Trotters of Winter Bogs,

I wish I could write more often than I have been able to of late (I’m sorry I missed you, I had a secret meeting in the basement of my brain). Since I last called in on the Bloody Servants of the Paradise Estate, I can’t remember doing much, I remember being in the lab, in the office, in the car and in bed – that can’t be good. I don’t even have any cultural comments.

I’m sick of English news. We’re having wintry weather and we’re plodding onwards. Weather is weather, it’s not news. We had bird flu and we survived. In fact, that was back when I used to write quality articles for The Bellyaches.

There have been a lot of crows on the road. I become twitchy when there are things on the road: crows, pigeons, deer, cyclists, tanks and Nissan Micras. I’ve been enjoying my latest mixtape (Classic Cuts Vol. 22) immensely; it’s full of songs that I just want to hear over and over again (This Day, Just Like Christmas, Outside it’s Christmas, Go Go Ninja Dinosaur, Brussels Rambler, Telstar and so on and as such I've ruined the CD after a week with all the rewinding.

I haven’t really progressed much in the lab, but somehow I feel more comfortable with how things are. I’ve learned how to fix more things. I attended a lecture by one of the visiting academics. Jorg Feldmann was speaking about arsenic, I enjoyed the small dose of environmental chemistry.

I remember complaining about Bob Dylan’s Theme Time Radio Hour after it replaced 30 minutes of Marc Riley’s Brain Surgery. Actually, I quite enjoyed tonight’s episode. I still reckon that it’s just radio, it’s a decent selection of tunes. The fact that Bob Dylan is reciting facts that his researchers have found in between the tunes is neither here nor there.