Yesterday I thought of myself as the contemporary hippy, happy, content with strolling around town in bare feet to my Yoga class, something to get me centred and grounded so I could face the world, with peace in my heart and I didn't have to worry about grooming.

The day before I was enjoying thinking of myself as existing as a pure figure, void of any context by bombarding life with an incomprehensible amount of movement so all that is left is a simple essence.

A couple of days ago I liked to think of myself as the Livingston of the Urban Jungle. I could generally be found wandering around, watching the rhythms of the city throng moving together like a perpetual orchestra.

Last week I by and large thought of myself as being the sly insouciant nuisance. Just Andy they could call me, as I terrorised the prefects while wearing my rather dandy cap.

Today, I can't really think. I've got a bit of a headache.