I have had a nice weekend, mainly because a substantial part of it was divided between a jacuzzi and a coffee bar. This was marred slightly by My Catholic's having taken it upon herself to reform the Guy's CathSoc, of which she is not a member, not being a member of the Union of which it was a part. Apparently the Catholic lay chaplain is bordering on the heretical and has isolated and "driven out" the mantilla-wearing fanatical nutbars that are Guy's Cathsoc. No great loss, I would argue. Anyway, their new aim appears to be to drive out Joan, on the basis that she isn't a bloke in a dress and doesn't think non-Catholics should be burned at the stake. On the upside, My Catholic claims that God isn't speaking to her at the moment, and as a result He has rather gone up in my estimation.

I don't have any news as such, perhaps because I don't have a life as such. Friday was good, though, with the early part spent drinking decaf with soya milk (coffee shops are not really designed for migraine-suffers) with my boss accompanied by the dulcet tones of Jeff Buckley and Sarah McLachlan in a branch of Starbucks that felt a bit like someone's living room. The second part was spent listening to Mark Thomas, who has come out with such gems as:

"I am not a cynic, but a realist: when I was six, my mother said to me "every time you tell a lie, a fairy dies". I replied "fine, show me the bodies."

and

"How does Al Quaeda recruit? Do they infiltrate the Samaritans? "I want to kill myself." "Great! Do you have your own rucksack?"

If you haven't seen Mark Thomas live, I would highly recommend it, particularly if, like us, you can wangle the best seats for free.