I don't know if I radiate an air of unholiness, but religious nutters (for want of a better word) seem to be targeting me even moew than usual at the moment. First the boring bloke on Oxford Street (the socially inept one who replaced the Liverpudian - give the guy an ASBO, for heaven's sake!) homed in on my shopping bag, which is apparently a sure sign I'm doomed to an eternity with Satan himself; then some woman on Victoria Street handed me a flier with the words "Do you know where you're going when you die?" emblazoned on it. And I wasn't going to be let off the hook that easily, not least, I presume, because I was probably one of the very few who had both taken a flier and not yet verbally abused her.

"Can I talk to you about Jesus?"
"I'm in rather a hurry."
"It'll only take two minutes."
"I'm sorry."

As I walked off she yelled after me "Are you going to Heaven or Hell?"
"No, I'm going to Victoria Station."

I was rather proud of that.


The book looks good, though I don't think this has encouraged anybody to buy it as yet. The blurb is finally up, and if anyone who has read it fancies posting up a nice review there will be a beer in it for you. (Does that amount to bribery?)

I am finally going on holiday! I am going to Lille for three days (not sure what one does in Lille for three days, in fact I'm not sure what one does in France for three days when one can't have red wine or anything with dairy in it, but we shall see...) I am there on a Sunday, so My Catholic has generously offered me her French Missal so I can go to Mass in French. (I should have known that she would have a handy French Missal floating about for emergencies. You know, just in case.)