Week 11 has come to a close. The squatter (as my flatmate, Tigerflea, calls AO) should have lost its tail by now - phew! Its already been to Uncle Frank's big Astoria gig and witnessed several atrocities. I won't blame it if it never comes out after witnessing its father's rather drunken and disruptive behaviour and the unfortunate assault visited upon an equally drunk and mouthy Uncle Ev by Astoria's security staff. Anyway, enough airtime has been devoted to that subject, so moving on to AO and his Mothership.
The Mothership is brimming, with twice the amount of blood pumping around, its slow and flushed and pees a lot - not glam, but then any thoughts of glamour were forlornly abandoned quite a few weeks ago. This is a new adventure with its own rewards, so I'm told.
Huston, we have a problem:
How is it that I can go "aaawww" over a kitten but I can't absorb the fact I'm pregnant? I think its partly that I'm a bit afraid to feel anything after the Kamikaze Craven died, but partly because I have a block when it comes to babies. Its because I prefer to think of them as people, I suppose, rather than helpless blobs. I like to think they have integrity and intelligence.
Errr... Huston, we have the Daddy of problems....Mothership needs to dock....
Daddy O, AO and I need a place to live - together. My drunken Greek father is not a rich space-shipping tycoon. The hunt is on.
Huston? Come in?.......
Thursday 7/7/5. My heart was in my mouth because the Piccadilly Line is my route to work. Goodness to Murgatroid (as Snagglepuss would say) everyone I know is fine.
It was a chilling event which I hope will never be repeated. The bombers were obviously on another astral plane to us, well, if they weren't before, they certainly are now! But we must remember they were people, like us. The monster, the alien, the 'other', exists in all of us. Mine currently wants cake - well, at least it doesn't have a penchant for incendiaries! (Yet!)
