Friday today. Thanks be to Godfrey. I've only done 4 days this week, and the final two of those didn't exactly cover me in glory. I turned up and made the right noises, but, really!, I should have been at home under a 20-tog duvet for all the use I was. It wasn't for the want of trying. I do have enough residual Catholic guilt to at least try and work, but I couldn't uncross my eyes long enough to get anything meaningful down on paper.
The events in France are coming to a predictably violent head. Those behind it will all be shot to ribbons of course, moving their cause on not one jot. There's a legacy for you. I'm willing myself to keep my sense of humour in the midst of all this misery, but it's tough. If there is intelligent life on Europa, or one of these hundreds of habitable exoplanets they keep turning up, let's hope they swoop down and give humanity a right good kicking for treating its sentience so shabbily. If I set about some blameless passer-by with a broom handle one day in the name of Eros, say, I'd quite rightly be locked up as a loon.
A lunatic. Lunacy, which is just idiocy's wide-eyed cousin of course.
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