Strange dream time, but I’ll give you the grounding first so you might understand it. I realised I was losing touch with friends because of my recent hermit-like-ness, some of these friends I’ve known a long time, learnt a lot from and loved a great deal, some of them I just borrowed money from. So I thought I’d better start making the effort, and where best to start making effort? where you need to exhert it the least, email!

I decided to email Lorraine, a very cool girl I met at university a few years ago. She changed the way I looked at life, the universe, and sex (she made me scared of it actually). So I wrote a nice long email telling her whats been going on and asking about her life (she’s made the effort on a few occasions to get back in touch with me but I was just, um, lazy I guess)

Well in the dream, I got a reply from a big fat 40yr old man, called Veronica (this is Lorraine’s email address) who complained I’d sent him an email by accident, but thought I sounded cute and would like to meet me. I don’t remember the rest of that dream, which is probably a good thing.

Another dream I had last nite was a halloweeny one. A bunch of kids turned up at the door trick-or-treating and I told em we nothing left, and they got nutso and started tearing my car to bits so I tried to tempt them away with bananas (dreams are so frustrating, in real life I’d get IN my car and run them down a few times.

The phone woke me up (this is real life btw) and I woke it up a bit dazed, and it was Lorraine! HURRAR! She’s ringing me back later, when I’ve woken up properly. What a nice day so far

I’ll get back in touch with someone else soon and report back, probably my life mate Mark Lerman, but I won’t post so many photos of him as he’s not quite as pretty.

This is old news but I didn’t have a diary when I found out about it. Phillipa Forrester got pregnant somehow and has had a child. Which is terrible as it might mean she has a husband or boyfriend, but it does mean she must have had sex, which is a nice thought. If all women were like Phillipa, we’d have to have special public ejaculatories, else I’d never make it through the day without a towel of some sort.

I’m not really the sort for worshipping at the feet of famous people, mainly cos famous people are all idiots, and I hate feet, but Phillipa Forrester and Tori Amos are exceptions. Altho I don’t actually worship them, so I guess I lied to you. I’m sorry.

“When I was just a little boy, I asked my mother what will I be.”

She told me that if I played around with fireworks I’d die horribly, or at least get substantial scarring. It seems mothers don’t say that nowadays. Its not even Bonfire night yet and the local idiots have already began the traditional appendage removal ceremonies. The hospital should put them to the back of the queue, and if there isn’t a queue, they should have to sit in agony for at least 20mins anyway, to learn their lesson.

Their are laws against the use of explosives, in public or whatever, so how come its fine once a year just cos a few hundreds years ago a dumb Catholic got drunk with some of his chums and thought it would be cool to blow up the King.

Why the hell should I celebrate the brutal death of a religious nut by blowing my friends and family up into tiny pieces. Have fun yourselves tho, don’t let me stop you. Just make sure you take a torch tho, it’ll come in handy when you have to search the garden for your Uncle Tom’s missing fingers he blew off demonstrating the illegally imported iraqi fireworks he got off some guy he met in the pub with the Irish accent, who mubled something about “finally getting our own back”