I have found my calling: I am a scrapbooker. It could be worse you know. I could be compulsive farter, a compulsive kleptomaniac, but instead I am a scrapbooker. After getting 400 digital pictures developed mainly of my last three years in Joburg, I took over my lounge carpet and furiously cut, pasted, coloured in, stuck stickers and made a scrapbook. It took a blissful 5 hours. I normally do this after every holiday. Now I'm documenting EVERYTHING.
The 400 photographs got me thinking. The guys at Kodak must've thought I lead quite an interesting life. Take these ten photos, and you decide:
1) 12 naked people sitting in a jacuzzi at last year's Christmas party
2) Me running around with an inflatable dinosaur around my neck and a bottle of Pimms
3) Three of us on the stairs of uni a year later, smoking a joint. Gasp.
4) My ex dressed like a ghetto gangster.
5) Drinking around a fire on the beach in the dead of night at PLettenberg Bay.
6) Karaoke evenings
7) Scenic pictures of Johannesburg's inner city
8) The 80s party
9) The Goth party
10) My book club Fuckerware party - we got a rep to show us the latest and greatest in sex toys.
Which brings me to conclude: it's going to be tough traversing from early twenties to late twenties this month. Because my early twenties have kicked so much ass.