Away Lindt Away

Was it just eight months ago that I was modeling for Cosmo, and seven months since I'd finished my first "ramp" stint? It feels like it was all so long ago. Earlier this afternoon, since we didn't have work, I caught myself lounging in front of the TV, in a dirty sarong, eating yemas ... with a bandage on my forehead, to cover a red, angry pimple scar.

I used to be glamorous - now, I'm just a potato (or yema) queen.

It's three a.m.. I can't sleep. I meant to write something glorious - about how, seven times out of ten, friendship is far better than romance, how I've become an accidental chronicler of love, death and misery, and why memories are so different from the actual events they're based on. Instead, I'm in my underwear, downloading old Kylie Minogue songs.

There's chocolate in the fridge, as always, but I shall resist it. Sometimes I wonder what it'd be like to be thin - really, truly thin, to be of John Bengan and James Neish proportions. It must feel amazing, to be that light, to not have to carry so much baggage.

Tell me, boys, is being thin all it's cracked up to be?