I'm having a kind of blog writers block. Which might be a problem as I can only write an entry about this once. Excepting of course for the possibility that I turn this site into a blog purely about having writers block - there are stranger weblogs out there believe me.

It's not that my life isn't interesting, but I have never wanted this site to be a chronicle of my life. When I traveled I was happy to regail the tiny fraction of the world that was interested with stories, but what can I write about working nights. As an employee of the BBC I'm not naive enough to write up my thoughts on work as it could land me in trouble even to say something complimentary.

I can probably say that there have been a spate of meetings and seminars about personal blogging here in the last few weeks. But it is too boring to tell you about.

And I'm not going start telling you about all my family and friends lives. Nor about things like who I might fancy and why there is a strange growth on my foot.* Who would give a fuck?

But thinking about it who gives a fuck about my opinion of the Catholic church, or about the struggles I am having writing words for a website that is of no objective importance whatsoever?

What about this: I reckon that in the future we will have a neural implant that allows us to access the internet. So for instance if we see a word that we don't understand, we can access on online dictionary, much like a future version of this, and find an answer. Or even order stuff to buy.

Of course such an implant wont be too popular but after such a thing is invented a few will take it up and the rest will inevitably follow. It may take a while but it'll happen. Then some people will start writing the equivalent of trojan horses and worms which will implant annoying messages in peoples heads. We will get bastard spam, and Viagra advertisers will send subliminal advertising so we are only subconsciously aware of their plug. Sales of this ancient drug will jump temporarily through the roof and there will be much controversy.



* Mum - I don't have a strange growth on my foot. Apart from my little toe.

Geograph

In the end it's always the links that win out over the prose...

Who should you vote for?... take the test.

Headfuck traffic game.

My last post resulted in no death threats.

What is the world coming to?

The last Pope, bless his soul, did an excellent job of filling the Vatican with conservative hardline types like him. You know, the sort of people who nodded knowingly when the infallible one told Africans that using condoms was no more likely to prevent one from contracting HIV than not using one.

And so the Catholics of the world are likely to get a traditionalist man in charge. Now normally I would hate the thought of anyone with an old-fashioned right wing leaning getting anywhere near any reigns of power. I wouldn't like it if I discovered Santa was a Tory. But in this case I'm rather hoping that a extremist right winger wins through after the white smoke billows from that ridiculous chimney.



Basically this is because I want the disintegration of Catholicism and a traditionalist will help bring this about much quicker. The sooner us humans put silly superstitions behind us, the better off we'll all be. And this might sound a little cruel but our species needs a bit of natural selection. Let all the gullible fools kill each other and their genetic information off because of their dedication to the words of some pompous self-important man with a pointy hat.

Twats.



PS: Please don't think I'm anti-Catholic. I think all religious followers, especially Westerners who have access to education and a broad range of media, should know better and deserve to be laughed at equally. Well I would laugh if only the world wasn't so fucking tragic because of them. Religion is wonderful for individuals, but when it comes to the broader picture, it is possibly the most evil force in existence.

I speak as a man with a philosophy degree. That doesn't mean I'm right of course. But of course I am.

I've become addicted to chocolate. Whilst ill and not eating too much, chocolate became marvelous high energy; low bulk food stuff. Straight after my recovery came the post-Easter cheap-chocolate period. My local Tesco are still selling Creme Eggs and other similar egg-type efforts for a mere 8p each.

I'm trying to give up I really am.

I've turned to Flapjacks and cakes in the attempt to substitute the sugar rush for something non-chocolatey, however such an act is like the Iraq War - one misery replacing another.

Bah.

See a man making a solid chocolate Easter egg!!!

Online sweetie shop!

Saturday morning saw preparations for my brother's wedding move forward at a pace. As Best Man I accompanied him to a tailor's to get fitted for the attire we shall wear on the big day near Florence in gastronomic Italy. Much garlicy red meat will be consumed. By me at least; I can imagine the females doing their usual thing of buying fancy wedding attire slightly too small and ruining their own fun via starvation in order to fit inside it.

This morning and the sun shone. At this time of year the optimists among us like to dress as if summers already upon us, whilst others are still stuck in winter. So on my jaunt down to Finsbury Park Station I observed examples of humans in t-shirts, shorts, and sunglasses; and others in overcoats, scarves and hats.

I'm not innocent of the desire to bring on the summer. I have often been guilty of venturing out sparsely dressed for the conditions. This morning I took no risks - I prefer to be hot than cold. T-shirt, jumper, jeans, and a coat.

Fuck being cold.

Destroy Charging Through The Midfield!!!

Today I am imagining the television transmissions of The Pope's funeral speeding out across the galaxy at the speed of light with their destiny being on the screen of some advanced alien entities. And they will point at images of the millions of gathered Catholics showing off their religious convictions with whatever their equivalent gesture is and say in their own alien way,

"Aarrgghh ha ha ha ha!!!... What gullible idiots."

See proposed London tube map for 2016.

I had planned to play golf yesterday. On a day off I actually rose from my cot at 8.30am in order to facilitate the day in hand. The last time I raised a metal stick to a ball was at a golf course near Agnes Water in Queensland Australia. For the equivalent of £5 my friends and I got half an hour at a driving range, a loan of a set of clubs and trolley, a whole bunch of new balls to waste away, a round of nine holes - not your pitch and putt types either, but par 3, 4 and 5 thingys, a putting competition, and it was all rounded off with a sausage sizzle; as many as I could eat. The course was well kept, the greens were lush, the sun shined continuously and kangaroos gathered as disinterested spectators; they like the well-kept grass. Beer was sold in the clubhouse and consumed en route from one hole to the next.

I suppose I haven't played at a proper golf course in Britain so it seems unjust to complain. But one difference is definitely the weather. In anger God, or whatever other force, cast down water from the sky and used areas of differing air pressure to drive the contents of the atmosphere across the land at a faster speed than is comfortable on a golf course. So day cancelled. But in preparation I had a taste of the difference between the two cultures approach to golf. I was told I should where trousers and a collar or smart jumper. "You've got to keep out the riff-raff" my friend Rob informed me. The round would cost £15, clubs and shoes had to be provided by my friend (they would have no doubt cost more) and I would have to visit a golf shop to purchase balls. Not the greatest encouragement for potential new golfers. And I was only able to go because I was going with a member. Not such a restriction in Oz.

Here are some pictures of a snake eating a kangaroo. Possibly a potential golf fan lost.

Meanwhile I actually got an email from someone who has stumbled onto this site. Only the third since October 2002. The informant informed me (for that is what informants do) that an animated being named Avery Ant has put himself forward for Pope. Although the animator has already taken it upon himself to draw the Pontiff's tall hat - which probably won't go down well with the Vatican. If I was running for Mayor I probably wouldn't do too well if meeting and greeting with the Mayoral sash already festooned across my chest. Good luck to him I say. Maybe he'll let his flock wear condoms.