This is my cat. He's called Tiger.

I don't have any preconceived notions of what Portuguese people are like but the bloke on the table next to me is pretty much a massive twat. Maybe he got less sleep than me. i doubt it. I got 20 minutes. The lady 2 tables acrros from me looks a lot like my ex boss which is funny cos last night when I couldn't sleep i wrote a letter to her saying sorry for being s*** at my job. I don't know why I did that, I probably won't send it. I should have just sent anonymous postcards from places I have visitied. Even better, anonymous postacrds from places I haven't visited. I don't know where I could get Mongolian or Congalese postcards in SE asia though. I'm sat waiting for a ferry to the Gili Islands. My head is throbbing in time with the corwing of the c*** and although I still have the face of a (somewhat) spritely 20 year old, this lack of sleep will eventually get the better of me. As long as i don't get crows feet before I'm 35. There's lenty of time to sleep when you're dead. If this ferry sinks then I'll probably drown/ Good times.

The portuguese guy is wearing obnoxious yellow bermuda shorts, a souvenir t shirt and thos awful velcro sandals that people still think are ok to wear in public. His wife/mistress/girlfriend/sister/mother looks like Jean Claude Van Damme. She has a face like a smacked arse. I say that as I sit here pouting, looking at my cup of tea in utter disgust.

I got on the boat and there was nowhere to sit so I sat on my bag. Its not very comfortable. I listened to my ipod and thoght of music videos that I could have made on the ferry with lots of Indonesian people. Just think of the possibilities. Imagine if Rio by Duran Duran had been shot on an Indonesian ferry. Or a nautical version of Thriller. I'll talk to the other guys in The Portuguese Men of War and see what they think about shooting the vide for Skin the f***er on an Indonesian ferry.

I met quite a cool guy on the fery that I have been hanging out with. He's American but definitely isnt a p**** The floor in my bathroom looks like aplace that cholera and dyssentary would go for drinks. There is a constant film over it. I dont now what it is. The guy who uns the place looks a bit like Golum. He rents out the rooms, is a small time dealer and may possibly be a pimp.

I sat on the beach. It's almost a perfect setting but is ruined by 3 cockneys sat onfront of me with their vulgar tattoos and pasty white frames. They make me feel ill. One off them is trying to pick up an Indonesian girl. To think this is what I have to look forward to upon my return. Chavs with gold chains from Argos. Aside from friends and family and possibly another degree, there seems to be no point to England. I should have married the Vietnamese travel agent's nice and moved to the Gili Islands. There has to be something better than 9-5.

Last night, Doozie and I went out and met a couple of locals. It was highly entertaining. I love it here. No one gives a s*** about anything. everyone seems content. The locals were obviusly having a good time. They get up at 5.30am and sell magic mushrooms (which are legal) and then try anfd shift weed(illegal) in the evening whilst downing Bintang and trying to pick up white women.

The Gilis have definitely turned Indonesia around for me. I wish I could spend more time here. It f***ing rocks. The air is peppered with the scent of cloves. Seafood is cheap, plentiful and fresh. I had 2 tuna dinners the other night just cos i can. I want to build a seaside veranda and kit it out with antique chandaliers and musical equipment for impromptu jam sessions by the water, huge floor cushions and a small kitchen with a gas bbq.

Last night I had an amazing white snapper and took full advantage of the all you can eat salad bar. Then I went to the moon. I tried to write a letter to Sigmund Freud but couldn't think of anything to write. Got bought drinks by indonesian people and got on a ferry at 8am. No sleep. Now I'm back in Kuta, waiting for my flight to KL at 6am. Errr. yeah.