Sell Fish.

Prolly because I haven't read a newspaper or a proper website for a few days, I feel rather chipper, so I appologise in advance. I had a lovely weekend, with the drinking and the dancing and the hubbing and the DJing and the getting asked to play Carter (like, No. AHAHAHA!). AND I cooked a roast, and I haven't done that since before I went to America. I am going to do it a lot, not only does one get to experiment with gravy (mine had strawberries in it last night. Well, strawberry.), one also gets most of a chicken to make sandwitches with all through the next day. If one has a bottle of sweet chilli sauce, this is a grand thing indeed. Also, I have done so much drawing I have RSI, and Zef has realised my instructions quite prefectly with regards to a feature on my new website. You'll see. So. I couldn't even be fucked to comment about Lonely Blair's latest outrage at the time, being so overwhelmed with "our" government's evil of late, but Jeres did, so I'll show you what he said:

Fucking hell, I thought I'd seen it all, but no, this government just gets more and more obtuse and demented with every passing day. How can you tell what a terrorist looks like? This is the most racist legislation I've heard of in, like, ever. 150 years ago police were told to keep an eye out for people with big foreheads and thick-set features as they were probably criminals. How we laughed when we heard this in school! Apparently, according to palmists, if you've got square thumbs you're probably a murder. Yes, yes, but that's coming from a fucking palmist. We don't expect this sort of ignorant, draconian bullshit from our government. Or rather, we do now. This is getting sicker and more frightening by the second...

Speaking of frightening, I was visited by an eight foot white alien with a foot long neck this morning in my dream. It was actually really rather lucid, and I sat there for about 10 minutes bricking it. Could this be alcohol withdrawal? I also ate a big lump of cheese with some crackers before I went to bed, but I was always under the illusion that was just a myth. I did actually try and jump headbutt the alien in my dream but he was a bit too quick for me, and I ended up on the floor. Then I woke up. Perhaps I should have tried talking to him first but he did turn up unannounced on my stairs. Plus it was a dream and he mentioned something about my toy dog who I had since I was three-years-old called Ralph. "Ralph or Rolf?" he asked. It doesn't sound as scary when you relay it, does it..."

Last night I dreamt that a man who objected to my conversation with another man beat my face so badly with a metal pole that I had no cartilage left, my nose was all flat and squished, and my eyes were puffy slits, and my newly defined jaw wasn't a jaw anymore, just some skin with bits of gristle slopping about in it. Then the bastard's wife had the gall to come sneaking about my house unannounced to laugh at me. "I was handsome once," I wailed, for no good reason, before being left alone in the dark. She had friend with her, who felt bad for me, and gave me a bunch of notes and pennies. Then she decided she needed the notes, and left me with a palm full of coppers and a sloppy bag of smashed cartilage atop my shoulders. I was very upset, believing it to be real, so you can imagine my relief when I was charitably woken by a kindly genius, who'd had only gone and been in a goshdarned car crash in her dreaming life. Last week I had a dream that lasted for about a fortnight, in my head, in which pretty much everybody I knew turned against me and gave me up to some big hairy white aliens, that swarmed t'ward me, trapped in a valley as I was, from the brims of the peripheral mountains. It is quite unfair. My dream times have been a horrid cacophony of nightmares for as long as I can remember. I had a reoccurring dream when I was a tiny person in which a creature that looked like the old illustrations of golumn from those Lord of The Rings art books stalked me around a forest for days and slaughtered my whole family. And then there was one about a horse with no eyelids, which is what you get for being bought up in Wales, with its violent mythology and its spoons of wood. Goshdarned Mabelogion rottery. I might start sleeping with an alarm that goes off every half hour, I don't know if I can hack any more of this epic nastiness. Waking up is rather like how the children who go to Narnia feel when they leave.

Still, that fortnight long hairy alien one was, at least, lucid. I couldn't wake up, but I could control myself, which is why I got away. Sometimes, I totally rule.