... so I think I'll abandon it.

I'm pretty bored with this.

Lemme tell you about spiders. They spin. They sit in their spun webs and they watch. You remember Arachne? Poor old Arachne. It wasn't her fault that she was better than the goddess (Artemis? My memory is failing, baby, old age and all that). Anyway, Arachne aside, they watch. They don't tell the flies that they're watching because that would spoil their fun. They eat flies. Poor old flies. It's not that I like flies, it's just that I feel sorry for them when they end like that (and I've seen the film, of course). Trapped. Wrapped. And devoured. Slowly, innit? Devoured slowly. I think they paralyse them first though. That must be some kind of relief I suppose. Spiders have eight legs, apart from the one in that story, that one had seven legs. They run fast. They run at you just to freak you out.

Oh, incidentally, this site is messing up. It won't let me leave messages or PM anyone. Actually, it could be my computer rather than the site. Don't know. But I can't make contact.

I ate too much creamy pasta tonight and now I feel sick again. There was no wine to wash it down, that was the problem.

I'm reading a fairly horrid book. It's made me do a bit of research about the Salazar regime. I know someone who was there in 1974. She lived through the carnations. I don't think I want to go to Angola just yet.

The report was submitted on time and I've done my prep for next week. The old dear is mad at me because I won't be there to take her to the hospital on Monday, which is, coincidentally, her birthday. I shall be there this weekend though. Don't know how I'm going to cope with el doggo. I shall be away until Christmas week. Damn. Haven't even bought cards, let alone think about prezzies. Not quite true. I bought a prezzie for Tayeb, but it's not a Christmas prezzie. It's a solstice prezzie. So he gets it before Christmas.

Tomorrow I have to tidy up. The carpets smell like new carpets. It smells like a carpet shop.

Moff.

Oh, the relief. The report is finished. I just have to edit it properly now and send it off by demain matin. I've been out of contact with everyone and I feel like that kid in that story in that book I had when I was a kid. Damn, that was a good book. I gave it to my cousins when I didn't have anything else to give them. That hurts. I miss it so much. It was a bit dark. I've just noticed how tired I am. The caffeine keeps me going. Living on drugs, this is terrible. Too much to do always. No possibility of good things. That's not true. I'm one of the luckiest people I know. Okay, it's not pure luck, but luck plays an important part. Tomorrow two carpets arrive. I have to go to the hospital for physio in the afternoon, so tomorrow is pretty much written off already. So is Thursday, so is Friday, so is Saturday, so is Sunday... you get the idea. The next opportunity for breathing will be

That doesn't make sense. You can't breathe when you're dead.

I feel sick. Too much caffeine

Greetings, spirits. I have been away for two weeks, now I'm back for a week then away for another two weeks, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. My car was broken into, so that was inconvenient. What did "they" take? The usual. Nothing. What's to take? I'm bored. Bored with work. For a start, I'm working for nowt. I have to farm out my lovely dog, which costs me a fortune, pay to have the car repaired so that it can be driven... you get the picture. Can't afford to quit, though. I support too many other spirits. People just can't manage, can they? The old dear is expensive at the moment, and I can't abandon Queen Mab. Besides, how would I pay my williams? They don't deserve a capital letter.

Anyway, this week I have left some very happy spirits behind me in glorious Sheffield, the steel city. I only saw an arts and media city, though the train went past a fair bit of the steel stuff. I did steel once before when I was working in Sheffield. Now I'm hungry, and I need some dinner. The hotel breakfast selection was lousy. The dinner was okay. Not a massive choice. A bit of a cheap skate hotel, I'm afraid to say (Jury's. I know they do it without an apostrophe, but I just can't cope with that). I'm going to make purple velvet curtains for my small room. Yay!!! Cats are so furry and purry.

I'm going to cook dinner, then eat it slowly, washing it down with Spanish oak-aged red. I like old-world wines. And cats. And dogs.

A groovy weekend to all and sundry

Look at this, it's genuine. I found it on the internet (where else?)

It is extremely difficult for foreigners to get a job in Brazil. Your best chance is to look for an employer from your own country and see, whether they have an opening in Brazil. The difficulty is getting a work permit. This applies to all foreigners. Even if the company from your home country offers you a job, the time of your work permit will be limited. Your company is obliged to train, side by side with you, a Brazilian applicant for your job. Once this applicant is trained, your work permit will no longer be renewed. As a consequence, there are only two ways for being able to permanently live and work in Brazil:(1) You can either deposit the equivalence of $200,000 in an account of the National Bank of Brazil, to show that you have sufficient funding to start your own company, or, (2) you can have a child with a Brazilian girl, marry her and then get a residence permit.

Now that's all well and good, but I might find it difficult to have a child with a Brazilian girl for biological reasons. Besides, I don't want a child. And I don't want to get married. I'm very open-minded about most things, but this smacks of using people, and I really wouldn't want to do that. I'm sure that your average "Brazilian girl" wouldn't want to have a child with me, either. People clearly have very odd ideas about women. It suggests that "Brazilian girls" are just waiting around to have children with foreigners. This shows a distinct lack of respect for half of the human race. Maybe the advert is just meant to disgust you enough to put you off looking for work in Brazil. Maybe.

It's half past five. I've had my cream in brandy (I ran out of milk). I'm going to bed. I hate lurgies. See, I can moan manfully. I have learnt this trick. Damn.