One benefit of getting old is that I'm not scared of the dark anymore. Came to me last night, lying in pitch darkness (I mean total darkness, where you can't tell if your eyes are open or closed) with my arms over the duvet and one foot hanging over the side of the bed. In my youth:

a. there would have been a light on somewhere, or the curtains open a little bit. I'll risk the curious, ambiguous shadows created by a little bit of light over the cover of darkness that some ghoul could use to creep up on me and stick his finger in my brain
b. my arms would be under the duvet so that nothing slimy could land on them flay them or lay eggs under the skin of them, and
c. there is no way in hell my foot would have been lolling around, a mere nosehair's breath away from whatever demon spawn was under my bed at that time ready to nip off my toes with yellowing incisors

One downside to olderness is the gradual diminishment of my imagination, which has been like a guttering flame of late; flashes of inspiration here and there, but generally growing dim. I tried drinking a massive caramel latte today to see if the caffeine would do anything to my mind. It just made me very edgy and a bit sweaty. Don't you think that offices would do well to provide free coffee? It would increase productivity wouldn't it? Or, wasn't there some research that showed that although caffeine keeps you awake and stimulates you, your levels of accuracy and skill decrease quite considerably. Don't think people would generally notice that where I work though.

Toby has taken to licking the floor, blowing his cheeks out whilst clamped to windows (like a lamprey - nice aren't they?) and also standing on things. This last trait, I think, is the young chap trying to assert himself and at the same time elevate himself. He tried lifting a 5 litre bottle of water the other day (he's 13 months), but only managed to drag it a short way. He then had a strop, knocked it over, stamped one foot on it and then stood on top of it, banging his foot down occasionally whilst looking straight at me shouting, "Yaaarrrrr". A young Hannibal in the making, ja?

Watched The Whole Nine Yards yesterday. It was quite funny seeing Matthew Perry do his Chandler thing in a movie. Two things struck me whilst watching it.

1. Oz, Matthew Perry's character meets his friend at an oyster bar in Chicago. First scene in the bar shows a poster from the Columbian Exposition, which I am very interested in and saw an advert for a program on the TV about 2 days before. I was first introduced to it in Chris Ware's graphic novel Jimmy Corrighan - The Smartest Kid in the World, which I urge you to buy, borrow, steal. Well OK, not steal.

2. I think it's Kevin Pollack's, Janni Gogolak character that say's he'd like to live on the island of Aruba. I go to the Aruba website and what do I find? Chicago are playing there in October, so we go full circle. I reckon most people would find funny coincidences like this if they paid more attention to things around them and took the time to investigate things that interest them. Anyway, this is a Caribbean island that I had never heard of until yesterdy when I bought a record by an artist\group called Aruba which had loads of facts and statistics about the island. Double coincidence. Got to go, there's a temporal shift opening up behind me and I don't want to get sucked into it to find myself at work again!

Perhaps I've been pronunciating incorrectly all my life, but I could have sworn that melancholy was not pronounced mel-uncle-ee as I've heard it pronounced fairly frequently just recently. And there seems to be a general blurring of the spelling of other commonly used words as well. I mean, I know 'aksed' was a popular hip hop bastardisation of asked, but did you know that 'aksed' is probably closer to the true spelling than asked? Behold. I think I'll put these next 2 down to people being illiterate though - 'sort' instead of sought (as in "sort after tunes") and 'loose' instead of lose (as in "loose yourself"). I see those mistakes everywhere, especially on eBay, and it fair makes my Funk & Wagnall's 8" thick (steady) dictionary weep.

This is good stuff.

Did I say T3 was good? I liked it when he said, "She'll be back. And I'll be back. He won't be back, oh, hang on, yes he'll be back, but I won't be back. And you won't be back, no not you, the guy behind you, yes you, you'll be back".

I had a dream last night that I was an insomniac and couldn't sleep. I woke up this morning absolutely knackered. That's not really fair is it? I used to have so many dreams as a teenager that I used to write them down in a book. I've got loads and most of them I can remember fully if I start reading the first few lines of the details. Maybe I'll start again if I get any good ones and post them on here.

Started collecting the money that I see on the ground that I would usually pass by to see if it amounts to much during the course of a year. 7p since Sunday.

I brought an Italian ceramic ashtray looking thing to work today. It is a slender rectangular dish, slightly concave and coloured mottled blue, silver and grey. It's very 1920's looking and I like it. It's been sitting next to my PC at home for the 2 years following it's purchase and was used to hold paperclips and general shite. I decided to liberate it and put it where I could look at it all day. Now, everyone that comes over to my desk coo's, "Oooh that's nice". Ver management frown on personalising your workspace, but I think that this goes to show that people (human people that is) like a bit of art, culture and/or beauty in their day to day. Especially if it takes their mind away from the soul sucking drudgery that they have to endure that is working to survive.

I've also got this on my desktop (check out the rest of the site, it's awesome). Unfortunately, people now think I'm gay. But I just appreciate art and aesthetics and a nice bushy tache. Oh shit, I AM gay!!!

I was supposed to post this last night. I forgot.

Goddam laptop lost my last post. Prior to that I drank a glass of Chablis (very Abigail's Party, I know) and fell asleep. So, nob log for the day before either. Sorry, that should be 'no blog'.

Anyway it's not every day you get a hawk land on your lawn and start ripping the throat out of a starling chick. By my reckoning it's just Saturdays. I managed to get some film of it so we could show Toby what we were hiding from him when he gets a little bit older. Next day I moved a wheelbarrow out from under the trees and there was a very soggy, decomposing bird carcass sprawled across a thin layer of mud in the barrow. Before I could outmanoeuvre the little tyke, Toby had stuck his hand into the dead bird exclaiming, "Kurrr!". I scooped him up and we scrubbed his hands in the kitchen sink. Kids are mucky. He's also started drinking bathwater as well, which makes him burp a lot. Must be the bubbles.

I suppose you start inadvertently talking about things you're trying to avoid talking about because they are at the forefront of your mind. Regardless of the fact that they are at the forefront of your mind with massive flashing neon sign on saying DO NOT DISCUSS, you still talk about them, because your brain thinks it knows what it's doing. Like your Dad when he reaches 50. So this is why when a friend of ours informs us that he is suffering very badly from depression brought on by a mortal fear of death, I start talking about places where people have been murdered around where I used to live. I then explain the Chinese symbol that denotes a coward and top it all off by ordering him this t-shirt. for his birthday. Not only is he petrified of the future, but is also worried that there is no end in sight for his condition ("Where is my cure for this disease"). Nice one. Why don't you just kill him while you're at it?

Heyyy, I know. If you get a really expensive DVD player, why not advertise the fact to your neighbours and all potential burglars by leaving the box outside your house for the bin men to collect the next day? Even better, if you have recently purchased an electronic safe (as Mr and Mrs Mong (not real names) at 13 Turner Road, Abingdon, Oxon have done recently) leave that box out so that everyone knows you have something so valuable that you need a safe to put it in. The burglars can also then do some background on the make and model of the safe (details on the box) and therefore cut down to an absolute minimum the amount of time they have to actually be in your home. Good thinking Mongs. I can see now why you're so successful that you need an electronic safe to keep all your hard earned cash and jewels in. Mongedy Mongedy Mong.

Lastly, if you're ever stuck somewhere and you're so thirsty that you would consider drinking whatever liquid is in the bottles discarded by the roadside, you'd do well to stay away from Lucozade bottles. They are usually full of piss. Or does Lucozade always taste like that? My piss tastes like Tizer. The appetizer. Toodle-piss, er, pip.

I realised why I ask so many questions to the blog. It's because I don't ever get answers I don't want to hear. Thats why there's no e-mail address either. I don't want people debating with me over my self-indulgent musings. I'm too fragile for that at the moment. But there will come a time.

I'm re-reading Alan Moore's 'Watchmen' at the moment. Quite excited about it actually, I forgot how bloody amazing it is. At 32, I am getting some funny looks around the office and on the bus, but it is funny how if you're calm and appear indifferent to the fact you're reading a comic, you can explain it all rationally and logically to people (non-comic\graphic novel readers). As long as you don't enthuse, or show any emotion really, you don't give them a step up to tread you down. I've done it with vinyl figures as well when people have caught me looking at "dolls" at Kidrobot. Give 'em the facts, appear nonchalant, make THEM feel like they are missing out on something. I wish I'd known this strategy when I was 10.

T3 was good. I like the ending. I feel big and clever because I watched it on a pirate DVD. Don't worry Universal, I'll see it at the cinema and buy the DVD. Cos I'm a silver sucker.

I'm going to impart a useful tip that my manager gave me. Don't apologise in e-mails, or suppose. E.g "I apologise if this has already been discussed...", say, "I'm not aware of this being discussed already...". And, "I suppose we could ask...", say, "I think it would be good to ask.... Simple, but you need to take control sometimes. All you humanoid scum will die, Morbo will destroy you!

This was a blast from my past when I saw it again. See if it has the same effect on you. Timewarp.

Oh. My. God. I wanna be careful here in case this guy wants to beat me up, but check out MC Teckno. What I was drinking came out my nose. If that's what does it for you, check him out. Discovered that he was a born again Christian as well and suggested that he be MC (Marriage Controller) at a work colleagues wedding as she's looking for a DJ already. He could marry them, emcee styleee. Teckno - "Let me hear you say I DO", couple - "I DO". I say, STOP. Hammer time.

Ask a lot of questions don't I? There's another. But why do god fearing Christians call themselves that? God fearing I mean. It's strange that. To have something so omnipresent in your life, your future, that you love and surrender your destiny to. And be shit scared of. One unintentional, "Jesus Christ!" as you get cut up on the motorway and ZAP!!, you're a small hill of ash in the drivers seat with one holy thunderbolt through the sunroof. This bloke has hit the nail on the cross, er, head! I meant head. Sorry My Lo...ZAP!!.

And (continued the Eternally Questioning Question mark shaped Robot), who was the massive black geezer in reception at work today? It was rather a bizarre experience that me and a couple of my workmates were talking about Method Man leaving Wu Tang and how Redman was only any good when he was with M.E.T.H.O.D Maaan. Then we walked downstairs and there was a Harlem Globetrotter in reception with a 'kin huge afro. Surreal.

I hope Jon wins Big Brother. Oh, what? He can't win? Oh I don't care really. Don't say f*** or bugger!

My sieve brain has left my most interesting thoughts on the Vengabus, so I'm ending this for this evening. Get lost.

I don't know if I'm being naive, but didn't hackers used to say that they did what they did to expose how inadequate the security is in software provided by companies like Microsoft? Working as a Network Administrator for around 30 networks, I see some pretty elaborate hacks going on, "exposing" some very obscure aspects of certain programs such as Internet Explorer. The attacks are very definitely beyond the scope of the vast majority of computer users, which begs the question, who exactly do these hackers want to protect us from? Answer, them. The twats. I think that the amount of encryption, lockdown options and general security for most software written these days is only going to be "inadequate" to a seasoned, dedicated and determined hacker. It's like saying that, although the windows and doors of your house are locked and you've hidden the key in your 2 acre garden somewhere, if I was to sieve the first foot of earth covering your garden, I could find the key. Therefore your security is inadequate. Well, Mr Micro Chip Pan, would you think it fair for me to criticize you on a regular basis, even when you make efforts to further your diminished personality? How about if I spread rumours about you and your sexuality, lack of friends, inadequte social skills etc? I'm only doing it so that you can improve yourself, don't cry.

And since when did it become OK to stop in the middle of a conversation to answer a mobile phone? If I was talking to someone and another person I didn't know, but met once, came over and started talking to me, I would probably tell them I was busy. You know, show some respect for the person I was talking to initially. I watch people in the canteen at work leave their colleagues sitting next to them for up to 15 minutes while they yak to someone else with nothing better to do than gas. I don't really get the whole mobile lark at all. I'm not in the popular demographic anyway probably (32 years old). I have no interest in ringing people to tell them I'm on a bus; going to be about 15 minutes; am just getting some food; am walking down the street; am breathing air; am blinking approximately 20 times a minute...ooh, actually I'll text that to everyone I know as well. Yawn.

Seal's birthday today. Yay!! I got her a Palm, some Gaultier and a Montessori book wot can make Toby smart at finkin' an' that. Decided to go out for the day, which had a bit of a false start as Toby hid the car keys whilst we were in Wallingford. How to keep two adults occupied for 20 minutes. We went to Cliveden House near Maidenhead in the end and it was quite nice. Toby gravitated towards the other kids that were around as usual, it was quite funny to watch. He saw two kids playing tennis, they went off after a ball, he went for their tennis ball and then three other boys went for Toby's ball. Got back to the car - flat battery. Arse biscuit. RAC came out and diagnosed a faulty alternator. The bloke insisted on talking to me while he had his head in my diesel engine whilst it was running - I couldn't hear a bloody word he said. He was probably calling me an embarrassment to the male race because I didn't know where the alternator was, or what it did. I also lied when he asked me if the battery light had been on a lot just recently. "No, it hasn't at all", I said slowly. The dawning realisation of blind stupidity creeping into my brain and across my face told him otherwise. Er, yeah. Every day this week, I thought. Doh! Looks like I'll be being a grease monkey at the weekend again. Better than paying a grease monkey hundreds of pounds though for a 1 hour actual job and then 3 hours of eating pasties and reading The Sun.

Anyway, hopefully they've got rid of the retarded werewolf that used to drive the work bus, as there's a new bloke now. And boy has he got a fat neck. Actually it is a fat neck/back of the head, and I reckon you've got to be shovelling a lot of fry ups to reach the measure of saturation that necessitates the body to start looking for new places to store the lard. Like a local council surveying for a new landfill, I'm afraid this load is going to a greenfield site - the back of his head!

Overheard in the canteen yesterday -
"So how many did you have after you left us then on Friday"
"Oh about another 5 pints"
"Five!? I'm surprised your livers still standing!"

So am I, as I don't think livers actually "stand" as a rule do they? They are held in place by sinew and membranes. So, if I'm going to be eavesdropping your conversation and it's not going to be interesting, can you at least make it factually, syntactically and grammatically correct please.

Lastly, how in God's name do butterflies get to where they want to go? I mean, I just assumed that they resign themselves to the whimsy of the wind. They wake up of a morning, stretch their wings, launch themselves from a branch/leaf/flower and end up wherever they end up - hoping that it's not a cobweb, air intake duct, raging fire etc. But, I saw two butterflies chase each other today for a good couple of minutes and they were always, at most, only about 8 - 10 inches away from each other the whole time. So they were obviously pretty much in control, even in the reasonable breeze that was kicking around. Never underestimate the apparently weak, as a samurai would probably say.

Hey, forgot to set my alarm clock yesterday and slept through Sunday entirely. Still knackered today though.

Michael's eating a beef and cheese sandwich and doesn't think that's odd. No, it's not like a cheeseburger, because with a cheeseburger the beef is minced and the whole thing is hot. This sandwich is just plain wrong. I am hungry. I am poor and so had only 83p with which to feed myself. I have had 3 Weetabix (remember, this is Weetabix, NOT Shredded Wheat), a pear (I have one left) and a Snickers for my lunch. I am already hungry and still have 4 hours before I can get home and stuff a bagel in my head. Which reminds me, interested in the origins of bagels?

Yesterday was sunny and windy. Had some friends round for a game of "Track the toddler whilst maintaining distracted conversation". I think that we were all winners in that game. Whilst I was sitting in the garden under our plum tree with Toby and the Hover Flies (good name for a band that) he was yelling and throwing his arms in the air, which apparently means "buzz off fly". I started looking around on the floor and noticed that there were literally hundreds of plum stones, which looked kinda like almond shells, and it made me think that the plum trees method of reproduction isn't entirely successful is it? I would estimate from the size of the tree that it's probably been there about 8-10 years. And it's still on it's own. All the stones created, fruited up and dropped to rot and still no second tree. You could argue that we cut the grass fairly regularly in the summer which would decapitate any seedlings, but surely during the wet autumn/winter there must be some sprouting action? Same goes for conker trees. Where I worked at the Environment Agency, there was a horse chestnut tree out on it's own, nothing around for a good 200m and how many hundreds of conkers have been dropped in each of the 50 years that that tree has been on this earth?

I had another idea for a sticker, based on how annoying I find it that hand driers have information panels on them that say, "Using hand driers saves trees from being cut down to be used for paper towels". Uuuuh, hand driers use electricity don't they. From power stations fed on coal and oil, belching out greenhouse gasses and polluting the forests where these trees that you saved live. Electric driers use three to four times more electricity than would be required to recycle the used paper towels. Maybe they could harness some natural energy, mainly the farts. Instant gas turbine in the lavatory. Prepare yourself World Dryer, Airdri, Manrose et al.

Angel tonight, unless it's the Tasmanian Domino Championship quarter final...

Wow, shock news to rock the fashion industry. I have it from a very good source that the Eisenegger stores, aren't actually having a sale! It's not stock clearance with up to 70% off and it's not even a closing down sale. It's the actual price (plus profit of course) of the garba..er..clothes they sell. And while we're on the subject (well OK, I realise it's actually only me) you know when you see clothes that have 'Authentic' written on them, you know, the kind of stuff Marks and Sparks put out? What is the point of that really? (this blog is full of rhetoric by the way - I know it's to give the illusion that it is designer wear). I mean of course it's Authentic, but that's like writing, 'Visible', or, 'Exists'.

Saw a real couple of inbreeds down town today. Two 'women' with a little yorkie (not the chocolate bar - I know, they're not for girls. It was a little Yorkshire Terrier). They were the weirdest people I've seen for a long while. One was dressed like a lesbian rambler, the other looked like a tall Jo Brand, but ugly. Or should that be butt ugly? They stood in the street and had this group lick thing with the dog. It was foul.

I took a load of soil and turf up the dump and was stopped by a waste management officer as they have a new charging policy. He had a very bad stammer. I swear to god he only charged me 3 quid because he didn't want to say, "f.f.f.four pounds please". Cruel aren't I? Anyway, while I was there I saw this massive skip used for broken glass that was about a third full of really jagged panes, windows and suchlike. There was a notice on the side about how to take care and not throw the glass in as it could seriously harm you or people around you and it made me realise how the skip had that kind of aura, or feeling, that you get when your near deep water or a cliff edge. You know, that sort of, "Death is near, the potential is here. All we need is our friend fate and someone's going home in a body bag".

I found a caterpillar tonight, which I put on my finger as I read The Hungry Caterpillar to Toby. I don't think he appreciated the poignancy, he just tried about 30 times to squash it. He has also discovered shadows and worked out in about 2 seconds how they are made.

Got another idea for a kids story today - spiders in Heaven. It might turn into a little book of short stories....at some point in my life.

This entry has taken me about 2 hours because I have been distracted by Hackers (the film) on Channel 4. Jonny Lee Miller (pre-Trainspotting) and Angeline Jolie. It was shit, but also good in a shit way. It was quite funny how it had some pre-Matrix FBI/Agents with ear pieces tracking down the hackers. Generally it was pretty dated though and now I am outta here.

I got new flava for ya ears: Mark Ronson feat Ghostface Killah and Nate Dogg - Ooh Wee. It's the nuts. And he's a honky!

Idea for any confectionery executives reading, how's about some re-runs of the old classics that aren't made anymore. I'm thinking Texan, Cabana, coconut Boost (yes, the original Boost), Nutty, Spanish Gold, Banjo etc etc. Basically all my old favourites. The way I see it, tastes change. How do they know that the sweets they abandoned 15-20 years ago aren't going to be popular now? Meanwhile, you can imitate the ol' Texan bar by taking the top layer off a Double Decker and putting it in the fridge for about 3 hours. "You wouldn't kill a man before he finished his Texan bar would you?". Classic. Plenty more nostalgia trips here.

I was reading about the Palm resort being built in Dubai. Looks like the nadir of opulence. But what would happen if a big wave came in.....? They say that it's going to be the next man made object that can be seen from space. Well they can read newspapers from space with the spy satellites they have now, so no great sheiks there, but that's me just splitting hairs. People go on about the Great Wall of China being visible from space, but surely that's not that big? Obviously it's bloody long, but it's only about 20-25 metres across. There must be loads of other bit's and pieces of stuff on Earth bigger than that. I've always wanted to build a tower somewhere - possibly made of stone. I think there's something about towers, the symbol of man reaching up from the terra firma, the earthbound prisoner, constantly looking to reach higher, make a mark. Wasn't there some bloke in America that made loads of towers from scrap metal and covered them with mosaics of broken crockery and pottery? They were preserved after he died and have become quite a novelty and tourist attraction as well as a memorial I suppose. I'd like to do that. But you got the worries of planning permission, idiots trying to pull them down, kids trying to get up them (I know I would have tried those last two). On my way to work there's a massive wooden cross on top of a hill. Maybe erected by a religious farmer, I don't know. Nice statement though. I admire the desire to broadcast one's feelings like that, even if I don't agree with the reason behind it.

This was supposed to be posted for Friday, but I got busy listing stuff on eBay - so check the link out and buy some of my stuff :o)

Why is it that I write real phonky in capitals, but like an agitated infant in lower case?

You'd think with all the pressure the Governments in the UK and US are coming under, they would have planted some evidence of WOMaDs in Iraq by now wouldn't you (I thought of that acronym almost as soon as they started talking about weapons of Bush media invention - but I don't think the organisers of the WOMAD festival would appreciate the negative associations. Or the random searches by UN inspectors)? With that amount of intense, global attention and an almost kind of pitchfork-brandishing crowd gathering at their door, they could have at least set up Saddam with a couple of crates of Raid or a few hundred litres of Weedol. All they've supposedly done is try to frame George Galloway, the West Lothian Amassador for Iraq or whatever he's called. Is he guilty then or what?

Right, I'm no flaming Buffy nerd, or Angel fanatic, but why the hell are programmes of that ilk passed over in favour of whatever the current sport tournament is that month? Basically, Buffy/Angel/Farscape/Futurama whatever, will get postponed for like 3 weeks because The Crucible snooker championship is on. It's that classic sports jocks beating on the bookworms scenario, the cerebral kids, the ones interested in comics/science fiction, that type of thing. It's bloody annoying, so please stop it. Where is the entertainment in snooker for christ sakes?! Look at the imagination, skill and incessant originality that goes into making something as unique as Farscape. Now look at a green baize table with 22 balls, 2 blokes in waistcoats (?!), fags and beer. It's like looking at the boring part of a pub for 3 hours.

Do you ever get this? Now and again when I look at the hairs on my forearms, I can see one that is sticking up vertically, rather than following the curve of my arm. If I ever so slightly pull this hair, it will come out. I presume that it, or the follicle or something, has died. It reminds me of old movies with soldiers or cops or cowboys and how they can be crouching down in a gun fight, behind something, then when they get shot they stand up and do a little twist before falling back down dead.

At work there are often slight changes in semantics of certain words. I will catalogue them as they become evident. Here are the first 2. Check it beatch!:

'So', used by managers as the beginning to the response to ANY and EVERY question, takes on the meaning of - "I don't know the actual answer to your question, but by using the word 'so' I can give the illusion of control over my response and therefore over you as you are asking me the question". Often elongated to also give preparation time for the answer, e.g "Sooooooooo, we are currently looking at that issue.."
'Opportunity', as in, "I have an opportunity for you to increase your server diagnostic skills...", means, "There is nobody else available/willing/stupid enough/beneath me to fix this server. Therefore I'm offering you this Trojan 'opportunity', by which you will be shunned for promotion should you decline."

Jurassic 5 - Day At The Races from the latest album - fonky as phonk, check it.

Some of the Asian eBay sellers are hilarious - the one's that aren't ripping you off with fake merchandise that is. Check abc-express. He's got some wicked stuff for sale, what I love is his promise to "deliver to your hand", and in his item description, "All of the accessories can be put off, even the long boots & the belt. Yap! Sure the white tight shirt can be put off too! In brand new condition! Never played or opened! Item is on my hand now, ready shipped by EXPRESS MAIL! Just 2 to 3 days arrive on your hands from my hands!". Tell me how I can make it arrive on my hands, please! He's a taxi driver by day as well - check the piccies of him in his cab. Ho ho Hong Kong

I wonder if you played Richard D James a portion of some of his Aphex Twin music, whether he would actually recognise which tune it was, or even be able to spell the title of the tune? He's either very pretentious, or very clever. And mental. Probably the latter.

Why is it that if you get hit with something soft, like a pillow or a cuddly toy, it makes you feel sleepy? Or is that just me? Actually, if I get hit with something very hard, it makes me go all sleepy as well. Work THAT out scientists, with all your electricity and fizzy test tubes.

Cycling in to work today I saw an Asian girl (non-Oriental), walking to the bus stop. Not unusual in most places in the world, only slightly unusual because this is a sleepy Oxfordshire village populated by squires, bumpkins and assorted rural types. Making a wholly stereotypical assumption, I stopped in at the local corner shop to find a middle aged Asian man behind the counter, presumably the owner, quite possibly her father. It made me think about the differences between this shop and the one on my own estate. That one has steel shutters on the windows, a smashed door (which must have been smashed whilst the shop was open), security cameras outside and Nazi graffiti and 'Paki go home' type sentiments scrawled everywhere. I imagine that the girl whose dad possibly owns the shop in 'Sleepy Hollow' is proud to have a self-made, hardworking entrepeneur as a father. I compared this with the son who works in my local shop who will be equally as proud of his father. Unfortunately, their clientele, which comes to buy cheap fags, oven dinners and strong cider on a daily basis, wish that he and his father would "go home" (assuming they weren't born in the UK in the first place). And of course by them leaving, the shop would close. Smart thinking proles.

It was often a thought of mine to make some evil rascist film full of prejudice and rabble rousing sentiment (or rather pretend to make it) and then screen it at a cinema with free beer and meat pies. The cinema fills up with the dregs of humanity, they settle down to drink their beer and stuff their fat faces, the curtain rises and about 400 litres of nerve gas pours into the cinema while the doors and exits are hermetically sealed. Night night.

Hot. Hot. Hot. You could melt a steel rod in the crack of my arse. Hot. Finally came up with a t-shirt design/stencil that is probably too complicated for my limited artistic talents. I'll have a go at designing it in Flash though and sending the design off to Threadless.com. Doing the stencil is going to take longer. Might check Banksy's website for any ideas. Unfortunately the rest of my day has been - Biking > Network Administrating > Eating > Biking > Working > Sleep. Days like this (an imagination desert) are worrying. I'll blame the heat though. Did I mention it was hot?

OK, good ride to work. Made it in 25 minutes, when it used to take me 45. Saw a very burned, dead swan in a field on the way in. There were electricity pylons overhead and I seem to recall there being problems elsewhere on the Thames with them flying into the wires. Might see if I can contact BBOWT or something. Then about a mile later I saw a muntjac deer standing in a field of corn, would have made an excellent photo.

Am I the only one that finds it intensely annoying and unfathomable when sprinters slow down before they reach the finish line? What the hell is that all about?! It's a race isn't it?

Wow, it's as hot as a melon farmer in here. The Office is baking. VJ was just telling us about how he nearly got in a fight at the company party on Saturday. He was in the toilets on a mobile phone and some drunk lads came in and started shouting loudly, so he couldn't hear anything. He called them f***ing tw*ts and they made moves to go after him then didn't. He said he was up for a fight and I'm afraid I couldn't resist...I asked him if he thought he could beat those two guys off in the toilet. He said yes. I said, so if those two lads were coming at you really hard, you'd be able to beat them both off? Yes, no problem. And you wouldn't have a problem with that? No. What if they were walking out and they badmouthed you, would you take them from behind? This was when he rumbled what I was doing. Shame. It was very funny.

Had to change my location details on the company website and saw an entry to add new members of the family, specifically children, to your personal details. My heart skipped a beat when I saw that there was also a button to remove the children members. I think I'll suggest that they remove this as it's only going to be used if a child dies and I think that it appears a bit heartless. Don't you?

If I see David Jason relay that poxy scene where he falls through the bar flap in the pub when he's drinking with Trigger one more time, I swear I'm going to go mental. Yes, we know it's difficult to fall and make it look like it isn't staged. It was funny maybe twice, but it doesn't make you the King of Comedy for all time. Stick to AngelMouse you knob.

This f***ing bastard shit computer has just crashed and I've lost the entire post I've just spent 30 minutes writing up. Wanker.

Anyway. Up at 5.45 with Tibbler. He was miserable and only wanted to spit out his food and break things. He's so childish. Went to the carboot, which was shit again. The only highlight being a Chinese lady whose sole selling stock consisted of a large box of fly swats. Very astute business sense I thought as the sun came out, ripening the cow pats in the field, no flies on her etc. It was then that I noticed she'd beaten me to a punch-line as she put up the price on a sign that said, "Fry swats - £1". Fine Oriental self-deprecating humour.

Next, over to Sarah's Mum's for a 62nd birthday party for my old man. Not my todger, I mean my Dad. It was a roasting 25 degrees so we hit the pool sans sun cream and now I'm a real Redneck, dungarees an' all. We were saying how it would be useful to have a goatskin of water by the pool to keep taking swigs from. I said that would be good, as long as it wasn't made from the back end of the goat with the built in mouth hole - pthoo! Then we had a quick argument about whether dragonflies bite, which I won by tipping him out of the boat he was in into the pool. They don't bite per se by the way, although they do have strong mandibles capable of nipping. They don't sting either.

I'll be biking to work all this week, which will be nice, good bit of exercise. And we can wear casual clothes in the office because the air conditioning is about to collapse trying to keep the place below bread baking temperature. Funny how there's a little bit of sun and the world goes topsy turvy innit? Wait til the Ice Age commeth.

Up at 5.45 this morning with the Tibbler - I'm not very good with the early starts. I had a slight trauma before I went to bed though which might have upset me a bit. When we went to bed there was a nasty lacy winged moth thing on the ceiling. Even moths, which I DETEST, don't deserve to die just because I'm a wimp. So I got a cup and a piece of card, trapped the moth in the cup, put the card over the top and left it on the window sill to release in the morning (when it's not fluttering around so much and therefore not so inclined to fly straight at my face when I let it out causing me to shriek like a girl). Then got tucked up all cosy in bed and fell asleep. About 5 minutes later whilst in a light sleep I could have sworn I heard and felt a fluttering right in my ear which made me jump a bloody mile and throw back the duvet. I punched Sarah in the arm and kicked her in the leg, waking her up as well (surprisingly). The moth hadn't come seeking vengeance - I'd just dreamt it. Twat.

Was upset to hear that the Siamese twins died during the massive operation to separate them. Then thought about why this was more upsetting than the planeload of people killed in Sudan with just the one 2 year old boy saved and brought to Great Ormond Street for an operation. I remember someone saying once that news is, by definition, new information or reporting of new information. I've seen dozens of planecrashes in my 32 years in this world, but not many Siamese twin separations that I can recall. And certainly none that were preceded with a kind of photo-diary pre-operation that you brought them a little closer to you. It is a difficult thing to come to terms with, that one get's desensitised to certain types of death and it, rather childishly of me, doesn't seem fair. I suppose at least if I'm aware of the desensitisation, that's not so bad. But then you feel bad about these things most of the time and what good does that actually do? I bet most people, me included, don't then get spurred into doing something like tracking down the disaster fund for that particular tragedy to make a donation.

Rhetorical question - How many times do the people at work go, "Ooooh, you'll never eat THREE Weetabix!". And how many times do I say, "No, that's Shredded Wheat you're thinking of". Maybe if I accompanied the correction with a large electric shock it might sink in.

Tried to video a blackbird chick hopping around the garden this evening and through the viewfinder saw an OAP across the road waving at me. I hope she didn't think that it was her I was filming. Anyway, she was wearing a t-shirt that said LOUISE in big red letters (?!). Why?! As far as slogans go, it's pretty lame. Perhaps it's her name and she wears it so her forgetful OAP mates remember who she is when they meet her. Or they'll ask her where the loo is? Loo-ise. Ahem...

Nice. I got a massive case of 'dung lung' this morning riding in to work. It's a not too pleasant condition restricted to cyclists in the countryside. Picture this, cycling to the office in the morning, flat out to get a good workout prior to vegetating behind a desk for the next 7 hours. You get to the point where you're taking in massive lungfuls of air and the old 'in through the nose and out through the mouth' breathing routine has gone in through your brain out the window, you're just trying to concentrate on not blacking out. Then before you know it you're cycling past a massive, steaming pile of cow shit that the farmer has dumped by the side of the road ready to spread over his potatoes (makes a change from beans and coleslaw I suppose). You're quite literally over a respiratory barrel and 'dung lung' occurs in suffocatingly inevitable way as you inhale huge chestfuls of poo particles and bovine rectal gas. Cough. And I worry about exhaust fumes?!

At least I didn't scare the living shite out of anybody on the towpath today. There's usually somebody walking their dog, completely oblivious to the silent cyclist racing up behind them (me). Until I swish past them that is, through the long grass, making them and their yellow-bellied mutts jump a mile. The time I do feel bad is when I get to a particularly remote spot and I can see a woman up ahead on her own who suddenly realises that she's about 2 miles in either direction away from civilization and there's this bloke racing toward her. I want to shout out (to paraphrase Michael Winner in that insurance advert), "Don't worry my dear, I'm not a rapist! I am actually a very good person". I'll usually take a massive detour through a cornfield or such like to re-assure her and end up looking like Worzel Gummidge by the time I get to work. Just in time for a cup o' tea and a slice o' cake.

Saw these chubby Caucasians on RI:SE this morning. Wicked. Where can I buy one? Ian Lee said he saw one of those washed up on a beach in Chile the other week. Funny man.

I'm starting to know what it fels like when girls complain that some men talk to their bosoms rather than their faces. I've got a number of impossibly cool t-shirts from Maharishi and nearly everyone I talk to stares at my chest when I'm wearing one of them. I feel so violated.

This morning I was absolutely gobsmacked to read:

"The US defence secretary, Donald Rumsfeld, said yesterday that the US had not gone to war against Iraq because of fresh evidence of weapons of mass destruction but because Washington saw old evidence "in a dramatic new light" after September 11."

I feel completely HAD. So, what the US is saying is that the intelligence data they had from 2001 (two bloody years ago) suddenly looked more threatening post 911 (HOW exactly?!), that they felt they just had to act even though they might endure strong global criticism and terrorist retaliation and so sent their children to Iraq, SOLELY, with the moralistic motives of liberation and world peace. And what pisses me off even more is that, despite me wanting to believe Tony Blair, I'm now starting to realise that the whole war may have been for entirely the wrong reasons. I feel really duped, even though I was defending it nearly every day, saying that the Iraq people will be so much better off with Saddam gone. Which they are of course, but why choose Iraq? There are so many other countries that could use the military intervention (by the UN, not US) to remove their murderous leaders. But then they don't have trillion dollar oil wells for the plundering do they? I feel really dumb, like the people used in the observation experiments on telly the other night. They were asked to count the number of times a group of basketball players (politicians?) passed a ball (the issue?) between themselves. Halfway through the activity a man in a monkey suit (Dubya?) wandered into view. No-one saw him, or what he was doing, because they were so distracted.

I'm teaching Toby to hum in tune to the vacuum cleaner when Seal does the hoovering. If you change the pitch/frequency slightly from the hoover, you get this sort of trilling/warbling sound (harmonic?), which is annoying. Clever though. Today, I are been mostly listening to Futureshock, LTJ Bukem, Beta Band and Gus Gus.

Hey, there's a lady in the office next door that looks EXACTLY like Crystal Tips, from Crystal Tips and Alastair. How can I find out if her husband is called Alastair? Also, where can I e-mail the Latin American banana plantation owners as I have a suggestion. You know the Japanese grow those square melons? Well how about fashioning a wooden glove that you could grow hands of bananas through, but in a way that curled all the "fingers" except the middle one that would grow straight - effectively "flipping the bird" to all the transnationals that are turning the workers into slaves. I'd buy them!!

When I finish eating my lunch in the canteen, I throw my serviette over the plate (and whatever remaining food there is), like a kind of shroud. I worry also that the people working there might see what I've left, which could potentially be awkward. Food is generally left because it's is either raw, 90% gristle or both. I have found no easy way of bringing this up in conversation, without it sounding really bad.

Contrast this with my wifes cooking which nearly always, "tastes like food you get in a restaurant!". It is so good that even the detailed news report on BBC1 of the separation of Siamese twins joined at the head for 20 years couldn't put me off the fish pie I was eating.

Would this seem at all strange to you?

I was reading Oscar Wilde on the bus this morning (The Portait of Mr W.H) which mentioned briefly the Praetorians. I recalled hearing this word before and so when I got to work I stuck on the latest Nas cd - God's Son, typed Praetorian into Google and followed a link from there to comites, which I looked up on Britannica.com. This lead me to three subject headings, of which the Vandals one looked interesting. This led me on to Roman North Africa and a quick urge to look up the origins of the Vandals, which led me to the Newadvent.org website (which I'll read through if I get 4 more brains and live to be 250!). In the following description on that page you'll see Arianism mentioned. Reading through this entry the mention of Logos rang a bell (I had read that earlier in the Oscar Wilde pages), but more interesting was that above that read, "Son of God". I was listening to the God's Son CD, which just at that moment had Nas rapping about Timbuktu in Africa and how the Romans came there to learn. Yo yo yo! Full circle co-incidence in da freakin' house ya muddy funsta!!

Just what sort of a person are you anyway? If you see someone you recognise, but don't know really well, do you stare straight ahead and resist the temptation to actually acknowledge them? Even though in your peripheral vision you can see from the way they're standing that they are looking right at you. Or do you stroll right up to them, confidently bark hello and then engage them in the awkward, pointless and shallow conversation that they had been earnestly trying to avoid? If you're either of these type of people...change. Have an awareness that not everybody feels comfortable with idle chit chat, or sees the need for it at all. Be also aware that by simply saying hello, how are you, you are spreading a little good feeling through society. And it's free.

Started reading Oscar Wilde's short stories book. He's very cynical isn't he?

To the tune of Ska8er Boi

Sailor Boi

He was a boy
She was a girl
Can I make it any more obvious
She was a punk
He did ballet
What more can I say
She wanted him
He'd never tell
That secretly he wanted her friend Will
But all of her friends
Stuck up their nose
They had a problem with his skintight clothes

Chorus
He was a sailor boy
She said see ya later boy
He wasn't straight enough for her
She had a pretty face
He wanted a hairy face
She needed to come back down to Earth

Five years from now
She sits at home
Feeding the baby, she's all alone
She turns on TV
Guess who she sees
Sailor boy, campin' up Gay TV
She calls up her friends
They already know
They're going to Graham Norton's show
She tags along
And stands in the crowd
Looks up at the man she couldn't turn round

He was a sailor boy
She said see ya later boy
He wasn't straight enough for her
Now he's a superstar
Rimming his manager
Does your pretty face see what he's worth

Looking forward to listening to James Lavelle trying to explain his way out of his new UNKLE album on the Breezeblock show later today (Radio1 reeeeeeeewind).

This just in! Computers are still shit! I'm certain that there is a campaign by ISP's to degrade their dial up service so much and so often that you end up buying the more expensive broadband connection. Same principle behind the marketing of the CD. Make your tapes and vinyl such poor quality that people flock in droves to buy CDs. That's just slanderous supposition by the way. I'm full of it.

Work was rubbish. Forgot my network password again and had to endure the geek guffaw chorus as I rang up Network Services to get it reset. "Ha ha, here, didn't you forget your password last week as well?". "Yeah, and you're still an awkward, overweight gimp, so no change there either".

Just wondering where the guy on the TV got his Tony the Tiger Hawaiian shirt from - sharp threads fellah.

Started on my childrens book today. Just having trouble working out which age group it will be aimed at. I know that publishers look for a target audience and also that the content is then relevant and intellectually stimulating. I'll maybe do it so that it is suitable for a wide age group. And I've had some good ideas about how it will look with some physical interaction as well. Can't speak about it obviously - careless talk costs lives an' all that.

Best image of today - pictures from the bloke that built a Millenium Falcon in his mates garden. You know, the Millenium Falcon? The ship that made the Kessel run in 12 parsecs?

Lastly, before I forget. Whenever you drive past a group of caravans parked in your local car park, or area of common land and the good folk there have got a nice scattering of gas bottles, old bikes, fridges and piles of garden waste, give them a good sounding on your horn by way of appreciation. I mean it's like free conceptual art in a wholly unintended kind of a way and I think they deserve our support, whether it be 12.00 at night or 5.30 in the morning, don't shirk your responsibility to show your support. The longer the toot, the bigger the praise I always think. By all means make a donation as well. A couple of £1 coins tossed from the moving vehicle will be a welcome reward for these roving artists as they step out into the morning mist.

Night, night.

Computers are fun darko shit. This is the second time I've had to write this as the battery just went flat on this shit laptop after about 15 minutes!!

Woke up this morning with Toby at 5.00am. Tried to give him his milk whilst his hair tickled my nose. It's feathery fine and looks like an orange firework explosion. After he has his milk it goes straight to his legs - run run fast as you can, can't catch Toby he's the GingerHead Man.

Cycled out to the car boot at 7.30, which was shite. The only highlight being the diddies in their fake Burberry caps talking to each other in turbo-Irish (How mooch is dis cee-dee den?). One of the many depressing features of a car boot (as well as people buying secondhand socks, breast pumps and 1980's posters made up of a pair of red lips, a Porsche and a triangular cocktail glass) is the soundtrack. Generally it's Brainwash (Fox) FM, but also there are the CDs that people are trying to flog. Country, Wurlitzer, soft rock and sometimes all three rolled into one. I was struck today by The Carpenters fragile and sorrowful music drifting out over the manure. Carpenters - Car Punters.

Got some wicked boxing gloves from the Bicester car boot though. I had a cider lolly, we went to Stowe and I went inside a folly. Got in the way of some amateur painters and was wolf whistled by some gay workmen who shouted out, "Oi mate, nice arse".

Isn't Alan Titchmarsh shite as well? Creeping insidious banality - and that's not the name of one of the plants. I'll know when I'm getting old and beige the day I say, "He's alright really" and I start humming that chirpy, colliery band theme tune. Just like the octogenarians on tonight's show - they love him. Him and his bloody pantomime gardening with Dimmock's Charlies and Charlie "Braces and jogging bottoms" Builder Bloke having their little "spontaneous" tiffs about laying a frigging patio. It's like horticultural wrestling. Ooh, will they make up, will they get it finished in time, will it ever stop raining? I don't know about you, but I was trembling behind a cushion with excitement. Mind you, these oldies tonight were from an era when eating tinned peaches and not getting burned alive in your Anderson shelter was considered a good night out.

If you ever meet Toby and he's still a toddler, whisper a load of gobbledygook to him and he'll whisper back. As well as trying to scratch your eye, stand on your feet AND touch your records, despite being told not to 100 times.

Too tired to strain my peepers on this old CRT. Got up with the Tibbler at 5.00, cheers, gave him some moloko and he gurgled back to sleep til 6.00. Messed around playing hide and seek until Seal got up and shared my Cheerios with him for breakfast. Went to the Oxford record fair (1st Saturday of each month) and bought loads of stuff. CDs by: Gus Gus, LTJ Bukem, Nas, Futureshock, Aphex Twin, Lexoleum, Beta Band, Bergheim34, Morcheeba, Tommy Guerro, Hybrid, Autechre, Gorillaz, Tricky, De La Soul, Laurent Garnier, DJ Shadow and a load of 12"s and other stuff, DVDs etc. Would highly recommend going. Came back and we went down to the park to give the idiot a run around. I can kick a ball quite high. Toby proceeds to take the ball off me and dribble it fairly successfully. Sarah reminded me that he is only one and that most kids aren't even walking yet. If he becomes a footballer, will I have to get some tattoos and a Burberry cap? Oh no. Anyway, whilst we were playing amongst ourselves, some mouth-breather kid comes over and tries to join in our fun cos his mum looks about 50. He manages to touch his chin with his tongue whilst looking like an escaped mentalist retard. Toby comes running back as though he's just seen a T-Rex, with learning difficulties. It takes a while before we get back to the old routine, then we decide to walk into town. We walk past a teenage boy and girl drinking Lambrusco on a bench (just as the Italians intended I'm sure). The boy belches loudly and I wish I wasn't wearing Toby in a backpack in case I have to rescue us all from a cloud of vinegary sweetness. We go to town, buy some food and nappies and I kick a boy on a bike because he didn't get out of my way. Hard aren't I? Then spent nearly 3 hours unsuccessfully trying to get my Dad's PC to work. Now I'm listening to music and reading the paper. Night night everyone.

The UNKLE album is shit! Why have I been let down again!! I was working in a record store when the first one came out and because we were a Chain With No Name style shop, we had the chance to be a preview store. That's where the record company coughs up a load of money for beer, crisps and dips, you stay late in the shop one night and the company rep turns up with a promo/advance CD of the album and we play it to all the freeloaders that always turn up to these things. Except I told him that the album (Psyence Fiction) was shit. Record companies don't really like it when you say their albums are shit. Especially if they're trying to hype them up. I tried to backtrack a bit and say that, just because I didn't like it, didn't mean that we couldn't hold the preview and get loads of preorders. No can do. So anyway, it came out and we sold bugger all of it. I bought it on the limited LP for the Celestial Annihilation track, which sounds like it samples Change by Tears For Fears, but virtually never listen to it.

Then I bought it on CD from eBay last month and decided to give it another listen. Nope, still shit. And now the new one as well. James' DJ sets are awesome and yet this turgid nonsense is what he tries to sell people under the mighty UNKLE moniker. A tragedy. Check me out though for being a mug - I spent over 125 quid on the UNKLE Survival Kit promo pack for Psyence Fiction (yes, the album I think is shit). It is wicked though, Futura designs, stickers, 5" record, pop-up 12" record, clear CD oooooh. And it sits in my loft, cos I'm too scared it might get damaged.

I might start a tribute band called AUNTIE and get Rolf Harris to do all the designs. I might.

I just spent most of the night downloading the latest UNKLE album from Kazaa and I can't wait to get home and have a listen. I'm going to buy the CD and LP anyway, so I don't feel bad for James and Andy. Need to have a look for that Big Brother Is Watching CD as well. I bloody love them. Probably love the image and style/art as much as the music. Although they are both complimentary to each other.

Random top ten: Comedians


1. Ricky Gervais
2. Jimmy Carr
3. Avid Merrion
4. Simon Pegg
5. Steve Coogan
6. Dan Atapolski
7. My wife - Sarah
8. Harry Hill
9. Ben Stiller
10. Frankie Howard

I would love it if they released all the reports Ricky Gervais used to do for the 11 O'clock Show - he just used to rip into Ian Lee and be outrageously rude about everyone else. Swear words an' everyfink. Very funny. Also, check Jimmy Carrs website and the corporate videos - the dyslexic e-mail is the funniest, "Fcuking btich". Bo Selecta' at the moment is having me and my wife in hysterics, primarily the Trisha impersonation, "Feelin' irie, rice an' peas, remember the baby is de most important ting".

Musical interlude ~ Doves - Words ~ from the Last Broadcast album. The first time I ever really wished I had gone to Glastonbury was just last week when I heard them play. And they used to be Sub Sub?! Ain't No Love (Ain't No Use)!

OK, I'll set my self a deadline of this time next week to have at least thought of a stencil design of earth shattering importance and political significance and social poignancy. I'm thinking of a hypocrisy theme. Maybe I'll wait til the coffee kicks in before I come up with any suggestions.

Didn't realise it was Wednesday! Oh well, at least this blog is good for something. Am I being cruel to suggest that people who need constant company and are unable to do the simplest things on their own, are a little less, er, complicated than those who can? Such as going to the cinema. How many of you go to the cinema on your own? Trick question I know as there are always other people in the cinema, but seeing as you're going to be sitting in silence (hopefully) for the next two hours, why should it matter whether the person next to you knows you?

Musical interlude ~ Red Hot Chili Peppers - Dosed ~ from the By The Way album. That's 'album', not LP, because that would denote a Long Player, which is traditionally vinyl and misleading to pedants such as myself who require perfection when being relayed information.

Anyway, got the Word of the Day from Dictionary.com couple of days ago and the word was, "dapple". Reminded me that in Way of the Samurai by Yamamoto Tsunetomo (the book read by Forest Whitaker in Ghost Dog) he suggests that the best way to stop bleeding caused by falling from a horse, is to drink a decoction of the faeces of a dappled horse. Really? Sounds like horse shit to me. Ahem..ha...erm..ha..

My manager looks like a Goblin. And not even an attractive Goblin.

Sold my BAPE t-shirt straight away. Damn. Probably could have got more for it. He obviously didn't read this blog (is there anyone left?) and how I dissed the tee.

Remember this from the playground, arms around each other, stomping around, chanting - "Join on war. No girls allowed". Could this have been an prescient effort from my childhood to avert the culture damaging creation of Girls Aloud? Probably not, I think they're alright actually. And their guitarist used to be in Spiritualized! You may as well convert - resistance is futile, you will be assimilated etc etc

And how about this one - "Row, row, row the boat gently down the Thames, quickly down the straight bits, slowly round the bends". No? That's cos I made it up. But you can use it in your next conversation to an infant: they might like you for it.

Why on earth is there a gap at the bottom of the partition in toilet cubicles? As far as I can see there are no positive benefits apart from being able to pass your fellow squatter some paper should they run out. The negefits are many. Noise can travel under this partition. Smell can travel under this partition. Small animals can travel under this partition. If, as there is in my place of work, the floor has shiny tiles, you can see the reflection of your fellow squatter under the partition; head in hands, fingers in hair, eyes screwed shut...you get the picture. What I always find amusing is the silence....drip.......drip....... that is only broken by the hand drier going. This is the 10 second window of opportunity when you can safely apply maximum pressure to clear any stubborn blockages and get the hell out before some couldn't-give-a-monkeys sales exec comes swaggering in and ejects everything that has been building up in the high pressure 2 hour meeting he's just been in - pebble dashing the porcelain and making a noise like the Hulk farting through a traffic cone. Yes, I did make up the word negefit, but feel free to use it in your next conversation.

I read an article on Hillary Clinton last night whilst watching Angel, which will explain why I had a dream about a female vampire/Casper lookalike that had me trapped in a dungeon and kept trying to placate me then bite me. I tried to distract her by showing her the snowy Lowry landscape outside the only window in the room. Needless to say, she wasn't interested and ripped my throat out. Not an art lover I assume.