WELCOME TO MY HOMEPAGE!!

HI!! I'm Damien and this is MY homepage. I made it myself in Notepad. Dad helped with ONE table and I am contractually required to mention this forever. Everything here is mine: my house, my family, my cat, and a modem that sounds like it's arguing with a fax machine.

Quick tour: sign the guestbook first (mum checks it more than I do, long story), then read the fridge door, then the phone-line war diary. If the phone rings while you're reading this, we both lose the connection, so read fast.

Snoopy sunbathing on his red doghouse while Woodstock stands on him.

SITE SECURITY

This is Snoopy. He is a beagle, he is my hero, and he sleeps on the roof of his own house, which is allowed because the house is his. Woodstock is also there. He lives here too. They guard this homepage. If you have come here to steal biscuits, he will know. He always knows.

ABOUT ME

Name: Damien. Age: [withheld by mum]. Job: school (unpaid!!).
Skills: typing, climbing the plum tree, finishing a game with NO save points, annoying the cat (disputed by cat).
Owns: one bike (red), one Game Boy (batteries: a constant crisis), approximately 4,000 stickers.
Current status: grounded status is updated live by mum and is not negotiable.

WHAT'S NEW: 3 Feb — the fridge door page is UP!! · 28 Jan — mum found the guestbook and signed it "mum". Twice. · 19 Jan — we got the 33.6k modem. We are basically NASA now. · 2 Jan — this homepage exists. History will judge.

UNDER CONSTRUCTIONDad is digging a pond in the back garden. Day 47. It is currently a hole. Mind the fence. ?

Me and my lot, dancing

Every homepage needs dancing. I have checked the rules and this is definitely one of them. In order of appearance:

1.
ME — webmaster, dancer, visionary.
2.
TOM — my best mate. Has a bike AND a goldfish.
3.
BISCUIT — the cat. Dancing under protest.
4.
MUM — she does NOT know this is here.
5.
JOE COOL — guest professional. My hero's cooler form. Paid one (1) biscuit.

Take the tour

Pages in this house
Page	Whose it is	What is inside
Mum’s Kitchen	My mum, and her kettle	Her steeping chart, her egg timer, her rules. I just type them.
Up All Night	Me, after lights-out	A torch, a Game Boy with dying batteries, and Colin the moth.
Dial-Up Diary	Me vs. the phone bill	The war for the family phone line, recorded nightly.
The Fridge Door	My mum, mostly in capital letters	Notes, lists and warnings, held down by magnets.
Guestbook	Whoever signs it (plz sign it)	Sign it. Mum checks it more than I do.
My Mates’ Pages	Tom, J.J. and Marco	My friends’ homepages, linked in a loop. Theirs are worse.
The Whole House	Me, tidying for once	Every page, plus a tally of the stuff I have hidden.

House rules

Mum's rules, not mine. I just type them. Breaking them has consequences I am not allowed to describe.

If the phone rings while a download is at 97%, it was nice knowing the download.
Nobody touches Dad's biscuit tin. NOBODY. This includes Dad when Mum is looking.
No trackers. I wouldn't know how to track you if I wanted to. The counter is just there to make this page feel popular.
The back button always works. Unlike the bathroom lock.
Sign the guestbook. Mum checks.

That counter only goes up when YOU visit. Tell your friends. Tell your enemies. Numbers must go up.