What follows has not been sanctionned by any public board of advisors nor has it been piloted on a gaggle of small grannies and so I'm afraid the logic and flow may be wanting.

Do myspace myfriends comfort you in your hour of need, do they come to your funeral uninvited, do you share you last rolo with them and a coke at the weekend. What kind of a party is faceparty or bloggerparty and is there jelly and ice-cream. Can a blog be read in the bog and are vlogs recorded by Captains on ships? Do mobile phones eat blackberries and are plans necessary because we have a concept of time and raspberry o'clock is just not definite enough for western white collared professionals.

How many A4 sheets exactly can one tree make and if trees evolved into paper, why are there still some trees left? Is the reality of reality tv supposed to be my reality and if so where are my cameras and are they getting my best side and most importantly, do they have legs? On the street where George Orwell lived, in London, they counted eight CCTV [Crime catching TV] cameras. 1948, 1984, 2007, 2021. Is this the nuclear fall out count down? I better start buying bulk beans and guns, lots of guns.

By 2021 they say Cambridge will need an extra 82,000 houses, where will the people to fill these house come from. Are we expecting green alien creatures with two heads? In a little known place called March, Cambridge the Libyan community tried to change the name of March to kschhhhh which would have complicated the calendar and well, spitting in the streets is still illegal, so the yocals were up in arms and stretched their collective long hairy appendage of their law over to Africa and surreptitiously stole some mangos. Can I be a human host to multiculturalism and declare my left side Russian and my right side Indian?

The sea gypsys live in a boat. Whole families on one boat. All their lives. Eating, shitting and creating babies on one boat. They aren't recognised by any country or government. Is that freedom? Plobaly not, no taxes from countries but they'd be rules and expectations, no doubt. No pissing in the boat sink and all that. But like a bird on a wire, like a drunk in a midnight choir, like an ant in a tree and sheep who doesn't watch tv, I have tried in my way to be free.

The media is full to brim of young things being zany, huh. Oh how zany they are with zeal and zane and zest! Media clones of the same sizes and guises. 

Zany says; "I took three pills last night and man was it shit hot, we stole a traffic cone and mick was sick on my head. "

Zaniness receptacle: "How positively exhilarating! " and falls asleep standing with legs crossed.

I found a finger in my big mac the other day. And I stormed back into the maccie ds and pointed that severed finger right at the snotty little maccie ds kid and said some words of a harsh nature. They gave me some mcdonalds vouchers. Don't you love a story with a happy ending.

I told my cat he may not go out because it is raining cats and dogs. He informs me if it raining cats he will be just fine, it is only those dogs he would be wary of. I told my dog she cannot go out as it is raining cats and dogs, she informed me I should stop being so silly and let her run free. And to call her back again when it starts raining humans.

Rich people are frightening. I've worked it out. I read of this one millionaire guy who installed torture implements into his mansion-like house; complete with marble floors and torture maze, booby traps that hack at you and axes that fall from unexpected places. Now he installed this not as an elaborate security measure to protect his wealth and his life but with cameras so he may voyeuristically indulge in the hunting and torturing of humans. This strikes me as possibly the most disturbed thing I've ever heard. When many of us in the world can't even afford a flushable toilet and a fitted kitchen, it's no wonder the rich are scary. The power of money should never be underestimated and the importance of a flushable loo is also paramount. I also read about this 15^th century celtic monk who lived on his namesake island of Maree in the highlands. It was believed he could heal the sick and insane and they all travelled and crawled miles to see him. To swim in the Loch of Maree. So I look at the island of Maree and note it is very small in size and wonder if there was enough room between him and his excrement. That is all that matters in some ways, is there enough room between me and my crap and no miracles can solve that practical necessity. I dipped my small finger in the loch of Maree hoping to achieve a minor but not life shattering miracle. 

I took a cold shower involuntarily and for no sexual or financial reasons. It simply turned out that way and let me tell you before we get into details, I hate when the shower turns cold for no discernible reason, and it did and in the past I've been known to throw a tantrum and just plain out refuse to shower as a consequence but I didn't. I grimaced and had that fucking shower and spit on the shower when I had finished just to show it that we could both play at that game and to reaffirm to the shower that I won the battle. The moral: I'm becoming superhuman.

How many people do you think died today? A couple of thousand, more, hundreds of thousands? I wonder who died the most painfully and I wonder if anyone died by being catapulted into space. I didn't die today. That's quite something, huh. It is entirely possible that right now in all our neighbourhoods across the globe there are frightened pockets of people and individuals all experiencing their very own life shattering crisis. I can only say I'm glad today is not my day. My friend's dad died when she was 24 and she was left to deal with all the official papers and suchs. She noted to me that her father became someone elses the second he was gone. Which is odd.

That's all.