bulk :: 14st 13 (Yes! Eeee-ha! Etc. I’m very pleased about this. This feels good. This feels like a landmark.)
gym sessions :: 3
swim sessions :: 2 (exercise really works! Who knew?)
episodes of The Wire watched consecutively :: 4
fears concerning the litigiousness of would-be sex offenders Foster & Allen :: 1
fist fights with self :: 1
mouth-cuts resulting from fist fight :: 2
regrets :: a few, but then again... meh
Aaaaah, life. Whoever said it was a funny old game was a wise old cove. This time last year I was squirreling myself away with my best friend’s ex, stuffing my face with mini-eggs and muff. This year I’m just back from hospital where I’ve been visiting a friend in need and becoming near-hysterical making bad, bad jokes with said friend and other visitors, about catheters and tumours and Fritzel. (We all decided, when someone is suffering from cancer, humour-wise, anything goes. It’s true too. Special rules apply.)
Excellent. I was just about to write that I’m pretty miserable and not really looking forward to spending the long weekend all on my lonesome, with not even a hospitalised friend to visit (she’s leaving hospital tomorrow), when I received a message from Paddy, my brand new friend.
Of course, Paddy isn’t really called Paddy, but I’m calling him Paddy because Paddy is short for Paddington, and I’m calling him Paddington because his real name – amusingly – is actually the name of a station on the London Underground. What are the chances?
Anyway, Paddy came to me through the blog, as everybody seems to these days, and he is an excellent chap. An excellent chap who happens to want something to do this evening. So there we have it :: a match made in heaven. If only Paddy was the porn star, Maria Ozawa, then all of my problems would be over.
So, here it is, Happy Easter, and I leave you with a couple of Easter-themed goodies. One is a little something I knocked together in order to gain more downloading privileges at a site called The Box. They asked people to create an Easter scene in their house, photograph it and send it in. I did this:
Dominating the scene - as it should be - is ‘Fat Christ’, still decidedly bloated from all the Christmas Pudding and Baileys on which he gorged himself on his last birthday. At Fat Christ’s right hand, a selection of Easter reading (including the answer to last week’s Bookscan) and an Easter onion, its new shoots reaching up to heaven, symbolising the cycle of death and rebirth and reminding us that life is all about hidden layers and endless weeping.
Front centre, behind the holy welcome mat is a representation of man. It could be Adam and Eve. It could be Mary and Joseph. Or it could just be a couple ordinary Johnnies with a Himalayan finger penguin on their shoulders.
A bottle of Easter vodka and two more images of Christ – emaciated and electric gay – round off the scene. Plus a couple of eggs and a duck made of soap. Oh, and a candle, red with the blood of our Saviour.
On the whole, I’m quite pleased with it. All it’s really missing is a goldfish with a Lincoln log on its back making for a sock drawer. But you can’t have everything.
And finally, this guy:
So, what do you reckon :: is he real? Surely not. Please, God, no.
Religion, eh? Eh? It's got a lot to answer for.