At least I'm not you. I used to look up to you but I'm taller now. Sure, I've yet to get a job, because I've gone from education to education for the last 16 years but at least I have GCSE's, and less scars, oh and less drug addictions. I've yet to have a girlfriend for more than a year, but then again I don't have a son I cant see without a social worker present. Sure we both spent time in Winchester but I was at Uni drinking pints and forgetting to do the reading whilst you were sat in a cell in HMP Winchester for possession and assault. You are every excuse I make when I don't want to be nice for a day, my reasoning for why smoking can't be that bad and definitely the reason why my Mum is so proud of me even when I don't do as good as I could. I feel angry yes, but I write poetry or listen to Les Mis whilst you punch holes in walls and ingest things designed to knock out horses. Yet despite your immoral, at times repugnant behaviour, I'm still jealous because your beard is better than mine.