2004-08-23 - 1:20 p.m.

(Lots of chummy thanks for the nice notes and publishing suggestions�sadly the problem is with the people who own the copyright to the material � my employers, and not the publishers, who seem to like me. One company is as sweet as strawberry ice cream, the other stinks like a week-old jobby sandwich.)

The weekend was a parental tour of duty, only I mean that in a good way, up north where there still lie barbed remainders of why you are who you are, but also of why you left, that hook into you frighteningly quickly and without you even really noticing, like those razor-nozed fish that swim up your front bottom when you�re wading through the Amazon River and then you can�t get them out.

Anyway, the solution, if there even exists a problem, is invariably getting drunk at local pubs, where both the good and dark forces are distilled to their purest forms. All that you love and hate can be flashed before you within the space of two rounds of weirdly affordable drinks that actually taste nice � not something our glorious capital is exactly famed for.

Back to a friend�s house for the raiding of the drinks cabinet that went on a very long time, and then wandering out, all shaky-legged and swig-faced, to lie in a field at 3am and watch shooting stars. Granted my vision wasn�t the steadiest it has ever been, but there were definitely a good few that were shooting, as opposed to most of them, which were just kind of swaying.

I�ve since been asked what I wished for, and had to report that my wish-making faculties were somewhat dimmed, though even if I�d had the presence of mind it would probably have been for dry shoes. My sincerest apologies to world peace, etc.