...not drinking for a month was also one which gave a good deal of bottleward propulsion. My beautiful Ora failed her MOT with flying colours. With each colour being a different shade of brown. But the fixing the problems would cost as much as the car did in the first place, and even then it wouldn't guarantee she'd pass her emissions. Blee. There's nothing quite like losing your car and your job, in the space of two days, to make you want to get really drunk. But I managed to stick to peppermint tea.

I got a text from Nooma this morning asking if there was anything she could do to cheer my grumpy ass up. I thought she was unlikely to agree to ditching her manfriend and eloping with me to the Caribbean, so instead I told her that only seeing a bunch of pictures of animals in hats was likely to raise my spirits. This is wot I received :

It worked! She's a genius!

I've not blogged for a bit. Well, for the benefit of the two of you who requested I do so more, here is a bit of an update on what I've been doing recently.

I've not been drinking. For a month, by Thor! But today's the last dry day. Hooray. I imagine that when boozahol and I become reacquainted, I will react so severely that I might throw up my own legs.

I've been having rather unkarmic car dramas. I have already mentioned that Ora royally fluffed on her MOT. So I bought a car from an elderly relative of my new housemate. I was assured that it flew through its MOT a year ago, and the old budge had only put about 30 miles on the clock since, to-ing and fro-ing from the village post office. Auntie Ethel was literally half my size, and is now simply too old to drive. I politely accepted £100 off as it wasn't taxed or MOTed. I didn't like to think of her going to any effort.

So I took it for an MOT last week. When I was handed the two-page fail sheet, I was told to drive it home slowly, park it up, and never drive it again. The conniving old crow! So I torched her house before she could cash the cheque.

I can't be without wheels where I live, so I bought another car last Friday. Now I own three. How decadent am I ? I might get some pensioners to demolition-derby the other two. Anyway, the new one is turbolush. It has power-steering, central locking, electric windows, and extra poke for good measure. The night after I bought it, I hit ice on a country lane, and had no say in crashing her, myself and my four passengers into a verge. Being a designated driver is motherfucking bullshit.

Now, onto other matters - perhaps you can help me with a dilemma. I have been offered a job. A potentially very well-paid one. In the Ants' Nest. The problem is a classic one - stay in a job that is close to my ideal, yet remain on the bread-line; or accept one I have absolutely no interest in, but for stacks of filthy lucre ? The choice is made more difficult as, after I didn't openly embrace this job offer, the chap making it to me told me I could work remotely. Which means that, potentially, I could relocate to absolutely anywhere I want in the UK. Which is exceedingly tempting. What would you do ?

...shoddy car, wot I bought from a (now rather ashen) old lady ? Well, does anybody want it ? If so, go here :

Crap car on eBay!

That is all.

...of trouble :

Last night, this young lady touched my arm. As I have not yet scraped myself from the floor, it would appear that we can conclude that I am very susceptible to starstrikabilitation. I love her!

Also, today will feature the new Flaming Lips album, surf, and beer later. Joy!