Crikey, what a furore.


A) Good work James. You prevented my second rant that was coming up about cars and transport. All remains to be said is while I could function without them, yay for anyone that gives me a ride anywhere, and there are lots of you, and frequently. Whilst not strictly necessary, you are keeping me in the lifestyle to which I have grown accustomed. Thanks everybody (and I mean that sincerely).
Nice one.


B) Good work again, James! You didn't delete your previous entry that you regarded as inappropriate and in a way, incorrect. This means that according to my proto-thesis, you have journalistic credibility and integrity. Nice one again.


C) In reply to Mark, I have defended James on other occasions. However, we were not having the discussion that goes 'who is the gayest of the gay?' in which case I would have been first to stand up for him. But I agreed at the time that his non-appearance was enough for him to answer the charges on this particular occasion. So no defence was offered. But no vociferous accusations either I think. Just calm recognition of the facts. I leave the extremisms to a mysterious individual who has so far only been identified as 'drunken Pete'. In being poor and cold the pain James claims (say it fast) is felt.


D) In a separate but related issue, what's so bad about sitting on the floor?


E) We keep using 'gay' as an insult. If we continue it is likely we will be killed by enormous 70's bikers.


F) This is all rather silly.


G) There really are serial killer cannibal monkeys in Hagley Park!!! The government doesn't want you to know about it. I blames SANLFA.


Now on to other things I was going to say. While at Nic's Mum's house yesterday I was well and truly surprised to receive a phone call from Wimbledon. It was Pete Sampras and Ungle Bulgaria on a conference call - Pete was angry that Uncle Bulgaria was spending too much time looking after the other Wombles, and was refusing to take his recently appointed role as his new coach seriously, and this had resulted in his early loss this year. Uncle Bulgaria was wondering if I knew where Tobemory was.


But seriously folks, in actuality it was none other than James Tremewan, who sounded absolutely and totally trollied. He had followed a complicated international dialling phone path from his mother's house, to our house (that boy was absolutely and totally trollied, my Dad recalled later) and then from there through the magic of Dad and the White Pages to Nic's Mum's house. At length a conversation followed between myself and this inebriated individual. Full credit to him must be given for finding me at 2 in the morning his time with the twin grim spectres of hangover and work the next morning hanging over his head. The upshot was we're all great, (much better than Australians at any rate), he's good, London's not much to speak of apparently, and Tim and I are required to go to Dunedin at some point. And if you're someone that James knows I must pass on greetings to you. So consider yourself greeted.


I know I had some startling piece of perspicacity to record as well but damned if I can remember what it was. Might come back to it.


Right then, box on.

STOP PRESS: Dan informs me Pete has LEVEL 50!
Make of this what you will.