Last night I noticed how many things around the house need repairing, so I made a plan of action.

I got up early this morning and started by collecting up all the bent things I could find, then when I had a neat pile, I settled down to bending them all straight.

I was so pleased with myself when I had finished by lunch time that I decided to treat myself to a break and spend some time searching the internet for stuff about "bending things".

I found a blog dedicated to the subject that was very thought provoking and showed there was more to the subject than first meets the eye. I read this thread where somebody argued that you couldn't "bend things straight"; "Bending things straight" was semantically incorrect, so one should talk about straightening things that were bent instead. If you bent something that was already bent it would end up more bent not less. He went on to say that such sloppy use of the language was not only symptomatic of the rot in the fabric of modern society, but it's unquestioned acceptance made it part of the slovenliness that was the cause of declining standards.

I was not so proud of my earlier achievement now. I gathered everything back together again and bent them to how they first were, contemplating that now, in fact, they were really three times as bent as when I first found them, then I meticulously straightened each and every one of them.

It took a long time, but at least I can be pleased that I also did my bit to reverse the lethargy that is causing the rot in the fabric of modern society.

I made a sticky mess this morning.

I tried to clean it up but only managed to spread it around into a bigger, thinner sticky patch. I thought I would scrape it all back together again and start from scratch. Well, I did get it all together again, but it was a different kind of stick mess - with dust and crumbs and curly hairs in it.

"This is a good metaphor for life." I thought. Life is about change. You can always change your mind, but if you change some things you can't always change them back again, even if you have changed your mind.

"Where on Earth did that thought come from?" I wondered. Then I remembered: I have a letter to post. I think it's finished and says all the things I want to say, and says them in a way I would like to say them, but I'm never sure. I was reminding myself that once I have put the letter in the postbox I can't un-post it.

On the other hand, like I thought before, life is all about change. If I don't post the letter then nothing will have changed, so I won't have a life.

I think I've taught myself something valuable. I can post things and have a life, or not post things and save the worry about not un-posting them. Two clear choices.

Yesterday I found myself in a situation where I was trying to pretend to look like a fraud, but I wasn't. I was only attempting to illustrate the hypothesis that appearances steer history more than the underlying truth does.

I had proved my point because before I got the chance to conclude that appearances must be part of the truth, they'd stormed off, shouting about how I had broken their trust and things would never be the same between us again.

Oh well, I guess I'll find another friend some day.

Lying in bed last night I started thinking about the house.
I realised there is a lot of beige.
I haven't thought about beige since it went out of fashion.
It must have been thirty years ago.
I asked myself if I should redecorate.
The problem is it is a big house.
Then it struck me that fashions go in cycles.
It would take a lot less energy to be patient than to paint all the walls and change all the tiles.
Then I remembered the Boy Scouts motto "Be Prepared".

I shall go out and buy some beige shirts while they are still cheap.

All last night I was thinking about 'Reason'.

Well I am a great believer in logic, in cause and effect and all that. Yes, I am very confident that everything that happens is the result of things that happened before. There is an unfortunate side effect of living in an age of reason though; One needs a jolly good explanation to justify everything that One does and everything that One is.

For example, yesterday somebody demanded to know why I have not cut my beard for over a year. I had to think very hard, combing through all the facts, trends, fears and ideas that are currently holding everyone's attention; The economic meltdown, an ageing population, global warming, nuclear proliferation, knife crime and juvenile delinquency all came to mind.

So anyway, I answered her with a very simple statement: "I have never seen a man with a beard down to his waist who suffered from frostbite of the chin!!"

On reflection it wasn't such a clever answer. Unless the Scientists bring back the Nuclear Winter I'm going to have to think up a new justification before next summer.

Letter to the editor. (For publication.)
Wibbledom Enquirer.

Dear Sir/Madam,

       I am writing to end continuing speculation within the village on my self imposed social isolation.

       Your readers, many of whom know me, will be aware that I have become a recluse who actively avoids social contact.   I find myself in a Catch-22 situation, for when I do come face to face with locals, I am always asked why I haven't been seen around for a while.   The catch is that the aspect of my character that compels me to solitude also seems to preclude me from giving them a satisfactory answer, so I hope this letter will satisfy the curiosity.

       By way of example I am half-minded to explain myself by describing an encounter that I had recently. On this occasion I found myself unable to decline an offer of afternoon tea and scones with a well respected local lady who seemed genuinely concerned for my state of mind.

       I cannot go into detail, since I would feel obliged to be less than truthful and alter details to save embarrassment to those involved, and such deceit is against my nature.   For instance I would use, say, the name Sylvia instead of Virginia and the term 'sister' in place of 'daughter'.  Further, the event did not take place in the Vestry, and I can only suggest that any unexplained stains on the maroon carpet are likely due to the activity of the vicar's excitable pet Spaniel.

       I hope this clarifies the matter and satisfies those who might be concerned for my well being, or the safety of the local community.

Respectfully yours,

Stanley J Gleaning-Oldschool

Last night I was dreaming about the world economy. It doesn't seem to work in a logical way.

Some people make things, like ladies in India sewing cotton. They work fourteen hours a day and can't afford makeup or medicine. They shit in a hole in the ground.

Then some people don't make things at all but just shuffle stuff around. City Bankers and Stock Dealers for example. They just shuffle paper mostly. These ones live in million pound houses and buy silicon body enhancements and spend months in the sun on big boats. They have all the things other people make and shit on marble thrones.

I did an experiment this morning.
I didn't make anything, not even a cup of tea!
First I shuffled everything in my cupboards around. Then I shuffled the newspaper so all the page numbers were mixed up. When I had shuffled a deck of cards and all my books I couldn't think of anything else to shuffle so I sat down.

I'm still waiting, but I don't feel any wealthier.

Still, at least I still shit on porcelain

I argued with myself in my sleep last night.
It was about how I haven't written anything down for ages.
I told me it was laziness, but I disagreed.
I explained it's because I've lost inspiration.
I said that if I made an effort inspiration would come.
I retorted that I had made lots of efforts but all I ever managed was to recycle old thoughts that I'd written down years ago.
I got irritated when I said recycling was good and had to point out it's only good when it saves the worlds resources, not when it clutters the world up with even more junk.
That shut me up!

I shall avoid me in the future. I hate a smart arse!

I think it was yesterday that I woke up very worried about the state of my memory.
I'm getting bad at remembering the right things at the right time.
On the other hand I'm very good at remembering things at the wrong time and I'm also good at remembering the wrong things at the right time.

Actually, come to think about it, two out of three isn't bad.

These are truly strange times.
I have had many listless days and many sleepless nights.
In fact I had to spend all yesterday recuperating from an extended bout of inactivity.

Yes, truly strange! The day went exactly to plan but I still could not shrug off the feeling I had not achieved anything...

Today I remembered two things.

When the internet was quite new I read that it was going to be a wonderful business opportunity.
I also remember doing a Yahoo search on the word "haemorrhoid".
The results page had a big advert in the top left corner. It said "BUY YOUR HAEMERRHOIDS on AMAZON." and In the top right corner was another advert that said "SELL YOUR HAEMERRHOIDS on E-BAY."

If only I had put two and two together and become a middle man I would be a billionaire by now.