I just called to book my car into the garage. The guy asked me if I could call back a bit later as he had the fire brigade there putting out a fire. I'm not so sure I want to call back now.

There's a bastard on the phone who just won't quit. You want to shift him, that'd be good. It'd be good to smash his face open on the warehouse floor too but you know that's not right. It's not his fault, he's just as frightened as you are. Just as wrapped up in love.

According to the paper towel in my employee rest room, I am a lesbian. I find it at odds with my fondness of the penis but no paper towel has ever lied to me before so I guess this must be true. Bring on the chicks.

I know a girl who spends all her time naming inanimate objects and introducing them to each other. It's fine. I mean, it doesn't bother me too much, and at least she still talks to me at intervals.

It just that for reasons I can't explain it makes me want to cry. That's all.

I went to the theatre last night to see the adaptation of Romeo and Juliet simply/pretentiously called Shakespeare’s R&J. Set in an all male boarding school, the play has, funnily enough, an all male cast which naturally leads to the horror of horror: boys kissing boys. The school trip kiddies in the audience found this hilarious. We had to listen to their giggling and squawking every time there was any physical contact between the actors. It ruined the play *slightly*.

As a result of their actions, I’ve reconsidered my stance re: sexual rights. People’s individual personal rights should be bypassed to avoid this type of situation in the future: heterosexuality is wrong - it encourages the breeding of ignorant idiotic imbeciles and thus the breakdown of civilised civilisation. Without "bitterness or anger", let's ban it now!

After only three years of incarceration a whopping 0.333% of the inmates have been charged. Only 598 inmates to go. Whoop Whoop!

Using the current trend as a baseline (1 inmate charged every 1.5 years), all inmates will be charged by the year 2901.

Unfortunate for us people don't tend to live to the ripe old age of 900. Based on the inmates' average age being between 20 and 22 and the average age of death to be 72.9 years (men, 79.1 for women) approximately an extra 34.6 inmates will be charged before the rest (a total of 563.4) die of old age.

Of course, the real sad fact is those other 34 inmates are likely to receive the death penalty. But hey, don't do the crime if you can't do the time...

• Worshipping false idols (Ferris Bueller, you’re my hero…)
• Goddamn blasphemy
• Doing unholy stuff on Sundays
• Wailing on my dad when he sends me huge bitmaps - photos of himself that he’s taken, badly, with his new webcam
• Murder - because crispy duck tastes gooood.
• Feline Adultery (I will stroke other cats, and you can’t stop me)
• Downloading craploads of crap
• Telling my neighbour it wasn’t my cat that pooped in his garden
• Coveting my neighbour’s manservant (but I’ll stop coveting his garden, since the cat did poop in it)
• Atheism

• Celebrating Christian traditions

For some reason, whenever I see a picture of David Blunkett, it makes me feel that photographing blind people is somehow wrong; taking advantage or something.

Also, whenever I see a picture of David Blunkett, it makes me feel that strangling him with his Labrador's entrails is somehow right; doing the world a favour or something.

Some people don't like gherkins. These people should be viewed with extreme suspicion. It's highly likely they are intergalactic space lunatics who've taken on a (vaguely) human form in order to spread pickle propaganda. Gherkins represent the pinnacle of pickle perfection. The ideal gherkin is crunchy and firm, not soggy and limp like the crap you get in burgers from fast food vendors of low standards. The good news is that you don't need to spend a lot of money to get a quality gherkin. Try various varieties from your local supermarket and find the ones you like best. Usually the superior varieties have extra pickley things in the bottom of the jar that give the wee li'll cucumbers a touch more bite.

Here is a good way to enjoy gherkins:

Get two slices of fluffy white bread (you can use almost any variety of white bread to suit your taste, however, as with the bacon buttie, the bread simply must be white, this and the gherkins are the only two portions of this recipe that you may not alter lest the pickle gods strike you down in a fit of furious rage) and a slice or two of good fresh ham. If you like, you can simply lay the ham on the bread, slice medium-chunky chunks of gherkin, stick the other slice of bread on top and enjoy, however most will prefer a dressing of some description. A thin layer of margarine is fine to moisten the bread (not butter!) but you can also experiment with various mustards and mayonnaises. Caution is advised with pre-prepared "sandwich spreads" as these tend to be either bland or overpowering, especially the fishy ones. If you must use fish products with gherkins be sure it is quality fresh meat, do not for example, mix with tinned tuna or sardines, that way madness lies. Other standard sandwich components that most all such snacks benefit from is a good sprinkling of freshly ground pepper and a few slices of fresh crispy iceberg lettuce.

Ideally the gherkin snack/meal you prepare should be enjoyed selfishly and alone. Gherkins are not a social indulgence.

He stood in his appartment room. The room was perhaps 8 meters by 10. The bed was against the long wall and there was a small table doubling as a desk directly infont of it against the opposing wall, a chair intervening. On the table sat his laptop, a couple of books, his wristwatch, some scraps of paper, and an empty orange juice carton, that kind of orange juice that was thick with bits of orange pulp.

He had tidied hastily, and had no idea how long he had been stood by the chair. He was looking down at nothing in particular, the angle he was looking at reminded him of the point of view of dead people in first person computer games, it was the opposite of that angle.

Then the idea came. He felt light, so perhaps it was natural for the idea to come, as he knew that many people had reached the same idea before him. But somehow today the idea felt tangible, not tangible like a brick, but tangible like dough, a freely floating, particularly light and fluffy dough. He supposed it would make a good donut.

But there he was, the idea forming, the truth making itself known. All he had to do was lean forward a little. Lean forward just a little too much so that it felt like falling, dizzy, he had felt that falling feeling before. Not real falling, it was too subtle for that, but just knowing that there was nothing there to catch you if you fell.

So this is the first step in unaided human flight. To have started falling slowly. But at this point his feet were still on the ground. He suspected that sudden movement would bring him to his senses and he would surely fall, like Wile E. Coyote in the road runner cartoons. The movement had to be fluid. Natural.

Easily, he slid his feet backwards such that he could feel his center of gravity move up to his chest. Normally this would send him in to a panic, like that feeling you get before drifting to sleep and you bring yourself back to alertness by kicking violently to break your fall. That urge had been supressed.

And there it was. Flight. Somehow he was higher up than where he was when he started. Higher than head level, maybe a couple of feet higher. But still feeling like he was essentially falling maybe there was some kind of wind pushing him up, or more likely a kind of natural buoyancy. But it could be controlled, not very well, the way sky divers must control their direction and orientation. Using the forces surrounding them, not applying external force.

He looked down and altered his position, raised his feet. This caused a gentle impulse that propelled him forwards over his bed, and across to his sofa. He turned around, the technique he used for doing this, just beyond concious comprehension but the movement was slow and steady as ever. He felt warm inside and out. He questioned the warmth, the warmth turned to tiredness his eyelids, heavy.

The sun was still shining outisde, but that low evening shine, that cast everything with that yellowish hue, reflected from the sandstone buildings around his appartment. That warming glow wouldn't disturb his sleep, he thought, on the contrary in fact.

He felt the rough shod pile of pillows and duvets on the bed calling him closer, just slowly closer. Until he could only just reach down to touch one. Reaching down as if picking something up from the bottom of a swimming pool. It reminded him of childhood, that desire to know what it felt like to touch a cloud. Except now he was desiring only sleep. In this state he was often reminded of things he wondered about as a child. Great things, small things, curious things. As he sunk slowly down in to the bed, that warmness turned once again to satisfaction. He had found one of the answers that day.