Bliggety-blog

It's 2.30am. I can barely type. Why am I even attempting to blog at this hour? this drunk? (am hiccuping as I write). Should be in bed. But what a bizarre night?

Have Sue Perkin's email at the ready to quiz her re features profile (bit of a coup – TV comedian and all that). Contact details to get hold of Dirty Sanchez for another profile option. Heart to heart with the bar girls re all the shit we're all going through right now. Chat to climber James re climbing, snowboarding, life etc.. Chat to Rene re writing, singing, life etc.. Chat to Michael Michael (one of 10 kids that his parents never bothered to give him a first name, so he goes by his last name twice!) re his rapping and graveyard shift train cleaning job.

Affirming, positive, interactions; lots of nice stuff - really reassuring. Car or no car, things are going to be ok. Every thing's going to be just fine. Fine and dandy, fine.

Not so ok for Terry though. Rang him today to check he was well enough to have kids round tonight. Lymphoma back with a vengeance. He's taking some kind of medication, but I don't know what exactly, or what the prognosis is. Bad. Bad, bad, bad. How do I deal with the father of my kids' dying? How do they deal with it? How do I help them come to terms when I don't know what the fuck's happening??

Still hiccuping. Still struggling to string two words together.

Wish I had time to write creatively. Write poems, stories, plays, songs... stuff.

Am wearing Paul's Jesus T-shirt. Curiously emblazoned with Pondlife, above an image of the son of god brandishing a coupler of rifles with the caption: what gun would Jesus use? Now what is that all about? Christ only knows (pardon the pun). Not very ska.