What's Yours Called?

Tommorow will most likely be spent walking through London on a climate change demo, in weather that illustrates the point. Wind, rain, cold. Unless of course the ankle I've managed to twist today feels significantly worse.

Simon M can't go because he's injured his leg, and tells me if one of us doesn't go there'll be no one to represnt the fat old queen contingent from Portsmouth. This vote of confidence as I was patching up his computer ('Nobby') once again this evening.

His TV ('Nigel') is also not working, so I've lent him mine ('Boris') till he can bankrupt himself again in the January sales on a new set (as yet unnamed).

I have a rucksackfull of old Socialist Review magazines to store, read through and scan selected bits of, from Paul T.

I'm always interested in urban myths and false beliefs, but had completely forgotten about Snopes.Com.

I'm mapping out a possible story to write, but there's nothing on paper yet. If I am stuck in bed unable to walk tomorrow, I'll be able to make some preliminary notes.