" It must be Thursday, I was never very good at Thursday".
Sardines are weighing heavy on my mind today. What is this cruelty of man to drag them screaming from the wide oceans and make them suffer the indignity of being submerged in oil, (or tomato sauce), and forced into a small tin, crammed together like, er, sardines.

And George Bush?
Exactly.
It's no good I've tried to be nice about him, never laughing while friends laid him open to ridicule. But it's no good, the man is a feckless twat.

Where do dreams come from? I'm more concerned about where they go to? Some emminent people have suggested they wander off to be filed in our sub-concious. This is obvious horse shit. This would suggest that out sub-concious is an empty filing cabinet waiting to be filled. If so, does it fill up? And can we download them when needed?
My own dreams have of late been filled with friends old and new all running around some unidentified Sino-Oriental country flailing each other with an assortment of medieval weaponary. And of course, a serious amount of kinky sex. And a really bad soundtrack by Uncle Kracker.
I'm moving house this weekend so I expect the usual amount of separation anxiety and alcohol.
Speaking of which, I feel a serious D.P. (drinking opportunity) coming on and I've discovered a new pub... life is a minestrone indeed.