This is the highest point in the South of England and I climbed it on Saturday with a group of people which included a man wearing formal shoes with the heel flapping off and a bulldog called Mutley.

Standing on top of that rock formation being battered by the January wind with Dartmoor at my feet was quite literally a world away from the teeth-numbing sponge-legged hatch-spewing basement-dwelling party monster behaviour of the weekend before.

As Irvine Welsh's 'Juice' Terry would say: "Variety. It's the spice ay life no?"

I quite fancy Stan off American Dad. Is that bad? There's just something about him.

Tomorrow, I am going to a 60th birthday party for which the invite challenged - "See if you can party as hard as a pensioner." As it's the Right Hon Rev Zero hosting and the Lady Zootie as bday girl, I am beaten before I even fucking attempt it. I am going to wear my tail and try and channel some Hunter S. to help me along.

Hooray!!

It’s inspirational, at the moment. God (he/her/it/whatever) seems to be present almost everywhere:

In the teachings of Master Hatsumi and the philosophy of the Bujinkan

At the baptism of a friend’s daughter on Sunday

At the wedding of an old friend on Monday and in the vows they took

In the concept of Brahman & Atman

In the bravery of dear friends when faced with tragedy

In the Messianic Jew Turtle and I met in Southampton bus station

In Paradise Lost, which Turtle is devouring and reading me the bits sans demons

In the Virabhadrasana II posture, taught to me by my Mum last weekend

In the never ending cheeriness of the Thames lock keeper as he spent his Christmas break manually pumping out grumpy Boater’s shit due to a faulty Elsan station

In Tallis’ Spem in Alium

In the study of Genesis

In the prayer flags brought back from Bhutan for us, hung out on New Year’s Day and already fading into the Universe

In Piscine, the Character in The Life of Pi, who worships at Temple, Church and Mosque

It’s food for thought and it’s keeping me busy through the “darkest” month.

Strange times afloat….

I am currently reviewing why (and indeed, if) I am a burner. It is not to go partying, dress up and take drugs, *huge fucking yawn*, although this is what seems to currently be en vogue in the UK burner scene.

If that was my aim, then I would be a raver. Which, my dears, is a lifestyle I deciseively and happily left behind, 8 long years ago, on Millennium eve. Ending up at a filthy warehouse party in Uxbridge with human shit on the floor and the New Year’s Day sunlight revealing the grey, haggard faces of those around me, I chose not to be involved in that any more.

I need to get back out to the desert and rediscover, perhaps get to some regionals. This is not good at all.