As I write this there is only a few hours left before the earth dies screaming in a blaze of fire, brimstone and bodily fluids. I always find those who do this, you know, the end-of-the-world-is-nigh people who first came to prominence on Speakers' Corner, wandering round the streets of London with sandwich boards or living next door to me.
As I write this it'll be tomorrow in New Zealand in a little under 10 minutes...
I've been a bit chesty today; it's like a surreal battle for crab supremacy in my torso.
Will someone explain to that stupid blonde bint with the brain-tumoured son with the stupid name that radio and chemotherapy is dangerous to the development of a child; however, if they don't have it they'll die, so what would you rather have: a living child who can't do algorithms or a dead one?
No brainer really. Unless you're blonde and gurn at cameras and use your son's health issues to make yourself look like a stupid cunt. (Apologies for the really offensive language about a woman, but Jesus H Christ, this woman is as bintish as anything can possibly get... And the media wants slapping for pandering to it in any other way than derision).
It's nice out. However, I'd better put it away in case someone sees me. Ah, the old ones are... old. Today I am going to do more imbibing - as it's the end of the world - and see some old friends. I am currently listening to Vince Guaraldi's A Charlie Brown Christmas - nice cool festive jazz - wondering what I can build out of 300 pipe cleaners and contemplating finishing the penultimate book in the Thongs of Wire and Rice story.
This update has been brought to you by the letter C (because we all know what that is).