I am finding the blocked ear very distressing. It feels like a hamster has sought refuge up there. A fat hamster. My eustachian tube is not a place of sanctuary.

Although, what is a Neighbours funeral without a wobbly serenade by a brave eyed widow? Oh, and the ghost of the spouse present to offer final words of comfort to their beloved, before disappearing into the shadowy after life and leaving those behind to wonder if psychiatric help might be needed for the poor dear girl. She's obviously not handling the grief. Look what she did at the funeral.

Clydan's mam, Martha, took him to sign on today. His summer job has ended and he can't find any work. There was a terrible fuss when they got to the job centre, because she thought that Clydan had his papers, and he thought that she had them. Martha does everything for Clydan you see. Squeezes the toothpaste onto his brush, butters his toast. She had to hold his National Insurance card for him, unless he lost it on the way.

Martha can't believe that Clydan is expected to live on £47 a week. The lady told her that was Gordon Brown for you. Who's Gordon Brown, wonders Martha. Fair play to him if he can survive on that sort of money, but Clydan has needs. I mean, he's not got to pay bills, or buy food, and she keeps him in socks and underpants and woolly jumpers and sweets and porn and Lego but really! Poor Clydan. Especially since the police took his web camera away because he was flashing his knob at little girls on MSN.

Such endless possibilities for disaster, I don't know where to begin. Banged up abroad for unintentional diamond smuggling. Running out of toilet paper and being forced to use an exotic leaf which causes such an intense allergic reaction that her bum swells up to twice it's normal size. Getting her cougar repellant and her rape alarm mixed up at the crucial moment. Accidentally agreeing to marry a man when she thought she was asking for a pizza.

'Dear Mammy,

The cats have decided to mark my return by catching as many mice as they can fit in their evil mouths. They bring their tiny corpses back to the house and lay them out on the doorstep, where you're sure to see them and quite possibly step on them. In bare feet. Then the dogs compete to see who can choke down the most.

Have you ever come across a channel called True Movies? It is dedicated to telling the stories of some of America's greatest heroes, victims and rapists. There are an awful lot of films about rape. And the wrongfully accused. A mother's struggle. A father's battle. A monkey's uncle. And feral men kidnapping teenage girls and forcing them to hide out in the wilderness and listen to their life story. That was one of my favourites.

They have excellent titles like: 'A Cry in the Dark - The Story of My Hysterectomy' and 'Laugh or You'll Die - The Bruce Bobbins Story'.

....Bruce Parry, that's who!

Lovely, lovely Bruce. With his surprising tight abs and his beguiling smile, and his willingness to ingest noxious substances and projectile vomit for the nation's amusement. I have a pathological fear of vomiting. I never thought I could find it sexy. To be honest, I still don't, but I can watch Bruce do it and not feel my own gag reflex start to twitch. He vomits very eloquently.

I imagine him to be polite, yet adventurous in the bedroom. That's his style. He always asks nicely before indulging in local customs, castrating a goat using only 3 fingers or fashioning a pair of hiking boots from sand. He'd definetely ask permission before getting experimental. And he's probably picked up an exotic trick or two - 'Tonight darling, I would like to perform an erotic little ritual known as the Tibetan Tremble on your good self. Followed by what the natives in Kenya call the Monkey Tumble. And to finish up, perhaps a brisk dance with my Latvian Love Stick?'

He had been walking back and forth before stopping to stare out at the water for a while. Then suddenly, he turned around, hoisted himself up onto the fence and toppled backwards over it. Toppled is the wrong word. He leaned backwards, remarkably calmly, and allowed himself to fall. It was almost peaceful.

I don't know what drives somebody to suicide. Perhaps in a way, it is similar to euthanasia. Serious mental illness can be a terminal condition. You can manage it, perhaps even control it to a certain extent, but it's always, always going to be there. There is always the risk of a relapse. I can understand people choosing to end their lives because of immense physical pain. Similarly if the pain is emotional.

Everything else is equally turbulent, for a number of reasons. There isn't a single person I can rely on at the moment. Except for this guy:

"Greetings my friend!!!

because I shall be capable to answer you only from this address. I hope to find the answer from you
Your new girlfriend Sevil!!"

A little presumptuous maybe, but she makes some good points. And she likes my structure. Do you know how long I've had to wait for somebody to notice my structure? Her use of punctuation does drive me a leetle bit crazy though. The relationship may well crumble under the strain of all those exclamation marks, and unecessary colons.

Email propostion number two:

"Hello!
My name is Svetlana! I am 27 years old.
Now I have an opportunity to write to you I am an interesting, beautiful, kind and single young lady. I want to find my love, my half and want to marry him. I am looking for a man who will fall in love with me and I will fall in love with him. I have never been married but I dream about it. I am fond of children and I dream about a happy family with the beloved man. I am interested in music, cooking, reading, traveling and others. I know English very good and can easily speak it.

Please write me and I will send you my photos.
I wait for your letter very much.
Svetlana!!!"