Monday 20th March 2017

Don’t panic! Don’t panic! I’m not dead. I have not shuffled off this mortal coil. Donald Trump supporters have not bumped me off. Take a deep breath my anxious little fluff bunnies. I am alive. I’m checking in to lay worries to rest after finding a deluge of concerned mails in my postbag, including one outlining plans for a houseboy memorial service. Sarky is the word that springs to mind.

So, where have I been? Well, I was out on loan, so to speak, for much of February, which was interesting to say the least. I may or may not write about it at some point. Since then I’ve found it hard to get back in the swing of diary business. I still haven’t written more of Revs, and I must try because if I let it go for much longer I doubt it will ever be done. Mind you, during my recent absence I came across some books by Alan Garner and was comforted to discover it took him decades to complete the final book in a trilogy he started in the sixties. So, I’m not the only writer who can procrastinate to an Olympic standard.

I might have popped in to chunter earlier, but I had one of my poorly turns a few weeks ago and it knocked me back a bit in the energy stakes. Worse, I witnessed it face to face. I stumbled out of bed one morning feeling groggy and irritable. I put it down to the fact I was getting over a bad cold and subsequent sinus infection. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror I examined my mug, jutting out my chin this way and that, wondering if I’d suit a hipster style beard, as I barely had the will to breathe let alone shave. The answer of course was no. It takes me forever to grow facial hair and it’s always patchy. If I try to grow a beard I end up looking less like a cool hipster dude and more like a vagrant with a bad case of mange. Besides, the Daddies prefer their boy silky smooth. I made to turn away from the mirror, only I couldn’t. The nerves in my face suddenly reacted to an invisible stimulus and I froze, powerless to move. I could only watch in the mirror as the episode played out. It was over in seconds, but it seemed forever and it left me even more shaken than usual. Fucking hell, no wonder the men folk get upset when I have one of my turns. Seeing the look on my face as the episode struck was gross. I looked like I was being disembowelled. Very weird.

So there we are, peeps, we’re all caught up more or less and as you can see I’m fine and dandy. I’ll drop in as and when the fancy takes and in between I promise I will endeavour not to emulate the illustrious Mr Garner by taking damn near forty years to get out the next book!

Ciao for now and thanks for the loyal fanship!

PS - By the way, J, if you're reading this, then thank you for your mail, and no, I have no objections to being quoted, quote away, mate!

PPS - Sharing this as it was shared with me because it made me laugh and it DOES remind me of my thuggish old pal the robin. Thanks, M.

PPPS - Many thanks for all the kind Valentine's greetings.

Thursday 23rd March 2017

What can you say about yesterday’s terror attack in London? You can call the attacker scum and coward; he is both those things and more. You can say you’re glad he’s dead, and I am. I hope he’s now in the deepest pit of hell and I don’t care if that offends anyone, so hold the mail aimed at guilting me out for my uncharitable thoughts. I don’t fucking care if he turns out to be a deluded pawn with the intellectual capacity of a hamster. He had enough intellect to learn to drive the vehicle he used as a weapon to slaughter and maim innocents and to wield a knife. He doesn’t deserve sympathy - only his victims deserve that. You can say what you like, it won't change facts. Lives were lost yesterday. Lives were changed forever. And for what? What do these people think they are achieving when they murder strangers in cold blood? It’s chilling. All we can do is say no to them. All we can do is stand firm and refuse to be swayed by the heinous acts of evil people.



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