Even when it was the bears I knew it was her.

Ah, for feck's sake. Finding reasons to be glad about returning from Aus to the UK had been difficult enough, and then I read this. Might be time to make up a, "Your sort isn't welcome here!" sign and head for the airport.

Oh... well. On other antipodean matters of little real importance, I recently spent an entertaining evening with family, based on chianti and nostalgia, during which I learned that I'm related to one of New Zealand's greatest ever footballers. Shame the Kiwis aren't terrbily good at football. Still, er, hall of famer with his own Wikipedia article. Lately there seems to have been a lot of talk about how close I came to being born in Aus or NZ (or not at all), which I think is mostly just cruel.

Also, my family hates Malta. Not sure what to do with that information, myself.

Returning to my computer I find that I'd forgotten to set my messenger status to indicate my absence, and after a whole day of that it's a bit depressing to find that nobody's even tried to strike up a conversation with me. On the other hand, as I type this, somebody is trying to educate me about, "The Dali Llama" and all I can think is, man, that's a surreal camelid, and maybe I was happier being left alone.

Back to hot cross buns, tea, and Wolfhounds. After years of refusing to pay attention, I've finally come down with a fairly severe case of YouTube addiction. Of course I'm still refusing to use it to watch/listen-to anything created much this side of 1991.

Doctor, doctor give me a sleeping potion, for I can not close my eyes...