People who request contact information usually fall into one of a number of groups.

1. They like to collect email addresses for spamming purposes
2. They are curious to learn more about the subject
3. They like to collect email addresses for spamming purposes
4. They might even risk buying something one day
5. They like to collect email addresses for spamming purposes

For the rest of you, a relevant email address may be handy for you to click on, so here it is:

pleasedontspamme_info@thearmageddonclause.co.uk_pleasedontspamme

The author of this unfinished and inelegant drivel lives in uncertain times, resisting the relentless onslaught of marketed idiocy, advertised boredom, and consumer discontent. To the rear of the mind, some mere of microns from the brain stem, lies the lack of imagination, and to the right, the inability to write coherently. Luckily, both these skills - and the mind itself, of course - all live inside a head so they can stay relatively dry when it rains.

Born somewhere in the last century, and dressed in a groovy crushed velvet suit in a vibrant deep purple until the age of sixteen, the objectives of fashion can seem bewildering. This lustrous attire was indeed so tight by this stage, that it needed to be surgically removed by a physician of consummate skill. Unfortunately this was in the middle of the disco era and a cheap white suit was stitched into its place instead. This was fine for a few months until the Sex Pistols spewed forth anarchy, and from the smallest of villages every small town bully boy reckoned the wearing of such as suit was simply asking for some trouble. Which was fait enough. Timing is everything in life and the author is always a tad overdue.

Eminently unemployable, the author has done most jobs in a bid to find the dreams of the shallow, that insubstantial objective of the insincere and living: money.

Whilst the author wastes valuable time writing, a succession of eclectic occupations has filled other time, from the ubiquitous paper-round when a mere youngling, to baling straw at airports (yes really, more planes crash through hitting cows than any other cause, no, honestly, it's true.), a constructor of various buildings, rooms, halls, dwellings, and machines (some successful), to numerous jobs with tired, overused and dull words in the title such as 'engineer', 'system', consultant', 'IT', in various random combinations in that most exciting and creative of industries, the dynamic world of information.

There are hopes to make at least enough for one meal from the writing, but as such profits as are made would duly wasted in the pub celebrating, there is little point.