Zen there were nun

I've posted previously about my Zen calendar and Christmas day brought forth a beauty which I could never hope to understand:

Zen does not confuse spirituality with thinking about God while one is peeling the potatoes. Zen spirituality is just to peel potatoes.

I've got no idea what this means and worst of all, I like my potatoes with the skin on.

Happy Noel

I haven't posted for a while and I know that you, my fans, wait with eager anticipation for my latest utterances. Hopefully, this will appease you over the Christmas period as you get fatter and fall out with people you quite like.

I've been lucky enough to be working over Christmas, which has by and large actually involved work, something I wasn't banking on. Three days of pissing around with lunch breaks longer than the work day itself was my plan, but sadly not.

Anyway, happy new year to you all. I'm off to a fancy dress party in Bristol, the theme being personalities from the news in 2005. Ideas: the woman who had a face transplant (easy: wear a mask); Roy Keane (pram and projectile teddies); the Pope (wear a white sheet and talk in Italian); the French Olympic bid (stripy top, onions, etc., and a big L on the forehead...)

Christmas time...

...Mistletoe and Wine,
Children sing in no particular rhyme,
Your mum's on the fire,
The cat's up the tree,
It's time to get drunk
On the booze that we seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...

I wrote these hilarious lyrics to Sir Cliff's pop anthem at whatever time Mistletoe and Wine was released (I'm informed by the net that it was 1988 - such precocious writings for a six month old child). I seem to remember rehashing Nathan Jones by Bananarama and making it about my increasingly follicly-challenged Latin teacher Brian Jones. "Brian Jones, you are going bald, Brian Jones, you have now gone bald". Why this talent wasn't picked up on defies logic.

I firmly believe that I have a number one song inside me, and I don't mean Lady In Red which is in my heart every day. Sadly, I am not proficient enough in a useful instrument which would aid song-writing like the piano or the guitar. However, I do play the bugle and the drums which, erm... don't help at all. The band in which I played were at the front of the procession which lead Wimbledon FC through the town centre after they had won the FA cup. I still recall the terrible carnage as we stopped and the bus didn't.