As I will be no doubt too hung over to bid you this tomorrow.

And very special wishes to RMT, who have once again cocked up everyone’s plans with yet another strike, holding the city to ransom because they don’t get paid enough for standing around and being unhelpful.

This has been one of the most enjoyable Christmases I can remember. I woke up at about 7, and lay in bed listening to my music and watching the bluetits and robins fly back and forth from the window. In the distance, a gentle mist had settled over the valley like a spider’s web. No snow, but something just as beautiful for Christmas morning.

I got up, shrugged the disappointment from my face as I saw what it looked like today in the mirror and showered before sitting outside with a cup of coffee and a cigarette, watching the day grow and chase away the mist. Breakfast was smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, passing on the champagne following the festivities of the night before but still a far cry from my usual black instant coffee and scowl.

And presents! Delightful gifts! Greatly obliged to John for his beautiful sushi set, Barbara for my new scarf and my dad and his girlfriend for my Murakami book, and the Doctor Who quiz book that should keep the nerd within content until at least the new year. Thanks also to Richard for his quite insane gifts (a tin routemaster on wheels filled with jelly beans, a bottle of whisky - yay! - and a Dutch urn featuring a smiling cow), though I don’t know how to drop into conversation that this second gift from Holland again runs the risk of causing me deep emotional trauma. Just kidding. And particular thanks and my deepest affection to Mr B, who continually surprises and humbles me with how very sincerely sweet natured he is.

Dinner was just as decadent - smoked trout terrine followed by roast goose and enough Christmas cheer to pickle a 19th century Admiral. My only gripe was with the Christmas special of Doctor Who. Aside from it being totally fantastic (gurn), I can clearly now never wear my favourite grey trench coat again.

God bless us! Every single one!

Except Jim Davidson. Jim Davidson remains a cunt.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/wales/north_west/4369835.stm

I think the reason why I so rarely update any of my various journals these days is that I’m so busy actually living the sporadic and yet stupendously demanding events of day to day Benji life that I so rarely have the time to record them. Thus they mount up and up as a backlog of things to write down. Thus I can’t be bothered.

But not today.

Today I got up at 11:30 and fried some eggs. Then I watched Buffy.

Stick that in your biography and smoke it.

What sinister goings on are happening in Collier’s Wood? What monstrous experiment is he dabbling in now? He may have everyone else fooled, but I know that cow’s up to something.

“That’s nonsense,” Calvin whispered into his father’s ear, from his underwater volcano in the Atlantic Ocean.

Judge for yourself:

www.calvintcow.com/

This little 12 week old chap or chap-ess is currently floating around inside my friend’s tummy. Isn’t that odd? I mean, she’s got a whole person inside of her. Just floating around and thinking “life’s pretty good about now.”

…I just said tummy.

Not stomach. Nor womb, abdomen or belly.

Tummy, I ask you. What’s happening to me? I’m turning all broody and maternal. Help!

I’m sure it will stun you to learn that I can do superficial

The latest psychotic haphazard melange of scenes encountered on my recent meander through life:

But this one remains a firm favourite:

Three hours. Three hours sleep. I feel how Wendy Richard looks. After a year and a half with eczema, I can now reasonably conclude that the following aggravations set a little army of Fire Ants under my skin all night, and must in future be drastically limited.

A fictional lesbian,
yesterday.

A quick look at the BBC website reveals such shock horror headlines as George Michael to “marry” partner, and Williams wins ‘gay’ libel damages.

Good heavens, good gracious! Why, oh why, oh why do the BBC seem entirely unable to allude to the concept of homosexuality without making it at the same time look as if it doesn’t really exist. Homosexuality does exist. It is, as we all know, lesbianism that is entirely fictional. Even Queen Victoria knew that.

Without getting too spiky haired and sensibly shoed about what is probably merely a misinterpretation of coincidence on my part, doesn’t this look a little bit rather patronising, as if these kind-natured “normal” folk are only grudgingly reporting on these crazy alternative and mildly not actually “real” lifestyles.

It would certainly seem a little odd considering how many big nancy poof homo fruits work there.

Allegedly.

p.s. Robbie, if you don’t want people to think you’re gay, then don’t constantly flirt with other men or mince about like a bumboy.

p.p.s. Loving the pink trim.