Monday. Is it?

         I was up the allotment this afternoon to see if my elaborately constructed cabbage butterfly net had withstood the winds at the weekend. Nae bother. Nobody's got a cabbage patch like mine. Nobody.
   
          I had a go at the prostrations again tonight. I stopped doing them at the beginning of last October when I started getting some fluid gathering at the front of the front pad on my feet. I've been waiting for the puffiness to get better, or get worse, or stay the same. Well, it stayed the same, so laying off the prostrations didn't seem to help it. So I did a hundred prostrations this evening. I really enjoyed it in a kind of nostalgic way. Maybe it was when the sweat running off my brow formed a puddle on the floor ....

          I read the radio script I sent in today. I felt most encouraged. The ending isn't right and the characterisation curve for the girl isn't right. But there's nothing I couldn't fix in a couple of hours, so I'll finish it anyway as soon as the radio people tell me they don't want it! Over the next week or so I should have a look at the thriller I wrote bits of to see if any of it is worth salvaging. Well, the plotline will be. About the only thing really.

          Apart from once again dancing the dance of death with the Nicotine Dragon, everything is going very well indeed. I'm settling down. I've started doing two hour sittings. And "the channels" keep opening up.

          Tomorrow has to be the beginning of yet another purification episode. I'm hoping to meet my spiritual friend and, hopefully, teacher tomorrow morning, which will be great. But it would be shameful to show up when I was still smoking. So it has to stop tomorrow morning.

           The white knuckled, psycho-killer, Johnnyboy, will be stalking  the streets of Haymarket around eleven tomorrow morning, not even a morning through the withdrawals. This joe should not inflict himself on anyone, yet .... well, she's probably some kind of saint already and a wee bit of twitching and chewing the carpet isn't got to throw her.