Perfect master

Someone's pitted Cecil Adams. Apparently the infidels are having an argument as to whether or not he actually exists. I've never been able to decide, myself. It is true that no-one has seen a photograph of the man for coming up on thirty years. But he has produced columns each and every week for those thirty years, written in the same style and with the same attitude of frank cynicism. So, in conclusion, the Perfect Master does exist.
Maybe.

Once again, I'm sitting at home alone. I ought to be revising but I haven't even thought about starting yet. Becca texted to say she was finally starting her geography revision. My phone bleeping woke me up momentarily, but as I accidentally turned off my alarm I slept through just about everything else.

I am the grungiest person I know.