Don't you hate it when your plans for world domination gradually begin to take shape and you discover a fly in the ointment or a spanner in the works? It's annoying, right? Like sticking your washing out minutes before it starts raining.


I had huge plans for 2014. We're talking mahoosive! Bigger than Mickey Mouse's ego. In fact I got through nine ink cartridges just printing these plans out so I could stick them on the wall. Then I'd gaze at them, and laugh like an evil genius in an underground lair.


Seriously, had these plans reached fruition I'd have been bigger than The Beatles by now. In fact I'd own them. I'd have the rights to their entire back catalogue. My wealth would be more than you could possibly imagine. Even more than Han Solo could imagine when Luke Skywalker talked him into rescuing Princess Leia.


David Cameron would be on the blower to me everyday asking me to help fund their election campaign. I'd make him beg like a dog. Then I'd say no. In fact I'd be so uber rich I wouldn't go by the moniker of Norton Mouse anymore. I'd be King Midas Mouse Prime. Master of the Universe. Like He-Man, but in mouse form. He-Mouse.


My droppings would be gold encrusted... Okay, you get the picture.


So what went wrong? How do I find myself in April 2015 without a penny to my name? I literally have nothing. In fact I've just stuck one of my purple sweaters on eBay to fund my penchant for eating to stay alive.


I could sit here dwelling on things until the horses come home, and blame a number of people. Sadly, I have no-one to blame but myself. For hiring such a useless crap bag to manage me. I relied solely on him to fetch me untold riches and he failed to deliver. I have to admit, mother was right. I had too many eggs in one basket, and when the basket broke I was left with egg on my face.

I'm not entirely sure what my manger was doing all day, except writing blogs about his mental health and posting photos of his dog's arse on Facebook. On one occasion I paid him a visit and he was sitting there in his underpants, drinking a glass of wine, with the Manic Street Preachers at full volume, while his dog ran around in circles chasing her tail. Readers, it was 10am!


So while he was squarely on the path to self destruction I was contractually obliged not to work with anyone else. What could I do? In the end I just decided to go into enforced hibernation. I'm now a fountain of knowledge on Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones, Dexter, and to a lesser extent, True Detective (I've only watched two episodes thus far).


Thankfully, my manager has had an awakening. Much like The Force, or a 1984 episode of Doctor Who, but less dramatic. His mind is still clearly damaged, his sanity hangs by a thread, and we're both utterly broke, but I think we've found a way forward.

Now I've returned to the Internet like Han and Chewie have returned to the Millennium Falcon.


Norton is home.

Hi-de-hi campers!
19th April 2015
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