a confession

forgive me father for i have sinned; it’s been…….eleven days since my last post

why so long my son

i was chased by ebola-ridden cannibals after having an ark fall on me and then managing to have sex with a beautiful woman despite the really rather nasty cut on my knee

and what have been your sins since your last post

not taking proper care of an ark, not treating a really rather nasty cut on my knee with all due expediency, and taking the lord’s name in vain when threatened to be made in to soup

say three hail mary’s, four lord’s prayers and find me a picture of this beautiful woman

i’m on it


oh my god we have a monarch

whenever i read any post on quotes – such as this one – i always end up with the same one filling my head and allowing no others access; but it’s inevitably inappropriate to include it in the post that hailed its arrival, so i’ve left it to its own devices after a weekend of pageantry and glorious britishness and sovereignty:

it’s by denis diderot – ‘men will never be free until the last king is strangled with the entrails of the last priest’

now i’m not condoning the asphyxiation of a monarch with a vicar’s colon…..i do however, think that they should both leave the party before out staying their welcome any longer

i fear

i may not get through the night; i have ‘one moment in time’ soiling itself round my head and it won’t go away; i don’t know where it’s come from, i’ve not heard it in time and i don’t know why it’s here; i duck and roll from thought to act but still it takes pot shots at me atop a tall tower from which i’ve yet to find the appropriate place to hide…..there’s a radio close by that i could switch on but fuck only knows the crap that’ll ooze out of that – someplace, somewhere at any given moment in time……………………..i fade………………………..there’s a celine dion song being played and i’m buggered if i’m risking that kind of exposure; i have a family – i also have six hours to rattle round this place on my own, and i aim to do so without recourse to a cd – i’ve yet to ascertain the purpose of this self-set challenge but i suspect it has something to do with my cds being in the car, and it’s dark and cold out them there doors; but i must to work, and to prostrate myself before the tower, and be thankful that these are but flesh wounds, and the ligatures may well shut down the brain that deals in the memory of song – i just don’t know what it’ll trade for next