This is a horrible story. Ugh. Imagine. Finally getting rid of fuck face Tone to be replaced by . . . shudder . . . I can hardly type the words . . . J O H N . . . . R E I D . . . .

ARRGGGGGHHHHHHHH!

Hopefully the Guardian just wrote this to give us all a good scare and to make sure it didn't happen by accident in some way. Still - breaking out in a cold sweat here.

The other night I dreamt I was standing on a bridge which was then washed away in a flood and me with it.

You don't have to be brain of britain to know what that's not a good dream. I interpret it as a 'lack of control' dream: I fear that outside events - aging, employment, illness control my life more than I do.

On the other hand I also dreamt that Jack Black came round, so it just goes to show you can't trust your dreams.

I don't even like Jack Black. Why would he come round?


But moving on, it looks like my impassioned ranting has done some good and TB has finally fallen on his sword (a bit). An idiot to the end I love the way he's protesting he'll last until May. Not one chance in a billion. I give him 2 months tops.

Well that was a rubbish weekend. Spent the whole thing in bed illing. Really freaky weird dreams as well. On the plus side managed to resist indulging in excessive comfort eatng / drinking, though quite what the point is, I don't know.

I personally can't see any difference if I've spent a week eating bacon baguettes, cheese strings and crispy duck than if I've spent it eating lentils, chick peas and green leaves. Ho hum.

Lunch today = lentils with artichokes & spicy sausage. Yes, I know, but I'm prepared. I have a cork. And anyway, this'll benothing compared to tomorrow. I have 500g of yellow split peas soaking at home which I'm going to cook with squid in it's own ink and maybe some ham . . . mmmmm . . . by tomorrow you'll be able to run a small camper van off me.