Friday, February 26
At night, I dreamt I was making off with a pixie, a proletarian office girl so light I carried her all the way to my place, her arms and legs wrapped round me.
By the next dream she had morphed into my ex, the one who once asked if I'd be able to wee into a vagina. It wasn't for her, but "for a friend". Anyway, in the dream we were just about to make up for lost time when, would you believe it, I was woken by the usual suspect.
Real life is occasionally almost as good as a dream. Among the clients this week, there were several cleavages worth looking down. In fact not looking would seem needlessly rude. What a fortunate creature I am. As the man said, we are all in the gutter but some of us are looking up skirts.
I'm in bed now, but if I fall asleep someone's bound to come home through the window again, just when the dream's getting interesting.
Tuesday, February 23
A man's bed should be a place of peace.
I went to sleep around midnight with the window wide open, to let some cool air in. I woke with the fright of my life, and screamed. Aaaaah! Someone was climbing in the window.
It turned out to be the cellmate, back from a night's partying, but without her house key.
Funny how some people find a way to get around your careful plans. It's not her fault though. Females are genetically programmed to gauge their own worth in terms of how much inconvenience a male will tolerate.
On the evidence, the cellmate is god's gift to men. I suppose I'm a fortunate creature.
Monday, February 22
By mid-afternoon I was sick of being virtuous and lacklustre. Several cups later, and just before the last clients went home, the magic tea kicked in. Yippee!
By evening, I was jabbering almost like a blissheid.
After the cellmate went to bed, I stayed up to party while the rest of the world slept. Out of sync as usual.
Story of my life - self denial all the way through, then a last-minute spurt to balance up. This means that when I'm old I'll consort with whores to make up for a virtuous life. Too late as usual. By that time I'll be what the Bavarians call tote hose - dead pants.
I blame the accursed middle class deferred gratification. Kipling. If you can keep your seed while others are losing theirs.
Monday, February 15
rob: You've inspired me to take a closer look at my own weed garden, and possibly even post some photies.
ion: Rob - I would love to see your weed garden, and will try to snap mine for the record before the gardeners destroy it with RoundUp.
I'll show you mine if you show me yours. The back garden is horrible, weedy, scruffy and parched. A bit like myself. Fortunately the blinds in the back room block the view, but I noticed there's a gap along the top where the neighbours' trees look almost nice.
The weeds were so extensive that I was considering spraying with herbicide. But then I decided to get down on hands and knees instead. Much healthier for the garden and for me. Crawling around on one's knees helps develop humility. Not that I lack humility, though one says it oneself.
Working on all fours also helps ease the dodgy back.
In an hour and a half, I was able to rip out a majority of the weeds. And with the ipod on, and the buds inserted, I was able to catch up on some jazz podcasts. It's going to be a good day.
Don't forget to submit your entry to the name that leaf competition. There's a mystery prize.
Saturday, February 6
I was once accosted and berated in German by a drunken Bavarian skinhead in the former communist zone. It was in a gents bog, and he took exception to my spitting in a wash hand basin. Perhaps he was saying I should gob on the floor, like in Jockoland. Later I realised I should have scared him off with a mouthful of Glaswegian.
The Australian natives may once have been quite savage, but not now. When I lived in Australia, it was almost shocking to realise that you could walk around the city centre late on a Saturday night without being knifed, without even being threatened. Pathetic! But that was a while ago. Albert tells me Australia is catching up with the more advanced lawless places.
Where I live now in New South Caledonia, I was once chased by a headhunter who wanted to offer me a job, but so far I've not seen any cannibals.
The situation in New Zealand, where I was researching recently, is best presented in the form of a multiple choice quiz:
The original inhabitants of New Zealand were (choose one):
- convicts sent out by the English
- invaded by the English
- an ancient celtic tribe
Thursday, February 4
The official Islamic Republic News Agency said the "home-built" rocket was launched to commemorate this month's anniversary of the 1979 Islamic Revolution that overthrew Iran's monarchy.
Iran, which is trying to contain a political crisis after violent protests erupted following the disputed re-election of hardline President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, is expected to mount a series of high profile events to mark the anniversary.
Monday, February 1
• spend every waking hour with deifheids and NPD sufferers, until you think you can't take it any more.
• work in an organisation so dysfunctional that it treats its staff as bad as its customers. Spend all day on a role where you are apologising to the clientele for managerial eff ups. This all helps to raise the rage levels.
• brew up a strong British cuppa.
• swim in a lane clogged with young NPD victims.
• discover a new breathing technique: hold each lungful while your head's underwater; just before your head surfaces, exhale explosively while thinking Bathplugs or Bunch Of Currants; the big inbreath comes by itself.
This honestly was the best swim ever. Not the most enjoyable but the most proficient. The Alabama coach would be proud.
- Posted from iPod