The Wickerman

Friday 11:27 p.m.
I don't want to appear to be abnormal. I am the norm. I am the norm. Tomorrow we're going to Skye for a week to share a house with seven other people, three of whom we do not know. So tonight is really the end of my holidays, the end of doing just want I bloody well wanted. The Skye scenario is much like a mixture of my two bad dreams; the one where I'm away from home and can't find my way back; and the other one where I'm getting my space crowded out by nice flatheids. It's like being in a B movie.

However, I will have a wonderful time. How can I fail when I can stand on my head and take gigantic vase breaths with the noise blockers on in front of the telly of an evening. I'm taking the tent in case I need somewhere to meditate. And them that dies will be the lucky ones!

They're flatheids every one, of course. If your flatheid has only the being awake, being dead to the world or having dreams, I've been spending quite a lot of time in the additional bit the blissheids get. Quite a lot of time. Now that I have come back from the Samye, it seems that all that time spent meditating has produced fantastic results. So that's all that matters. All the rest is just a lot of old thoughts and we don't believe in thoughts in the Disbelieving Congregation. I suppose this blog will now shut down for a week. Or, if they turn out to be cannibals, a bit longer.