanks Hewlett-Packard. I now have a media centre behemoth with over 2 terabytes of storage. I can download the entire Internet onto my PC now. Cheers a lot.

In the afternoon we went to our friends house for dinner. This is something that we do every year around Christmas time. We take it in turns, a bit of old swappy swappy. They came to us last year, so it was only right that we went to them yesterday. This is how it was, and this is how it has been for my whole life.

Got home at 11pm and couldn't sleep again. Ended up falling in to it at 2am, then I got up at 6am and here I am. It's been emotional. When I get home I'm going to take photos of everything. Everything.

It was a struggle getting up for work this morning. When I awoke initially at 5:30am, I found that my nasal passages (both of them) were blocked and also the back of my mouth was swollen up like a fat person's ankles. I found this to be wholly unacceptable. After evacuating my bladder I returned to bed and listened to music for a while before dropping back off to sleep.

When I re-awoke at 7:24am I felt even worse. I dragged myself to the bathroom to clean my teeth and have a shower and then encountered the beginning stages of a coughing fit. It was all down to the sheer amount of steam generated by my hot shower. I used my menthol Head & Shoulders shampoo and a large helping of my Lynx Recover shower gel. I didn't opt for the Mint & Tea Tree Source shower gel as this actually scares me. That's correct, I am scared by the cooling power of the shower gel. It's just too much first thing in the morning. I kept thinking about the time when I took the Mint & Tea Tree shower gel "down south" at 6:15am a few weeks ago, that was a rather unpleasant experiment. Since then it's been hefty avoidance tactics on my part. Sorry.

So after this shower I got dressed to a couple of rousing tunes, then did my hair, all the while sniffing like nobody's business. The realisation had sunk in that I had contracted a form of illness known only as "a cold". Rats. I stumbled downstairs to grab my lunch and reasoned that I would also pick up a packet of Beecham's Powders. I then proceeded to forget all about the medication and made my way to my car, which required a large dose of window scraping. I did this whilst the engine was running.

The de-icing on the cake didn't take too long and before I knew it I was hurtling down the road towards my place of work. Once at work I sat down and felt awful. I requested some medication from my team members and luckily someone came through with some foul tasting Lemsip. At the time of writing I have consumed two Lemsips. I have had to put three sugars in my current one just so that it doesn't taste quite so much like arse. Unfortunately for me, it still tastes like arse.

If this illness continues then I don't know what I'll do. That's just words, I know exactly what I'm-a do. I'm-a stay in bed tomorrow.

It is a well known fact that I would like to live in a remote forest, preferably in a small cabin or shotgun shack. The main purpose of this would be to detox myself from the boredom and evil of modern living. Here are a list of things that I would take with me:

A tape recorder
An acoustic guitar
A reed organ
A xylophone
An autoharp
A large notebook
A selection of pens
A number of tins of tuna
Crackers
Candles
A camera
A telescope
A blanket
A pillow

Sitting outside at night would be quite a nice thing to do. I'd play the instruments and record the noises of the forest as I played. I would then release a collection of songs entitled "The Forest Sessions". It will retail for around £6.99 inc. VAT.

One day last week, my colleague Sophie took her high heeled shoes off. She sat there for a while, shoeless. When it came time to put her shoes back on I caught her with a concentrated look on her face as she struggled to slip her shoes back on. Upon further inspection she was actually trying to put this large cardboard box lid, which we use for scrap paper to be recycled, on her left foot. I laughed at her stupidity.

Naturally I spent the next few days ridiculing her. She requested that I make her a shoe out of paper, so I accepted the challenge. I had hit a slump at work and couldn't be bothered to actually do anything work-related. I spent a good 30 minutes making the shoe of paper. Here is the photographic evidence:

Here is the shoe, unworn and undecorated. It may not look like much, but the build quality was far beyond any Jimmy Choo or Asics that you would find in a common or garden shop. And my product is recyclable once you've finished with it.

I measured the dimensions of Sophie's foot ever so accurately. Well, I just wrote "Size 5" on a bit of paper and promptly forgot about it. Luckily I didn't have too far to travel to gauge the size of her foot, she sits right next to me.

Sophie's blurry enjoyment is palpable. She loves that shoe. She did address one problem in that it's not very waterproof. I proposed to fix this by perhaps covering it with sellotape, but I declined to scotchguard the footwear at the time, I had already wasted half an hour making a shoe out of paper.

It's been the most tiring weekend in recent history, and here's what really happened.

Friday night was the work Christmas party. I booked a room at the hotel where the party was taking place, it was a good idea considering there was the very real prospect of alcohol. Chris Light was staying in my room also, which was a good plan for the both of us.

So the evening itself was very good indeed. 3 bottles of red wine were consumed by yours truly, along with a fair cop of whiskey and beers. Myself, Marc, Bruno and Jay dressed up as Santa Claus and entertained our co-workers, it went down a right treat. I can't remember what time we got to bed, but I do know that when I awoke my head was throbbing with anger. I couldn't move for a long time, and I was rather ill, but at around 11am we managed to pack up our stuff and, against my better judgement, we got in my car.

I drove to Steve's and felt rough on his reclining chair. Then I dropped Chris off home and fought off the constant threat of vomiting as I made my way home. Once home I lounged around feeling sorry for myself. I managed to eat some crumpets a bit later on, after a lot of milk and Nurofen, then I went to bed for a few hours.

When I woke up at 7pm on Saturday evening, I had a shower and got dressed. We went for a curry, my family and I. It was much needed, fuel for the long night ahead. After the meal I went round to Jay's house to watch the Boxing. I got there at 1am, and the fight didn't start until 5am. It was good though. Steve came round, as well as Bruno. Friends, yo.

I got home at 6:30am this morning. I slept until 2pm, which was rather anti-social, but I was really fucking tired, man. And I was still hungover. In fact I'm still hanging, and it's 10pm.

Today I was cleaning out some stuff in my room and I came across loads of blasts from the past. First of all there were loads of school books with messages from my old school friends plastered all over them. This made me feel a bit weird, and quite old. I pressed on and came across a dictaphone that I had been looking for for ages. I listened to some of the stuff and in between the recorded guitar playing and whatnot, there was a really strange "interview" with the crazy psycho bitch who kicked me in the nuts in my first year of uni. It made me quite angry because I must have been really drunk at the time and she recorded a bizarre interrogation, asking me how I felt about her. Bear in mind this was a few days after we first started going out. This discovery made me feel really weird, and not at all pleased really.

Finally I came across a box of letters and pages torn from refill pads. On the pages were loads of lyrics that I had written at various points over what must have been a four year span. Musical gold, I hope. The letters were from a few pen-pals that I used to correspond with. This particular discovery made my head spin. I felt really bad because we had lost contact along the way, but it was actually quite nice to find these letters. They were from 8 years ago, when I was only 15 years old. I keep trying to think about all the stuff that's happened since then, but it makes my head ache. I think I found the pen-pal on Facebook, so I sent her a message and am now wondering if she'll reply. It would be very good, but very strange.

Here we go.

Friday wasn't a very successful day, all-in-all. I had a wad of cash to pay in to the bank so I thought I'd visit during my lunch hour. I had secured a 1:30pm luncheon slot for this journey, just in case there was any confusion. I should now imagine that all wonderings have been neatly mopped up by this information.

So when I arrived at the bank I set about filling in one of those paying in slips and envelopes. I like to use the machine because it's quicker and easier than queueing up with the waste products of humanity (i.e. Redhill inhabitants). Subsequently it was a nice little exercise. As I was about to leave I stopped to ponder for a second. You see, my debit card stated that it would "Expire End 11/07". As the date on Friday was the 30/11/07 I mused for a spell. I joined the queue of people waiting to pay money in. I wondered why they didn't want to use the lovely machine, it's great fun.

The waiting was arduous, to be sure. After a whole 10 minutes of waiting I was finally "seen to". I inquired about the replacement for my debit card and the cashier informed me that a replacement had been sent out on 27/10/07 to an address in Cornwall. Now then, this address was where I used to live when I was at University, so sending a card there nearly three years after I'd moved out was a pretty useless feat. I was angry at this. Now I had to cancel the card they had sent out and make sure that no one had used it for any purchases in the entire month that it had been sitting at this wrong address.

The cashier told me to use my current card to take some money out to last me until the new card was sent through, how helpful. So after I'd spoken on the phone to the Indian woman who I couldn't understand, I went to put my card in the machine and it was retained because it had been cancelled. The stupid woman had cancelled all the cards instead of just the one that had been sent out. This annoyed me greatly and has now left me without any money for the next week until the replacement is sent out. Oh, and I have to pick the new one up from my local branch because of "security issues" with sending it to a home address.

Hey, HSBC, this was your fuck up, you banks are always shitting on the little guy.

Whilst driving around earlier in the day, I found myself behind the driver of a Mitsubishi Colt. I had ended up with this interminable fool in front of me after having stopped at a roundabout. Upon reflection I should have sped across said roundabout in the chasm-like gap that presented itself before the Colt spluttered past. If I'd have known how slow this driver was going to be then I would have almost certainly performed this most misinformed manoeuvre. Thanks, hindsight.

So as I was saying, right? I was stuck behind this chump who was acting like a bleeding safety car, going 15 miles below the speed limit. This caused the car behind me to start flashing and beeping and trying to overtake. This irks me, I reason with myself: "What is getting all annoyed at me going to achieve? I can only go as fast as the donkey kong in front of me". You can almost feel my relief when this slowpoke decided to turn off the main road I was travelling along, but it was a shortlived relief because the driver took an age to get over in to the lane to turn right. Idiot.

Well, once they were out of the way I crept back up to the speed limit (well, a few miles over but who's counting?) and I started thinking about something rather strange. You see, there is a direct alignment with the stars that states the drivers of certain vehicles are pre-disposed to be bad drivers. I have made clear my feelings on certain drivers before, but here is a list of conveyances and the types of driver that uses this particular conveyance:

Honda Jazz / Mitsubishi Colt / Daewoo Matiz / Nissan Micra

Driver: Typically elderly people. People who want to mill around on the roads and get in everyone's way, usually on a Sunday.
Speed: Way below stated speed limits. Generally a whole 10 miles an hour under the limit. Not acceptable.
Bad Habits: Indicates very early, sometimes causing confusion if a number of possible turnings are approaching. Likes to brake for green lights. Excessive braking in all circumstances. Slow to pull away from lights, junctions and roundabouts.
Annoyance Rating: 8

Audi TT/A4

Driver: Late 20's to mid 30's. Hairdressers. Recruitment consultants.
Speed: Not too shabby. Usually stick to the speed limit, but very often surpass it, especially when someone is in front of them.
Bad Habits: Doesn't like being stuck behind people. Attempts overtaking at first available opportunity, regardless of ease of execution. Likes to undertake and cut people up on dual carriageways/motorways.
Annoyance Rating: 9

Chrysler Voyager

Driver: Women with children, generally mid 30's to mid 40's.
Speed: Below speed limit all the time because they are constantly looking for somewhere to park.
Bad Habits: Don't use any mirrors when driving or attempting to park. Incapable of getting into a space first time. No chance of parallel parking. It is also noteworthy to point out the fact that the driver is always looking around for a place to stop (usually in the most inconvenient space) and as a result does not keep their eyes on the road. Hopeless in a multi-storey car park.
Annoyance Rating: 9

Porsche Carerra:

Driver: Mid-life crisis sufferers with just enough money to afford an entry level sports car. Mentally stunted balding men.
Speed: Fast and reckless.
Bad Habits: Tries to impress people by speeding away from traffic lights. Doesn't register when it's dangerous to overtake, undertake and cut in front of people. Seems to switch off all cognitive thought processes once they are behind the wheel. Revs the engine constantly.
Annoyance Rating: 9-10

BMW X-5 (or similar plush 4x4 vehicle):

Driver: Both sexes are guilty here. People who want what is perceived to be a safe and secure vehicle but is actually easier to roll and break into than almost all other cars on the road. People who like the idea of being farmers, but don't care for the manual labour.
Speed: Faster than the national average, but not very smart with it.
Bad Habits: Drives right up behind you as if they are going to go straight over you, crushing you like an insignificant little ant. Leaves it to the last minute to cut across 3 lanes of the M25 to get off at their junction. Rarely signals. Holier than thou approach to driving (i.e. "Big is better, so get out of my way").
Annoyance Rating: 10, without a shadow of a doubt.

Kia (any model):

Driver: Tight bastards who want to pay as little as possible for a car and want to be annoyed by it every few months when it breaks down for the umpteenth time and costs them ten times as much to get it fixed than it did to buy it. People who enjoy spending money on cars that are made from offal.
Speed: If they went any slower they'd be stationary. Slows down for green lights. Drives at least 10 miles per hour below the stated speed limit, and that's on a good day. I was stuck behind one once who was doing 20mph on a 50mph road.
Bad Habits: They are just a living, breathing bad habit. Slow and lumbering, rides right up your arse and dithers over every manoeuvre. Drives like someone has blindfolded them. Never signals. Knocks into other cars whilst parallel parking and tries to make a quick getaway, but fails miserably and ends up crawling off at 5mph.
Annoyance Rating: This scale only goes up to 10.