My friend has a voice-over IP telephone. I like to phone him up and say lots of short words in quick succession to slow down his web browsing.

Very thirsty, I purchased the only cold drink available from the vending machine, black current. I would have preferred water but instead received a substance that was possibly the furthest thing chemically from it. The substance I received was purple, a word that does not rhyme with any other in the English dictionary. The substance was similar to the word in that it seemed to be the only substance that could not compliment any other known, only sullying it a combination of red and blue.

As it swished around, the purple liquid stained the inside of the white plastic cup. As I put the edge of the cup to my mouth I imagined it staining my lips purple, discolouring my velum, tinging my tongue, tainting my uvula, polluting my epiglottis, soiling my larynx and tarnishing my digestive system with it's imperial hue.

As I put the cup down on the table I smeared a purple cup ring into the melamine surface, leaving a permanent scar that read, "I drank purple here". Releasing the container uncovered four purpled fingertips and one semi-purpled thumb print, which then left a purple evidence trail on the equipment I was handling, and somehow my trousers.

Vanish got the stain out though, which was a relief.

Since meeting my uncle from Hong Kong and getting a cold, somebody suggested I look into the symptoms of S.A.R.S to be on the safe side. I'm going to look into the symptoms of winning the lottery jackpot too, as I think that's more likely to happen. I expect much shouting and streamers, followed by a letter of resignation (taking the form a poop in a jiffy bag)

I met up with my Uncle visiting from Hong Kong on Sunday. I think I caught a sore throat and a cold from him.

Today I am writing this in bed where I am increasingly late for work. 4.5 hours by MD's reckoning, 3.5 by mine. Oh what a life.

I seem to have a problem being listened to at work. I wonder if wearing a coloury hawaiian shirt will help.

I may just give up caring instead. Yes. That seems like a nice sensible idea.

Just saw Micheal Moore's films 'Roger & Me' and 'Bowling for Columbine' at the local cinema. I think that Moore guy is a bit biased really, he should tone it down.

I just noticed that Roger Cook looks a bit like a mogwai.

The BBC is reporting that the Pentagon has said that a marine helicopter has crashed in southern Iraq. I know no other facts, but I imagine it was in no way shot down by no Iraqis, just like the others that weren't, no sir.

Sorehead mentioned New World Odour in his weekly mailing this week, but sadly there is nothing there just yet. It's *very* nearly ready, we promise, although we can confirm it has in no way been delayed by no Iraqis, no sir.

"And the rocket's red glare,
The bomb bursting in air,"

"No person shall display the flag of the United Nations or any other national or international flag equal, above, or in a position of superior prominence or honor to, or in place of, the flag of the United States at any place within the United States or any Territory or possession thereof"

With this whole war business on a bit of a roll now, people are buying or making many thousands of American flags to support whatever it is the war is actually about. But be warned, with these flags comes responsibility!

There are many complicated laws in America about taking care of your flag. It needs love and attention. You can't fly it on certain days. You even need to dispose of it correctly (in a "dignified way"). Remember, an American flag is for Life, not just for War.

I switched off my Iron Maiden album whilst driving today to hear the latest about our brave men fighting the tyrannical tyrant Saddam Hussein, all in the name of freedom, peace and the American way, but found a station playing Eminem, which I listened to instead.

Later, I was watching the latest US press conference on BBC News 24, but leant on the remote and switched to the Simpsons. There was Krusty the Clown and some drunk cowboy in it shooting at stuff, so I watched that instead. Somehow it didn't seem all that different.

Last week I went to the Whetherby Whaler's fish and chip restraunt, which seems to recently have merged with an old peoples home.

I could hear a particular slow-talking tag team group of old people sat behind me ordering food, which seemed to take so long that I'm sure I noticed the patchier parts of the carpet grow back. What confused me the most was that these people had most likely been ordering from fish and chip restraunts for over 40 years, yet still spent a grand amount of time deliberating about what to eat. Surely they would have figured out what they wanted; nothing on the menu should be a suprise to them.

I had some more observations about old people, but seriously, who cares.