December 31, 2004

I'm Sure That I Could Be A Movie Star

Auspicious night, tonight, this "new years eve"? No, probably not. Drunken, though.

NOSTALGIA

This day, six years ago, I went for a haircut and put on my best little black number in order to snare the attractive young man whom I knew to be attending the same party as me. Today, he is sitting in his pyjamas in my house not ten feet away from me, my ring upon his finger, probably plotting another way to make me happy. Sweet.

I WIN.

K just shouted: "WHAT'S THIS? IT'S KEVIN, HAVING A SHOWER, WHERE KEVIN WILL PLAY THE STARRING ROLE!" (grabs a towel and addresses it) "YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED TO PARTICPATE IN THE KEVIN SHOWER!" (runs into the bathroom)

...Well, world, why have I neglected you? Blame Sligo. My parents' computer was so riddled with exciting and clever viruses (virii?) that a simple journal entry became as complicated and hapless as a Crystal Maze challenge. As you may or may not be aware, I'm not into doing things that are difficult. Effort is so 1930s America.

ACCIDENT

The car had an accident. It shat itself. No. It hit a curb in the rain, mashing the wheel. That was bad. It happened while K was collecting some friends for a session at our place. They had to get out and walk. K wasn't in the mood for doing his De Valera impression or reading us a Dylan Thomas poem then. Several beers and help from a friend's father later, he was back on form, and even read us his favourite Martin Luther King speech. Nomi donned some kind of scarf thing around her head and recited for us very amusing half-Irish/half-English poetry about innocent young men named Michael who had never sinned, if you know what I mean. We sang a lot of songs from every genre and Adrian treated us to some rich and delicious "special brownies" and his very own fabulous Beatnik poems, which we faithfully applauded -- *click click click*. Andy, our in house genius guitarist, kept singing songs about testicles (mortifying Ange's father who came to help us with the wheel) so I felt it might be appropriate the recite the following poem for him, by one of my favourite poets, Rita Ann Higgins.

NO BALLS AT ALL

The cats in Castle Park
are shameless,
they talk dirty all night long;
but not our Fluffy.

but sadly for the de-railed alley-cat
there is no second coming;
we came to accept it, and so did our Fluffy.

Good old Rita Ann.

Car mashing aside, a successful night. We have decided to make our story-telling/poetry/singing nights a semi-regular occurrence but I am worried about location: my livingroom heaves with tired fullness when there are twenty of us in there. Note: must purchase larger house.

PRESENTS

I have more Burberry scent (thanks Daddy) than you could wave a beige tartan scarf or bag at. Actually this was one of the best gift years ever. I am officially a spoilt brat.

NEW YEARS EVE CELEBRATIONS

There are many. First stop, Anonymous's house, for he departs for the large usually green crunchy fruit tomorrow, New York. Second, off to our pastor's house, for several hours of old-fogey partying (which I confess, I am very much looking forward to), followed by a sprint in our newly-repaired car to Clontarf to the house of De, for youthful debauchery and the much-awaited countdown.

TRIBUTES

I dedicate this entry, and hell, the whole site, to my darling childhood (and adulthood) best friend, Lydia, who turned twenty two yesterday. I love you girl. Allow to me salute you with verse:

La la la la, Lydia
Nothing rhymes with that
La la la la, Lydia
You have never owned a cat

La la la la, Lydia
Your sister-in-law is pregnant
La la la la, Lydia
You'll make a sassy Aunt

That will have to do, as I need to get some breakfast before my stomach reaches up and boxes me in the oesaphagus. Happy new year, scumbags.

neuro-praxis -- looking for a lunatic

December 21, 2004

neuro is IN TROUBLE. Also, POLITICAL.

I was a bold girl, it would seem! Some emails I have received:

Dear neuro

[Name withheld]

...and...

As someone with high moral standards (I am the treasurer of two churches in west Dublin) I am disgusted by the photographs of your husband. I am quite sure that I know you and will be informing your church leadership of your disgusting behaviour.

K.T.

Uh oh! And...

I don't know your real name, sorry, to Neuro Praxis,

T.G.

No, he's not. : ( And...

Dear neuropraxis

[Name withheld]

You're all so ready to comment on your disgust but let me tell you this: when K was at those memorial "statues", he was weeping. What you see in that photograph is clearly an expression of distress. I already stated that he had to drink whisky in order to calm down, which is very unusual for him.

Frankly, I am quite hurt by the fact that you feel you can mock him (and by proxy, me) for our compassion.

I have had enough of this. I'm off to the memorials of the Bhopal disaster and the Bam earthquake and then the Srebrenica Massacre.

Oh wait...they don't exist!

December 19, 2004

A Bite

The kids at my church (who did a splendiferous Nativity play this morning) made us some paper decorations for our tree because we couldn't find our baubles, so I took a picture of the decorations so that I could prove that I used them and wasn't just lying. I actually found my baubles then, but sure, it's a big tree, it can take it. HERE GUYS! (Although I don't want you to be reading this, it will soil your pure little minds. And your parents shouldn't be letting you roam round the wasteland of the internet unsupervised.)

After church, K and I went on a wee adventure to Donadea Forest Park today, and what a wizzo adventure it was!

We were delighted to stumble upon the pet cemetary.

Poor Penny. At least she had no soul.

After kneeling at the graves of the dead animals to have our ham sandwiches, we followed the lake trail until we reached the 9/11 memorial.

K was a bit upset but he drank a lot of whiskey before driving us home. When we arrived home, there were two large sacks of books from Inter-Varsity Press waiting for us and K promptly turned into a book goblin.

I know that it's blurry, but hey, the bastard was jumping around a lot. He gets excited about books. We have, I'd estimate, about a thousand books between us. There's a stack of about forty that have yet to be read (although because of today's delivery, that will increase somewhat). Yes I know, it's a problem.

I saw this last night with friends STIGMUND and A to the N to the D to the Y, and it was a feast for the senses. Watch it.

I am far too happy to be on the internet right now, so I'm off to locate my goblin.

Your Correspondent-- not a Journaller but a Blogger, and NOT WILLING TO CHANGE.

December 17, 2004

In Many Ways, My J.M. Coetzee Thesis is a BASTARD FISHY.

I am all about the symbolism right now, oh yes I am. I handed in my thesis. I prefer to say it in the words of Joel Vietch:

I love to eat a fishy
It's a little bit of class
Eat a little fishy
Shit the bastard out me ass!

NEUROMATHS

Oh yes I handed that bastard in. I did not sleep (sleep is for soft-headed types and I have a noggin full of concrete, yes CONCRETE, for which I could win a prestigious award, bitch) but I did hand in that large flutherbucker with a dramatic flourish. As I was scribbling my details onto an essay cover sheet, the anticipation of posting it in the letterbox got the better of my friend Karen who tried to mount me, but that's a story for another day. It also may be true that I could have been heard to cheer loudly in the department corridor at that very moment. I was not alone: there were at least fifteen of us crammed into one small space, leaping over frantic bodies in an effort to get to the stapler, which, incidentally, was MINE and FULL OF STAPLES, thank God.

Due to intense concentration my finely stapled and firmly rejected fish essay, I have not washed in a long time. In the same way that my brain has blocked out the disturbing scenes of The Passion of the Christ, I seem to have forgotten how to wash myself: the tangled hair thing is a particular stumbling block.

So now I go: there are PARTIES AHOY. Yes there are. (But not them dirty ones.)

December 15, 2004

Summary, Analysis or Argument?

My husband's aunt insisted the other night that German people have two stomachs, and no: she wasn't speaking figuratively. She has an obese German friend who has the appetite of twelve horses and who has informed her that she's got two stomachs and well, Bon is pretty sure it's true, having seen how much Alfreda can pack away.

I wish I had two stomachs - think of the possibilities!

As the year is coming to a close, I shall fill out one of those "year appraisal thingies" for your perusal. As I have no originality of my own, somebody else's will have to suffice.

1. What did you do in 2004 that you'd never done before?
Got married. Went to Africa. Won an Olympic Gold Medal. Ate meat.

2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
New Years Resolution's are for the weak in the head. I made none. And that's the way I want to keep it, beatch.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Yes, I now have two nephews and a family of attic mice.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
I didn't do it.

5. What countries did you visit?
Africa, England and France. And chocolate.

6. What would you like to have in 2005 that you lacked in 2004?
A double first class honours degree in Philosophy and English literature and a dog, whom I will name Baby Jesus.

7. What date from 2004 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
September 24th, my wedding day, because I got to ride around in a really cool car for fifteen minutes.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I stole a really nice watch from a Jeweller's on Talbot Street and got away with it for almost four days.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Crashing that jeep through the side of the house, oops.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I took a wee trip down the stairs and the odd beating from K. HA HA HA (help me)

11. What was the best thing you bought?
A little Asian boy.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
My church family's. The little Asian boy's.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
YOURS.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Damn wedding!

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
I got this book of free coupons for HMV!!!!

16. What song will always remind you of 2004?
Nobody Does It Better - Carly Simon.
The Dog Song - Nelly McKay

17. Compared to this time last year, are you: happier or sadder?
Strap me to a torpedo cos I'm happy as a filthy monkey on E.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Puking my ring up.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Looking for staples.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
Christmas isn't currency, stupid.

With my husband and my brother and my mammy and my daddy.

21. How will you be spending New Years?
At a CHURCH PARTY where we will drink orange pop and play WHO WANTS TO BE A MILLIONAIRE and not touch in case we give each other AIDS.

22. Did you fall in love in 2004?
Hey baby, I've been loved up for six years now.

23. How many one-night stands?
At least 25. They call me the "tart" round these parts.

24. What was your favorite TV program?
Television is from the devil. If I had to choose, it would be that one cartoon show where the superhero went round bunking paedos off, deadly.

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
Ah shut up. No.

26. What was the best book you read?
Gosh darn it, I read a whole damn lot. Possibly "Candida Albicans" by Leon Chaitow - wow. Touching, inspirational, yeasty.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Nellie McKay. I am in love with her. Plus guests.

28. What did you want and got?
I bagged me a rich one! And a car. And herpes.

30. What was your favorite film of this year?
The Station Agent probberly?Also Fisting Firemen Nine (I haven't yet seen one through eight).

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
Sniff. Nothing much. Just visited Nelson Mandela's cell on Robyn Island. Sniff. And had a brie with schnook fish and champagne fresh from the vineyard...

32. What one thing that would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
My own cow for uber-fresh dairy goodness in the mornings.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2004?
BLING! Lots and lots of gold and jewels and PVC.

34. What kept you sane?
THE LORD HIMSELF. Also my therapist. Also my Buttercup doll; she listens to me.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Oooh. Particularly? Hrm. Oooh. You're throwing out the tough questions here. Hrm. Oooh. Jake Gillenhall? Nelly McKay? Eminem? Santa?

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
The whole electronic voting hulabaloo, but then, I was living with Captain Democracy.

37. Who did you miss?
The cast of Dawson's Creek. Bye bye, my friends, bye bye. /me waves sadly

38. Who was the best new person you met?
Lordy, I sure meeted a lot of new people. Some favourites of the new ones: Deborah, Deirdre, Aisling, Ger, Jason, Marianne K, Ciarán, Andrew, Mariana, Sorcha, Clare, Esther, Silke...

These people mean nothing to you. NOTHING TO YOU I SAY. Like how I name-dropped there?

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2004.
Why don't YOU tell me one?

Um.

I have learned to stop saying, "When X happens, THEN I will be happy". I am living my life. I am grabbing it by the proverbial goulies, jiggling them about, and enjoying everything as much as possible. Life is all about relationships, really, innit?

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

No guilt in life,
No fear in death;
This is the power of Christ in me.

PRAY...FOR...MOJO

If I was a SMALL HELPER MONKEY (called Mojo), that is what I would ask you to do. Why? because I am having writer's block. It is frightening. My thesis is due on Friday and there ain't really nothing doing.

Instead, I have been amusing myself with my new camera. It is very beautiful, and has ten times optical zoom. I have been taping myself walking around the house and photgraphing the milk spillages on the table.

I am a ball of edgy stress. I tell my woes to anyone who will listen. I am a tiresome hindrance, and possibly a minor MENACE TO SOCIETY. I am also what is technically known as "a bore" and I believe I may have forgotten how to swim as several fruitless days have passed without me getting into the pool.

TIME FOR A LUNCH ANECDOTE HA HA HA

I had lunch with Ciarán the other day and fancied a bit of the "vegetarian option". It was described by the dinner ladies in the canteen as "honey roasted vegetables on a bed of cous-cous". It was in fact a large, cheap plate of slop drowning in "honey sauce" which was entirely inedible. One bite and I retched: no joke. While contemplating what tone of voice I would take whilst complaining about the "food", Ciarán suggested that I mould my food into the shape of a swastika with clever fork action and then bring it back and say, "This is a very offensive meal to my people and therefore I cannot eat it". I thought it was very funny (in fact the tears poured down my face as I stood bent double, sort of screaming and coughing out our little joke) but the dinner ladies did not. LOOK I CAN'T HELP IT IF I GOT A FREE EDUCATION. My father hasn't been in full time employment for eleven years, you know. I ain't got no Newbridge cutlery up my bottom! No siree! (Although I may have a hammer.)

Well.

Shelley's boyfriend on Coronation Street is certainly turning out to be one nasty bugger, eh?

December 09, 2004

Possibility Is Insufficient For Actuality

Well it's Thursday morning and we all know what that means: nothing of any real significance.

I have a weekend approaching of carol services. : ( I'm just not feeling Christmassy right now. How can I, with all these dirty deadlines looming for large pieces of college work? THIS IS NOT GOOD.

I was happily listening to one of my favourite songs just there, The Wrong Bananas (all about a poor baby orangutang who made a mistake), which you can listen to here, when housemate M DEMANDED WITH RAGE that I turn it off as "she can't concentrate". So she's trying to write a lecture, big deal. How could you be put off by this?

I bought the wrong bananas when I went off to the shop
I thought they were bananas but the man told me they're not
I was so shocked when he said that I just said "that's ok"
He looked at me like a baboon and I paid and went away

I bought the wrong bananas!
(I bought, I bought, I bought the wrong bananas!)
I bought the wrong bananas!

Now I have to "get dressed and go to college" because my husband and housemates say so. Bastards. With their jobs and their money and their great big lustrous heads of hair. I'll show them.

December 07, 2004

It Is A Time For Success

Last night, I made one of the greatest mix tapes of all time. To psyche myself up, I watched High Fidelity and ate chalk or something. The tape is for my sister-in-law, who travels from Dublin to Limerick every Sunday night and back again on Fridays. I named the compilation, rather imaginatively, "N_____'s Dublin to Limerick Tape". Boy, it's a good one. Honed to her exact personal tastes. She's my "Kristkindle" in my husband's family. That might well be spelt wrong, but I can't google right now to check the correct spelling as housemate C is playing CounterStrike and I'd cause his game to lag, ha ha. I also bought N some rather fabulous clothes but was worried that it didn't look like much of a gift, so I compensated with "the personal touch". Thankfully the personal touch is good for a deficit of at least ten euros in any given gift. Take note.

More winning:

Remember that TS Eliot essay I bitched significantly about in previous entries? I waited in line to get my paper back and get my criticism from the tutor today, sweating like begorrah in fear of the result. Thoughts of "God, I hope I pass" were racing through my skull. This is worth eight per cent of my degree. I veritably danced and broke into a celebratory rap when she told me I'd gotten an A. An A! In Honours English! It's almost as though I robbed an essay from a person who can write and submitted it as my own work. Cough.

No, I didn't. I must clear my name as well as my throat. I worked my hiney off on that bugger. Ooh the puns and innuendo are rife!

Speaking of innudendo, tonight, the Rev. Dr. Trevor Morrow (a legend of a man) is giving a talk in the Maynooth Christian Union entitled "The Four Step Guide to Sexual Ecstasy". I should probably be there, and in a lazy way I wish I was, but there is just so much to DO. Which is clearly why I am writing this journal entry.

I have a craving for chocolate that is reaching painful levels. Am I pregnant? I hope not. I spent yesterday at Blanchardstown hospital having my back checked out after that nasty tumble down the stairs (guh, I falled over) and my chat with the doctor went like this.

Doc: Ok, you look ok, but I think I'll send you down for an x-ray.
Me: Grand.
Doc: Are you pregnant?
Me: Nope.
Doc: Any chance you could be pregnant?
Me: There is always a chance I suppose, but I sincerely doubt it.
Doc: Hrm, those x-rays give the old ovaries a good frying. Are you trying for a babby?
Me: Ha, no.
Doc: Ah why not?
Me: Give me ten years.
Doc: Ah, babbies are great!
Me: Mmm, fried babbies.
Doc: I think we'll skip that x-ray. You haven't broken anything. If the pain doesn't go away in the next few weeks, come back, but I think it will.
Me: Ok, grand.
Doc: Go home now and make a baby.
Me: If I do, you can keep it.

He was a great doctor, if I ever fall down the stairs again I'm heading straight back to him. It'd be worth a tumble just for the banter. Apparently I'm to keep it moving (my bruised back, that is)...swimming, walking etc., and pump myself full of painkillers. You know something about those painkillers though, they don't heal the SEARING INNER PAIN, no matter how many you take. Although I wouldn't know, I don't believe in the use of drugs, I'm into caffeine enemas to cure cancer and so on, roots and zinc and what have you. Oat bars and soya flour, that kind of thing.

I have to mash together some kind of outline for my philosophy chocolate thesis so I shall say goodnight to you, my fellow chocolates. I wish you all a chocolatey chocolate-chocolate. Good chocolate/

December 04, 2004

I AM ANGRY

I wrote me a jolly long journal entry just there and then my bastard laptop crashed. FANTASTIC. This kind of occurrence makes me want to gnaw at the wall. I have no husband to listen to me whine about it so here will have to do. Once more he is away, ag obair. Ag déanamh an AIRGEAD MóRA, o sea.

Therefore, I shall paraphrase the contents of the previous journal entry, with gritted teeth, clenched butt cheeks and a WeightWatchers chocolate eclair.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And now it has happened a second time. I had only saved as far as up there. BLOODY HELL. Deep breaths, neuro, deep breaths.

I shall try again, for the love of my readers. FOR YOU, YOU BITCH.

AS I WAS SAYING: some git informed me yesterday that in order to give my readers bang for their buck, I really should be aiming for a thousand words per entry, and only updating once a week. This is "quality" journalling, unlike the excremental brain vomit you might find here. Well, screw that! Is it really so wrong that I write remarkable unintellectual tripe, sometimes several times a day, and listen to the wrong bananas or simply the fishy song?

Is it so wrong
To long
For the fishy song?

No, it's not wrong, it's right. Right? Affirm me or I may start saying educational things here. Anyway, enough of this idle chatter and on to the important stuff:

I smell like a swimming pool. The ratio of time spent in the pool to out of it would probably be quite high at the moment. It offers relief from my incredible back pain. No amount of scrubbing seems to remove that chlorine smell. Luckily chlorine is a fetish of mine.

Speaking of fetishes, have I ever shared any of my artwork with you guys? I believe that the correct answer is "no", Bob. I have quite a passion for graphic design. Understandably so, I was commissioned today by an acquaintance known as "Ruggiebear" to create a new online signature for him. He says he's interested in computers, rugby and beer, so drawing from that, I've had a few ideas:

This is the first. I really like it; my only issue is that it might lack subtlety. Does it say too much about him? Am I leaving him right out there, naked, for the whole world to see with this one? Possibly.

This next one is more "mysterious":

This says to me - what is Ruggiebear really like? I simply must find out! The colours are striking too, and soulful. Obviously it's a little rough and and might need sharpening here and there, but you get the general idea.

Now, while I was busy with this, I received another request, to create a signature for "Blisterman". I know, a disgusting name. I was very angry that his name was "Blisterman" so I quickly pulled this together for him and sent him a nasty personal message explaining that if he wanted a nice signature he'd need a nice name:

Honestly.

Work over now, and back to my passions.

I may well be falling in love with the curly haired legend Nellie McKay. Seriously. I'd consider leaving K for her if she wanted me. I can't stop listening to her music and forcing all of my friends to listen to it too. Her wit is phenomenal. I am both intimidated by her and in awe of her. Actually that might make for a dodgy marriage. Plus I think she's straight, as am I. This whole Nellie affair just keeps getting more and more complicated.

Perhaps I should just be glad that it was K who introduced me to her. Or does that make it more confusing? Either way, I continue to look forward to K's return tomorrow. He is a very amusing man, if lacking in musical talent. Also, he drives me places, irons my shirts and keeps me warm in the sack. And it's darn cold these nights.

Speaking of curly haired legends, I once had my hair curled up like Nellie's there by a hairdresser who hadn't a blind notion what she was doing. I think she was actually a butcher filling in for her hungover hairdresser friend or summat. Well the great big joke is that she made a dogs dinner of my locks. And it was on my wedding day HA HA HA. Isn't that brilliant. Thankfully, I know how to wash and dry my hair myself (I've done it once or twice) and L had a hair straightener that did the business.

Goddamn it, is this a thousand words yet?!

Screw you guys, I'm going home.

December 02, 2004

The Day That neuro Fell Down The Stairs

It was today.

I can't remember exactly what happened. I had just woken up and was running for the phone and then it was all whoooosh bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-BANG. As soon as I hit the bottom of the stairs, the phone stopped ringing. That was the really sickening bit.

I went swimming for a couple of hours in an effort to ease the pain. That helped, but getting out of the water was a bloody punishment from hell. Even now, I sit in agony, wondering whether I have shattered some part of my spine or not. If this pain doesn't lessen in the next few days, I'll go straight to A and E for an x-ray.

It turned out later that the person on the phone was ringing from the CAR INSURANCE COMPANY. My rage at this discovery was large.

My friend CK, who is old and knows diddly squat about 'puters and techo mumbo jumbo, asked today how much he could get for his "computer" (a nine year old banger with a monitor that flickers like a cheap candle in a church grotto in Inchicore), which is more similar to a solar-powered calculator than to my laptop. Judging by state of it, I reckoned he could probably get two euros for it off of a handicapped teenager working for McD, but it probably wouldn't be ethical.

On the hot topic of pornography (which I heard today referred to as "just lovemaking made public"):

Zap: You're the only woman who ever loved me.

Leila: I never loved you.

Zap: I mean physically.

I had a very successful presentation in college today. This consoled me. Before it began I made a warning announcement that I was liable to fall over, say something stupid or possibly puke due to the concussion. To my surprise, everyone was automatically on my side from that point onwards.

Moyna (tutor) took me aside and thanked me for the "energy" I bring to the class. (Is she implying I have ADHD?) Either way, I'll be pumping myself full of drugs tonight. You know, whatever I can find hanging around the house.

Evenin, daaawlin.

K's 23rd birthday was yesterday and he got this, and this, and this, and this, and these, and many other things for which I cannot find images on the internet. We ate here, a superb little Mexican restaurant on this street. Go there and eat heartily! YUM YUM CRUNCH SLURP etc.

neuronews?

Hard to say. I've spent this evening preparing for a presentation on Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee that I'll be giving tomorrow. It's a compelling book, go read it. I'll be one of four people giving presentations on this very book, so I'm both a little nervous and anticipatory of what they will say. These Coetzee tutorials are without doubt, the highlight of my college week. If I could bring you all along so that your life could be enriched too, I would. Sadly the class has a mere eighteen members so your presence would be alarming, to say the least.

My quest for an image overhaul hit a milestone today. I have gone two weeks without biting my fingernails and the scales say that I have lost a whopping stone. As my housemate Captain Democracy would say, Caloo Callay! This is "a good step in the right direction", "one step at a time". After all "you only get out what you put in". It seems that "there is light at the end of the tunnel" after all. "Better late than never!" AND THAT'S NO WORD OF A LIE. Thanks be to God.

We did an experiment at church this Sunday. We had the service sitting around round tables and ate communion together, and afterwards had soup and bread and cheese and so on. The atmosphere was very warm, although a little unusual...I think it worked well. I dragged some friends to it, among them Anonymous, and you can read his brief account of the experience here. Always interesting to have the opinion of a FILTHY HEATHEN on board.

While I'm discussing church, which really has been a thoroughly revitalising and life-altering experience for me, if any of my regular readers would ever like to come with me, pop me a mail to neuropraxis @ gmail.com and I shall arrange it gladly. If you are a weird stranger though, I shall run a police report on you and possibly send you a nasty note, made from letters I cut out of Woman's Way magazines.

I have drank so many cups of coffee today that if you were to cut open my bladder you could serve a veritable army of thirsty young soldiers from its contents. On the topic of foodstuffs: I require a tried and tested leek and potato soup recipe. Don't give me one just off the internet - I could do that myself. I want one that has been made and MIGHTILY ENJOYED. Please help me. I have a bag of leeks in the kitchen and not a bare notion what to do with them.

--Your Correspondent, Dreaming of Being Nellie McKay.