Two blokes in the US have just been arrested for travelling around correcting poor grammar. They'd Tippex out words and correct them. How bizarre that someone could be arrested for spelling correctly...

Here are some of the misspellings or grammatical errors they found:
In Texas a firm called Wings announced it was "Now acepting application". There was a sign for "Dillettante" chocolate; posters referring to "recepies"; "cake's" and "birthday candell's"; signs that had the word "priveleges"; and a lot of "your" rather than "you're". An eatery in New York offered "chicken parmasan" salad, and a grocery, traditionally the home of the misused apostrophe, which called itself a "grocerry". They found menu boards advertising "today special's" and "capacino". A sign that warned "pedestrians use walks not roads"; a T-shirt shop missing the dash between the "T" and the "shirt"; an Army-Navy store offering a "hellicopter" helmet and a bullet "bandoleer", and a "Sweedish" berry drink.

...where they all come from. Let me explain.
Today was supposed to be settlement day on the house we're moving to. In other words, all that should be left to do was move.
I was just going out of the door to the bank to get a cheque to finish it all and I get a phone call from the solicitor who tells me the vendor can't finalise today because, in spite of a month to do it, he doesn't have enough money to pay his mortgage off.
Well, thank you so much for that, I said, I'll just cancel the removal men and pay their cancellation fee and try and persuade the drongos at the real estate agency that we'd like to stay in this house for another month while plonker tries to strongarm his parents into remortgaging their house to help him out. You know, don't mind me.
Jesus, what these people think they are doing I just don't know. I have to say this is a very depressing turn of events, sitting as I am surrounded by boxes and two kids who wonder why we aren't moving tomorrow.
You know, it's irrational, I know, but at times like these I want to pack up my 12 years in this country where everything happens on a wing and a prayer and go home to a country where things get done when they say they will.

Back a few years ago in Britain I was a director at an art gallery in London and I met Saul Brewster (not his real name of course, but close enough...). Saul went on to become senior curator at Tate Modern which didn’t exist when I was there but I’m told is the place to have your ‘installation’ if you’re an artist. I think they show things like dog poo and animals in vinegar, or something.

Now Sofia and George have a similar olive complexion and for a while you could see them tip-toeing around each other until they eventually broached the subject of where they came from.
“My family came from a very poor village in Italy,” said George solemnly.
“Oh," said Sofia, “my family came from an exceptionally poor village in Greece.”
George looked at her and said, “My family were so poor they used the left-over pasta water to wash the dishes.”
Saul whistled.
“My family were so poor,” said Sofia, her voice rising, “they didn’t even smash the crockery at celebrations!”
“It’s right,” said Saul, “I’ve been to the family home. All the crockery. All still intact. Some of it very nice representation indeed of classic Greek urn art, circa 1890s.”
“Hmm,” said George, “when my grandmother was having her 10th child they couldn’t afford a bed, so they tied her ankles and strung her up between two trees.”
Sofia stared and then said hoarsely, “You had trees...”

Now, the Aussie Olympic squad didn't do too well this time around. What I mean is, they got less gold medals, in fact less medals all up, than the British team. But let's not worry too much, if you do your algebraic maths (Australian Standard Version) the Aussies still come out comfortably on top.
According to one news source here today, if you factor in the number of people living in each country, the GDP of each country, the number of active wombats, the difference in people rescued in the surf every day at Bondi compared to St Ives in Cornwall, and how many beers go down the gullet per hour, the Aussies come out comfortably ahead in terms of medals per head of population. In fact, the only nation that beats Australia in terms of 'adjusted' Olympic medals is, er, New Zealand.
But then they do have lots of sheep.

Bit of a sad day today - Five's last day at pre-school before we move to the new house. One of the teachers told me yesterday that all the other kids would miss him because he's such a character, which is nice to hear. He certainly is a character, that's for sure; there's never a dull moment when he's around.

I was strapping Three back in the car when this truck driver comes up behind me and starts leaning on his horn. I just ignore him because I try not to waste my time talking to fools. He eventually heaved his hairy body out and said, "This is a loading zone. Can't you read?" I finished strapping Three in and then got my head back out of the car and started looking around but not at him. "Sorry," I said, "I'm a blind driver. I can't see."
"Oh," he said, "sorry mate, didn't realise."
I wondered how long it would take him to realise that blind people don't drive cars. I suspect he was somewhere on the M5 when he suddenly clenched his buttocks, then started cursing as he thumped the steering wheel.

Buying a house, as few of you homeowners will need reminding, brings you into contact with a very special form of person - the real estate agent, or as I prefer to call them, the professional liar.
One of the best ones I had was when I met with the real estate agent at a house which I didn't end up buying but which I liked quite a lot. I asked him, "Have they had any offers yet?" "Oh yes," he said, "quite a few."
I marched in there with him following me and the owners were there. I'd met them once before and they were very nice, laid back Aussies. As we sat and had a cup of tea on the verandah overlooking the National Park and listened to the call of the kookaburra I said, "By the way, have you had any offers yet?" And the owner said, "No, not one, not a dicky bird." The agent didn't even blush when I turned round to him. In my business we have a technical term for that - we call it a bare faced lie.

The other thing they do is not tell you things. For example, in Sydney a while back some kid went bonkers and knifed his mother, father and sister to death in the house. I imagine there was a bit of a mess. When the real estate agents came to sell the house they advertised it as "a spacious four bedroom home, crying out for a family". Yes indeed.

Yesterday I took Three and Five to Sydney's Powerhouse Museum so they could run amok. We got in the lift with this painter (as in paints your walls, not paints your portrait) who reeked of turpentine. He was a gargantuan South Sea islander type of bloke who you might more usually expect to be outside a strip joint giving tricky customers a cuff about the ear. He had on a t-shirt which said, Don't Fuck With Mr Zero.
Three who addresses all men as Man, sniffed and looked at him all seriously and pointed at him aggressively, as he does, and said, "Man, you smell." I thought the air had suddenly been sucked out of the lift. Fortunately the bloke laughed and said, "Man, you're small." And Three frowned at him and shouted, "I no man, I a boy." Five had his head in his hands and said, "Three, one day you will get us in very big trouble indeed."

Now, I've never bought a house in Australia before, mostly because I never had any money. Well, I still don't have any money but you know, this is a country which operates on the principle where there is a will there is a way.
They do say that buying a house, getting divorced, and not having the souffle rise, are life's three most stressful moments - that's for sure.

Now, the real estate agent deserves a special mention. She went to the Real Estate School and got an advanced diploma in lying. When she says, "my what a lovely morning", I ask her to excuse me, and go outside for a look at the sky.

Well, well, well, I see Great Britain has won more gold medals at the Olympics than Australia.
The funny thing is, Kate Ellis, Australia's 19-year-old (that's not a compliment, Kate) Minister For Going Overseas With Kevin Rudd declared before the games that if Blighty got more medals than the Aussies she would don the Great Britain team strip. I'm looking forward to that , oh yes, and with the Aussies seemingly only competing in water sports this time around I'm sure the day won't be long in coming.

...I think.
Yes, I've decided to get back on the piebald blogging pony (you never hear that piebald thingey anymore, do you? Back when John Wayne was in the saddle every cowboy either had a piebald or, you know, they knew someone who did...).
Anyhow I've been fighting the urge to come back and vent my spleen (no madam, it's not sexual, sit down!) but I've been so busy with one thing and another. Here then is a potted biography of the last few months.
1. Have decided to buy a house in the mountains, and move end of August - yippee!
2. Can still see Sydney from mountains but not the people - so all well there.
3. Five leaves pre-school this coming Friday and will be very sad.
4. I will save a mottza in school fees so am not too sad.
5.Three is turning into that kid from The Exorcist - the bad one.
6. Did not finish crime novel in time for Spanish writing competition, but never mind, it will sit there quietly for a while.
7. Have almost finished thriller called Mr Wolf which will be an international best-seller (yes, I know I am a bit biased).
8. When house move is completed will have no money at all.
9. Five will go to school in February (start of new year for kids here).
10. Three will stay at home with me due to lack of funds.
11. I will go mad in the next six months as they drive me to drink.
12. Only having a Coopers beer on the weekend (when I say 'a beer' I mean several).
13. Still walking every day at 6pm for half an hour.
14. In mountains everyone has at least three dogs.
15. Most of them bite...

Yes, I've decided to give up blogging. I know, I know, but since I posted that story yesterday on Gav I've received a number of death threats from people living in Melbourne. Now, they were tastefully delivered - the horse's head in the bed this morning was a particularly nice touch and not something I've ever seen before, well not up close like that - but I've seen all the episodes of Underbelly so I know this is not something I should ignore.
But more seriously, I reckon if you're going to do a blog you need to put something up there pretty regular and I'm struggling to find the time, to be honest. I have to earn some more of the folding stuff as well as give the nippers the time they deserve, and also I need to sleep occasionally.
I'll continue posting on the GONE site (here's the link: http://kingcoultas.blog.co.uk/) because that's a simple cut and paste job from my book, and I'll run it until that particular story is all told but on this site this'll be the last from me.

Of course, I may resurface again in the future and if I do I promise you, you'll be the first to know.
Thanks for all your comments and your friendship and I wish you well.
(And Melbourne's not that bad really - especially when the sun shines...during those three days in February. In fact, I fancy one day I may even move there).

I had a coffee this morning with a bloke called Gav who I used to work with. He’s a salesman and lives in Melbourne but he was up in Sydney for some sun. I used to go down to Melbourne every week to troll around with him in his gold Jeep Grand Cherokee to visit potential magazine advertisers. Once he told me, "best place in the world this, chief."
"It's pretty good," I said.
"Chief! There is no finer place!"
I'd taken a deep breath and asked, "Where else have you been that you like, even a little bit?"
"How'd you mean?"
"I mean, like Italy or Greece, France or the US, even New Zealand."
He stared at me like I'd asked to have a drive of his Jeep. I said, "So you've never been out of Australia?"
"No need, chief. No need at all."
Now, I used to have a reputation as a snappy dresser, even if I do say so myself. Once – in Melbourne as it happens – I got pulled over by an unmarked police car (well, actually the copper driving the unmarked car pulled me over, but you know what I mean) and I stepped out and the first thing he said was, “Now that is a nice suit, sir” before booking me for using my mobile while driving. Girls on planes used to finger my ties, often without asking, and once a hostess sat with me at the back of the Qantas 737 and talked about my shoes and her stilettos and how she had never been to Italy.
Gav eventually started to copy my dress-sense, buying pink, lilac and herringbone striped shirts, opting for ties designed by people, and even going for a full-leather pair of shoes, rather than the glaringly shiny faux-leather ones he normally favoured (“Made in China, mate”, he’d said, “can’t get better value than that!”). I thought he was on the right track until one day he arrived to pick me up sporting a new puce coloured suit. It wasn’t the colour or shininess of the fabric that made me stare open-mouthed it was the, “chief, look at this. Creases and all, and in the right places I’ll venture, and when it gets mucky you can just roll it up and put it in the washer. They say it comes out wrinkle-free.” Who ‘they’ were I just don’t know but clearly they had as much knowledge of haute couture as, well, Gav did.
So, today, Gav was sitting there with me by the harbour looking at the boats and the sun shining and he leaned forward and said, “Y’know, Sydney, it’s overrated, chief.”
“How’s that?”
“Well,” he drawled, “all you’ve got’s the harbour. That’s all.”
I imagine if he ever went to Venice he’d say, “it’s nothing, chief. All it’s got is water.”
Now, I was asked to go to Melbourne next week to do some media training but my black suit is in the cleaners. In Melbourne they like to dress in black. They've got cafes on the street where you can take a cappucino and breathe as much of Gav's exhaust as you like. They have trams that rattle and creak on metal tracks that make your car go wobbly and uncontrollable when you cross them. They have the bare naked busker, though in fairness he's a blow-in from the US, and they have the biggest, glitziest, most crass god-awful casino outside of Macau, owned by Australia's richest man who inherited his money from Australia's previously richest man who inherited it from his father and who could have made more money if he'd simply put it all in a normal bank account, but that's none of my business.
"Chief," said Gav today, squinting in the Sydney sunshine at the glittering harbour and the ferries bobbing and the girls walking by in bright dresses with smiles, "Melbourne's the place. It's got it all."

Just a quick one as I need to make coleslaw for the week (yes, we eat luxuriously in this house...) and the lecky people are coming around later to try and work out why the power keeps tripping off.
Yesterday took the nippers to see The Wiggles. If you don't know who they are, you're about to have a lesson in their infectious humour (their words, not mine) as Tourism Australia have decided to ditch the large-breasted, pretty yet foul-mouthed Laura Bingle (Ad slogan: 'Where the fuck are you', or something like that), with these four blokes in the primary colour costumes. The Wiggs currently pull in around $45m a year which I imagine will go up once they are on your TV screens every break between The Bill and whatever else comes on before Coronation Street these days.
The concert was a charity event for Unicef and featured so-called stars, most of whom I'd never heard of and certainly wouldn't want to hear again. It was packed and yet they only made $180,000 for the starving children of the world. I suppose it all adds up though, which presumably is what the concert organisers were thinking too as they pocketed the $185 from our tickets, plus all the rest from the hundreds of other concert goers. Nice work if you can get it.
Then we went to Chinatown for Yum Cha which Five consumed with as much glee as Pavarotti after a fast, while Two played with his chopsticks on the metal table and sang, The Wiggles' Whoop De Doo at the top of his voice, much to the concern of the Chinese for whom whoop de doo means earthquake aftershock, I believe, in Mandarin.
Then we decided to go on the Monorail. They've got an investigation going on at the moment into corruption at Sydney Rail. Apparently most of the people siphoning off millions of dollars a piece for sending work their mates' way thought there was nothing wrong with doing 'business' this way. The boss of City Rail denies any knowledge of the widespread corruption saying he was more concerned about keeping the trains on the tracks. I think though, most of them have been sold to organised crime bosses so I can't imagine he was that busy. Anyhow, I wasn't too surprised when the woman in the ticket booth said, "$9.40 love, and don't worry about a ticket," she winked like someone in a French farce and added, "there'll be no-one at the other end."
"But we're doing the circuit and coming back here," I said.
"Like I said," she winked.
I just hope she is investing my money wisely.

Meanwhile, I'm whacking on with the crime novel which needs to be finished pretty quickly so I can get it into the competition which pays almost $200K as a first prize. Will I make it? In the words of Laura Bingle, I bloody well hope so. Now, there's another chapter of GONE up. If you're interested just follow the link from an earlier post.

Now, I don't aim to become an oil tragic but really, is anyone paying any attention? I ask because while the US merrily uses a quarter of the world's daily oil production on fueling, amongst other monstrosities, V8, V10 and even, good Lord above!, V12 engined SUVs, the International Energy Authority has issued a warning today which basically says it has understimated the amount of oil still available. That'll be the first time they've even come near the truth - usually they've happy to say the sky is blue, the grass is green and hope you all have a nice day. This comes against a backdrop of $150 a barrel for the black stuff and easily $200 reckoned, (or more) by the end of the year. Meanwhile, for the first time ever we are using more of the stuff than they are managing to pump out of the ground. Hello! Quite simply, no oil producer can raise production significantly - if they could they would, especially at $150 a barrel.

The other thing is, China, and India are cruising along in overdrive and buying as much oil as they can. I know I've mentioned this before but if China eventually has the car ownership level of Germany (itself much lower than the US where even bag ladies seem to have a Ford) then, well, there are not enough raw materials in the world to allow it to happen. Interesting.
I think as a first step you folks in the US should have a couple of days at home with the air con turned off and the plasma TV unplugged so oil production can keep up with supply. I mean, come on, it's only fair, people! 

...is the title of a novel I've just finished reading by James Howard Kunstler (I think with a surname like Kuntler, er sorry, Kuntyler) you probably need the Howard to take some of the emphasis off) and it is a really good story. Rush out and buy it now!
Basically it's set in the not too distant future when oil has run out and the world as we know it has come to an end. Literally, everything is now a manual pursuit and there are no more jobs like real estate agent, banker, public relations director or marketing executive - you know, all the important jobs we'd miss.
I guess it's what you call speculative fiction but frankly there's not a lot that's too speculative about it; the oil will run out in our lifetime, or at least will become so expensive it causes major economic collapse (and you thought sub-prime morgages were bad...).
I know a bit about the oil business, having worked in the auto industry for a good slab of my life, and I can tell you all the oil companies are busy buying back their stock. What does that mean? Well, in as few as 10 years time companies like Exxon will have liquidated themselves, or to put it another way, they'll entirely hold all the oil they have, rather than having to worry about shareholders. In fact, l happen to know, all the major oil companies are now spending more money buying stock back than they are exploring for new oil. Why's that? Because they know it's running out, there's not much left (30 years' worth by some estimates, but much of that won't be easily extracted) and they want to keep hold of as much of the black gold as they can and have one final money-making jaunt, though what use the folding stuff will be when the world gets made by hand, I just don't know.
Anyway, on that cheerful note, have a look for Kunstler's book, it's a great read. As, of course, is GONE, the next chapter of which is now up and ready for reading. Follow a link on an earlier post if you're interested.

...is the title of a short story I read to the kids. Just thought I'd mention it.
Meanwhile, the crime novel is hurtling along, as well it needs to be with just a couple of weeks to get it finished, and another chapter of GONE has just been posted. Follow the link from an earlier post if you're interested, and frankly you bloody well should be!
Oh yes, I take the gun out today and show it to a young girl, as you do.

...well, it will be. But let me explain...
I've been off the radar again because I've just been so damned busy. In fact, I'm still so busy I have barely got time to write these words but I am reading a book at the same time and dictating a feature article to my lissom assistant. They call it multi-tasking though I've also heard it referred to as 'making a dog's dinner".
Anyhow, here's what's been happening.

Right then, I must concentrate on a suitable crime...wish me luck.

I was talking to a friend just now on the phone about crap films.
I'm not talking about stuff like the BBC's I Claudius where they forgot that the quartz wristwatch hadn't been invented (one of the main characters was sporting one for most of an episode) or that the Morris Minor hadn't quite surpassed the Roman chariot (a maroon Minor sailed by on a road above the set during a discussion about Rome's army in Crete), no I'm talking mostly about those ones with mega-buck budgets where they really should know what they're doing.

Meanwhile, there's another chapter of GONE up and ready for you to read. Here's the link: http://kingcoultas.blog.co.uk/

...for five days now as I attempt to shed some pounds, get the body back to that temple it once was (no madam, I don't mean the temple of doom) and generally get me fit (yes I know that's not proper English but some of my readers are American and I feel I should cater for them too - I am an equal opportunity person, you understand.)
Talking of Gordon Ramsay and his dreadful show Hell's Kitchen which has just started screening here, I've only got one thing to say to GR -  in language he'll understand - what the fuck were you thinking?
Now I'm all for him going to failing restaurants and telling their owners, who are already down on their luck, "that meal was like a kick in the bollocks", because I admire people who can use English with such dexterity, but this American foray is simply, well, bollocks - pardon my Ramsay.
I mean, it's so patently stage-managed, he's so clearly working to a formula set up by a production team of vegans in California who wouldn't know sage and onion stuffing if it was used on them and who haven't a clue about what it means to have a decent meal (I mean one that is cooked and contains a bit of fat), that GR should be ashamed to be part of it. Talk about doing it for the money.
Meanwhile, in the real world, there's another chapter of GONE up and ready for you to read. Here's the link: http://kingcoultas.blog.co.uk/

Cheerio.

Yes, the annual Spirit, Mind & Body expo is on in Sydney at the moment. They've been advertising it lavishly, which strikes me as a waste of money because if you're tuned into the cosmos surely you'll just get the message through the ether?
Anyway, I haven't got time to pop down there so I'm planning to spend this afternoon sitting cross-legged on the persian (no madam, not the girl from Iran I was rumoured to be seeing, I mean the rug) in an effort to get down there in mind rather than body and see what they have to offer.
Meanwhile, there's another chapter of GONE up and ready for you to read. Here's the link: http://kingcoultas.blog.co.uk/

...we're off to the park to play some football, or soccer as they still like to call it here. If you ask me they've got it all mixed up when it comes to ball games. Down-Under we have rugby league and rugby union, both of which are referred to as footy, and then there's a most bizarre game called Australian Rules which is a cross between la-crosse, quoits, a pub game called Tip-The-Bloke-On-His-Arse, and rugby. You know you're watching it when you see blokes wearing shorts of a certain tightness which came and went with the hot pant (around 1972 for you folks who weren't even a twinkle in someone's eye then). Their hairstyles too are reminiscent of a time long gone, I think they called it the neolithic era, though after the game apparently they sink around 30 bottles of beer each, which truly is something to admire.
Now, the weather here is most bizarre; it rained for 40 days and 40 nights and then it got warm for half an hour and now it's very cold indeed, well about 18 degreesC which is chilly for this part of the world, but at least it's sunny.
Okay, got to squeeze into those shorts and throw ball as our American cousins say, only, er, I won't be throwing it, I'll be kicking it.
Now, GONE is back. Latest instalment is here: http://kingcoultas.blog.co.uk/

Well, it's only me, actually, but a headline with either God, the devil or a bloke in Tunbridge Wells who used to have a game show on TV but has been caught with a bloke from down The Farmer's Arms usually gets people hooked, so here I am once again.
Yes, I know I have been a bit fits-and-starts lately but that's life at the moment. Firstly I've had loads of work on, which is always good, well, if you have time to do it of course. Media training, writing articles for magazines and newspapers, writing my thriller and looking after Five and Two, the former being on holiday for two weeks (which is like sending me off to war, let me tell you).
We've done a few things despite the 17 days of solid rain (no it doesn't always shine with God's own sun in this neck of the outback) including going to the zoo ("I want to touch the la-la bear," said Two when he saw the koalas), off to the Australian Museum to see the new dinosaur exhibition, entertaining desperate women (I mean those who also have kids and nothing to do in the rain) and watching kids' TV programs. Last night Five watched the final episode of Robin Hood in which Guy of Gisborne (or Guy Gisborne as he insists on calling him, Five's not yet familiar with landed titles) stabs Maid Marian to death with a sword after she told him she only loved Robin Hood. Five said, "why did she say that?" I said, "Because she only loved Robin Hood." "Yes, I know," said Five, "but if she'd said, 'I love Robin Hood but I love you too, Guy Gisborne' he wouldn't have killed her." Good boy. A quick search of our family history back to 1066 confirms that none of the blokes on the paternal side of the family has ever gone to war - they always had something better to do like looking after the pigs or heading diplomatic talks, which some may consider very similar - so it seems he will follow in our footsteps.
Okay, enough for now; I will endeavour to post everyday and keep you informed on developments.

I know, it's been a while. My only excuse is I've been running with the Olympic Torch. Yes, it's been me dodging all those demonstrators. I know it looks like different people are being jostled by those short  folks from Tibet but all I can say is I've been heavily made-up for each running session. I've become quite friendly with Lu Chow, Wang Shi and Chou Pastri, those chaps from China who are usually more at home giving protestors a cattle prod or two in Wangzni Province but who are now resplendant in their Olympic running gear. Pastri even let me hold his pistol the other night - it's bigger than it looks.
Talking of guns, I know I haven't mentioned the demise of Charlton Heston, the actor who liked to shoot and once said he'd only hand the weapon over if it was forcibly taken from his, "cold dead hand". I imagine God asked for it at the gate.
Anyhow, can't stay long, must dash. Honestly, this torch caper is a really inexpensive way to see the world, but you do have to run everywhere.
Now, GONE is back too. Latest instalment is here: http://kingcoultas.blog.co.uk/

I know I've mentioned the Aussie true crime drama Underbelly before, but it was on again last night and I have to tell you it is just the best TV. You must try and see it if you can - I'm sure it can be downloaded from somewhere (Channel Nine are showing it here).  But how on earth they are allowed to show it I just don't know - several of the 'characters' are in the news now, Tony Mokbel is being extradited from Greece and the fittest female lawyer you ever saw is fighting to get her right to practise law back after sleeping with murderers and and, how shall we say, bending the rules a little...Both of these characters feature in Underbelly every week - the Ferrari driving Mokbel famously referred to as, "you're the man controlling 50percent of the amphetamine market in Melbourne". Now, how could, he get a fair trial?
Anyhow, it's such good viewing and you can't help but shake your head at it all. The Victorian Tourist Board or whatever they are called must be shaking their heads too - hardly makes you want to visit Melbourne, let me tell you. On that subject, Bondi Rescue is also on at the moment and well worth a watch if it comes your way. Bondi is just a beach but here it has iconic status and I think it's a World Heritage site now. But jeez, is it dangerous. In the summer,  around 80 people a day have to be rescued. Next beach up is Tamarama, which is even more treacherous. 
So, yes, it can be dangerous in Sydney as well as in Melbourne, but I suppose at least the beach can't come and shoot you in the street, your favourite restaurant or your bed at night...

Meanwhile, here's the link for those of you who are following GONE. 
http://kingcoultas.blog.co.uk/

...it is today - I reckon it'll be around 28C later on with a bit of a breeze - and I'm off to the city with Two while Five wields a paintbrush at pre-school and learns another Jesus song. I'm wondering what will happen because he will expect to see the big J, him having risen from the dead and apparently in amongst us all again, or so the nippers have been told by their teachers.

Meanwhile, here's a true story; it's the link for those of you who are following GONE. 
http://kingcoultas.blog.co.uk/