Mailing Dead People . . .

It has come to Friday again. I am looking back on my week. Not bad really. Yesterday was pretty awful, but I’ve only drunk two half bottles of wine this week, which by comparison to other weeks recently, is pretty good.

I have just come out of a training course about suppressing data. The science (or not) of making sure you never mail dead people, never contact Mr Grumpy from Slough and never ring up Mrs. My-Baby-Died flogging Early Learning Centre products. Couple this experience with the program I watched last night on “The Credit Crunch” and you have my current mind set. Almost, accept for the gradual acceptance that perhaps the only way to escape the consequences of my actions, and moreover the consequences of our actions as a larger social community, is to declare myself dead. To disappear. Fade Out.

More on the finer details of this plan later . . .

I am looking forward to a weekend of having a visitor in Brighton which is when I love this city the most. You cannot help but become complacent about living in Brighton. It just isn’t possible to go to the Pier, or walk on the beach, or fall in love with the lanes every weekend. Occasionally great things happen like the discovery of the Choocy Woccy Doo Dah Café (which could kill a full grown man in under an hour), but mostly you go to the same places and do the same things. Let’s face it, when you have to take you dry cleaning in every week the city is bound to get less glamorous. But when people come to visit!! It’s a glorious discovery all over again. You see it all from the poor deprived perspective of a stranger. Someone who has not known what it means to be a native. You re-discover. You grow.

Also I am planning to try out my pastry making skills with a nifty steak pie and some ratatouille for next week’s lunches. This is the extent of my domesticity. I have given up cleaning on the basis that the cats trashed the sofa’s that Paul so diligently applied soap to, and that I actually discovered some kind of worm in the bottom of the shower. I believe it resists the application of bleach. Gross.

So items for consideration this Friday evening are; How To Be Dead Without Dying, Can You Shower In A Plastic Suit And Still Get Clean and Pastry: When Should You Say No.

I’m sure my feline audience will by thrilled.