Ben... Honestly?!

Where to start... Well I'm from Reading, its this small cuboardy place in the middle of nowhere. I live inside a house which looks oddly like a box, under a bridge. when I was younger I used to ask my mother why this was the case. She would always reply it was all my father could afford working as a corner biscuit salesman. Who's homemade delights simply could not compete with the mighty biscuit giants(Fox's, Rich Tea Fingers and dare i mention Digestives). My house is actually made of good old solid mortar and from the outside is deceptively small. It's a little bit like the Tardis in some respects, apart from the fact it cannot fly, it cannot travel through time and it is a box not a disguise.

For the record that was complete lies. I'm a addicted to lieing, its like a drug. It keeps me clean but I get in a lot of trouble nonetheless. I hope you enjoy the rather pointless (ever so slightly biscuit related) stories I post here.

Tarahh!