The G-Spot

I am now the proud owner of a GMail account.

(If you don't know what this is, click here: gmail.com)

Having been a Hotmail Boy for years, I was offered one of these babies by a friend, and after reading a few hyped reviews, thought 'Why The Heck Not'.

The thing is: to have a GMail account at the moment, you need to actually be invited by someone (my friend, in this case) who works for Google. So, for the moment, I am the only person at school, and one of the few people in London with one of these things.

The only problem is, very few people seem:
a) willing to understand the full amazing-ness of what I have as
opposed to what they DON'T have
b) able to give me my due kudos points.

What does a man have to do to get jealousy from his colleagues in this day and age?

Huh!?!?!?!

(I really enjoy doing this skippety-hop, shift-questionmark,
shift-exclamationmark thing on the keyboard. If you do it really fast and in a syncopated fashion, allowing the shift key to spring up between exclamations and questions, one feels vaguely Liberace-like, as if engaged in a rather taxing manoeuvre in the middle of a particularly back-und-forth passage in a Lizst piano sonata.)