He he. Father's visit was brief. He didn't take too kindly to the Brighton night life. Getting ID'd at the first pub didn't help. Then he sat in the corner clutching his pint and staring at all the people with funny hats and purple hair going 'absolutely love, this crack is rather moreish don't you think?' He didn't think much of that.

It was a beautiful family moment, as we sat watching the impromptu floor show over the thai green curry. My dad was in bed by half past ten that night, with a nice cup of camomile tea and some rather interesting memories.

He he. Father's visit was brief. He didn't take too kindly to the Brighton night life. Getting ID'd at the first pub didn't help. Then he sat in the corner clutching his pint and staring at all the people with funny hats and purple hair going 'absolutely love, this crack is rather moreish don't you think?' He didn't think much of that.

It was a beautiful family moment, as we sat watching the impromptu floor show over the thai green curry. My dad was in bed by half past ten that night, with a nice cup of camomile tea and some rather interesting memories.

My dad is coming to stay in our teeny tiny flat tomorrow. For one night only. He's bringing along one sibling of each variety and we're gonna go out for dinner and have a few drinks and reminisce about the time he got so drunk at his parent's anniversary party that he passed out in the back of the car and we all had to sit on the floor, whilst my heavily pregnant mother drove the six hours back to Wales. He loves that story.

Gotta get home, scrub the surfaces, fill the fridge with green stuff, shave and trim and generally de-scruff Olly, remove all the scuzzy stuff from around the bath, hide anything even remotely dodgy (18 rated films, matches etc.), put on half a stone in weight and have my teeth whitened. That should just about create the impression that we are a shiny happy couple who are in bed by ten and enjoy a varied diet of healthy stuff. It's not that far from the truth. We sleep in until way past ten whenever possible, and occasionally put Ragu on our pasta instead of Dolmio.

It's not been a good week in the canine world. First there was the dachshund on death row, and now a sniffer dog has a $10,000 price on her head. I suppose she'll have to go into some kind of witness protection, change her name to Rover, dye her hair, wear sunglasses in public. Once the fuss has died down, maybe she'll publish her autobiography and live off the royalties. Or get some work in television, possibly her own chat show? This isn't the end Agata!

I'm sat here wrapped in a duvet, with my headphones firmly plugged in, hair all scrunched back and polish peeling off my toenails. Looking like a bit of a plank to be honest.

Think it's time to come off the tablets, and start seeing things in 3D again. For one thing, my memory will improve. Spent most of today thinking it was Tuesday and having horrible little moments when I am convinced I didn't remember to put pants on this morning. It's happened before.

Watch this video on full screen and try not to whimper. I imagine this species of shark is even rarer now, seeing as it died shortly after being caught. Nice one.

The men I plan to have my wicked way with in 2007

Exhibit A

Obviously, I'm going to need to take some time off work...

This can't be happening. I've seen more vicious looking hamsters.

If Lucy gets sent down, I think we're going to have to organise a prison break. Muzzle the little dear first though, because dachshund's love the sound of their own voices, and it's not uncommon for them act like you're breaking and entering, even if they've known you since birth and you've just left the room to make a cup of tea.

Who saw the meerkats last night?? Somebody has to have seen the meerkats??

*Sigh*...that was the best programme. Who would have thought that little furry things could have such complex lives? Teenage pregnancy, turf wars, forbidden love, unruly offspring. And they were all complete naturals in front of the camera. I hope they have a big mantelpiece in the burrow to stand all the BAFTA's on.

How do you cope when you've gone out for a couple of drinks on Saturday night, looking scruffy, with your equally scruffy boyfriend, to a dingy bar, where everybody looks like they don't even own a hairbrush, let alone know how to use one...and you are accosted by somebody your boyfriend kindof knows, and his stunning girlfriend. An ex-model / stripper who probably looks like she's been airbrushed when she gets out of bed. And they sit with you for the rest of the night, and you watch fascinated as her mascara doesn't run, and her hair blinds you with it's shine, and she manages to breath, laugh and drink copiously in jeans so tight that her legs have probably gone numb.

Which do you think our contestant did?

You are NOT ALLOWED TO SHOUT IN THE LIBRARY! Or use mobile phones. Or chew gum. So why are people doing all three, some all at the same time? I've come here to be among my fellow nerds, who much prefer the written word to actual human interaction. Not trip over toddlers and be distracted by people planning their Saturday night binge drink, and choosing which STD to catch. Go be cool somewhere else. QUIET PLEASE!

You are NOT ALLOWED TO SHOUT IN THE LIBRARY! Or use mobile phones. Or chew gum. So why are people doing all three, some all at the same time? I've come here to be among my fellow nerds, who much prefer the written word to actual human interaction. Not trip over toddlers and be distracted by people planning their Saturday night binge drink, and choosing which STD to catch. Go be cool somewhere else. QUIET PLEASE!

I'm not going to do my credibility any good by admitting this, but hey, I've already admitted to being Welsh and making up funny voices for my pets.

Right, off to visit my reputation in ICU. Unless I manage to do something cool within the next 36 hours, Andi Peters will have more street cred than moi.

I never really understood free running. Until this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XVO9NdI4sLM

Today is my youngest sister's seventeenth birthday. It doesn't seem all that long ago that she was wiping her nose on my sleeve, and thought that wellington boots were the height of sophistication. Now it's all Smirnoff ice this and boob tube that. Tsk.

Now, can you imagine what might have happened if JSP had turned up on Celebrity Big Brutha this year?

Also their complete geographical ignorance of anywhere outside Watford. Just a theory.

Shortly after delivering a rather over the top lecture on the evils of smoking on Saturday night, my brother staggered grey faced to the toilets and heaved into a sink for a good five minutes, not entirely managing to miss his t-shirt and shoes. This did somewhat nullify his argument, given as he'd probably done far more damage to his fresh young kidneys with 8 cans of Stella than I've even got close to inflicting on my lungs with a few quick puffs on a fag. So in conclusion, in your face, boyo!

You'll be pleased to know that I didn't take my camera along on Saturday night, to record the antics of the wild Sussex Six as they lurched around a popular nitespot. In summary, one member of the crew was taken home and put to sofa bed by 12, another waved his hands in the air like he just didn't care until they put the lights up at the end, one spent most of the evening teasing pricks and running away, one was trying to come to terms with being told she looked like Hilary Duff goes goth, one took it upon himself to become the sheriff of clubland and supervise the rest of the pack. And one snogged a man in the toilets for about 30 seconds, before coming to her senses, and then felt her blood turn to liquid nitrogen when she re-emerged to find aforementioned man talking to her boyfriend!!! How relieved she was when he became distracted by her sister, otherwise she may have had to accidentally knock him out with her handbag, or set fire to his hair.

I have done a stupid thing. A very stupid thing. I opened an angel cake that was in the cupboard in the staff room, and cut off a sliver. Then another one. Then I wrapped it back up and hid it in the biscuit tin in the kitchen, hoping that one of the kids would make off with it. But I've just checked, and it's still there. Now I want to go downstairs, tip my head back, and push the entire thing into my mouth and down my throat like a snake swallowing a donkey. Why is it once you open a packet of something fattening, you cannot rest until the whole lot is sitting uncomfortably in your gut, and you realise you didn't even have time to taste it, and you could probably manage another one, so you head to the fridge and squirt a whole can of cream down your greedy neck, not even pausing to wipe it from your chin? This is what happens if your mother thinks sugar is the root of all evil and bans it from the house when you are small, and all your friends are sucking on Push Pops and getting purple teeth, and you take a box of Sun-Maid raisins to school that even the hamster isn't interested in.

...is what I'm known as, whenever I don these babies:

Call me dense (you wouldn't be the first), but what exactly would be the point of having this information?So that the chosen few can wrap themselves in tin foil and hide under the kitchen table, smug in the knowledge that all those other suckers have had their eyeballs fried? What are you supposed to do when there is a critical threat level? E-mail the terrorists and ask them to please calm down and think things through? Start digging your fall-out shelter? Be first in the queue at Tesco's for bottled water and bandages?

Anyway, enough amateur political comment. You really should read this, because it's bloody brilliant. The only thing that makes less sense to me than terror alerts direct to your inbox is putting the entire Jade Goody entourage in the BB house. Why couldn't it have been Jordan and Peter?

Hmm. I would have put the one with the delusions of Johnny Rotten at the end, but you can't argue with Wikipedia

Tagged by Blondie82

Little_G
guitarist
RAMBLING BOB
ratb0y
timekillingkid

...I can't help thinking, isn't spelled like that. But I can't be bothered to check.

I did not know this person. Nor did my brother, but it didn't stop him from spending most of the night trying to flatten those towering tresses. I thought mods were supposed to be fairly laid back, but when my brother tried to reel this one in on the dancefloor, he got very cross and most un-mod like. Maybe his trousers were cutting off his sense of humour.