I've nothing really to write about as I'm in Barnsley and nothing happens, so I'll write about nothing.

Nothing lived under a chair in the sewer. He often wanted to move house to the sofa in the dry cleaners but the property was out of his pricerange - he only earnt 13 marbles a week. 2 went on food for the cat, 4 on food for himself (he ate catfood) and 7 on his noticeboard. He loved his noticeboard and spent every waking hours putting any spare currency on it in a pretty pattern. Occassionally he's have to spend a couple of marbles on house repair as the chair he lived under had dry rot, then wet rot, then the rot started to rot. He needed a new place to live so he asked a nearby rat who couldn't talk. This wasn't such a wise move as rats rarely know morse code or smoke signals, so conversations are tricky. Nothing soon gave up after a day or two ands talked to a disused shit floating around the sewer. This was more helpful and was actually a fully qualified estate agent. Together they roamed the city looking at fishtanks and other places where Nothing could set up a new home.
'I suggest somewhere with dry rot because then there's less chance of any rot appearing, unless the rot starts to rot' said the little shit.
'Ok' said nothing 'rot it is, unless it's dry rot then I'll have to get a swimming pool'. 
'Fine' said the turd, lifting up the lid of the dustbin outside the cricket ground 'this looks ideal'.

Nothing put some paper in a gun and fired it accross the world, feeding starving printers in some third world country. Afterwards he decided that he could afford the dustbin and bought it. It didn't go well, every Tuesday he'd been removed from his little home and ended up in the tip. He went to complain to the little shit but he'd been flushed away. His new estate agent was called Harold. He had a classy build comsidering he was a roll of sellotape. He had great trouble peeing, as he could never find his end. Anyway the trama of househunting continued. Hunting houses with bows and arrows wasn't effective so they got some door snares. These held the door of the house open, reducing the chance of escape. However Harold's proposed houses for nothing was quite outragous. A phonebox was a toilet, not a house but that skip was quite interesting. In the end he bought the skip, but soon Nothing was regretting his choice. People kept on pulling things out from his home, all his furniture was gone and after a while he lost his marbles, and couldn't afford the busfare to the bus.