Sleeping Over

Another thing lying around: a play, dated 7th September 2000. I know it's not good literature, but it's mine, I'm clearing out my drives, and I want to leave this somewhere it can be found in, ooh, maybe 30 years when I'm too old to remember what it feels like to be young and foolish. Onwards...

Sleeping Over

Cast
David
Sam - David's fiancee
Fudge - David's best friend
Justin - David and Fudge's other friend
Waiter
Nurse

Synopsis

Scene 1: everyone arrives at the cottage

[Friday night. Justin's holiday cottage. Two big sofas. Posters of guns and tanks round the walls. Papers littered on the floor. An opened box of beercans in the corner. David, Sam and Fudge sat on one of the sofas, sitting very close together and chatting. Their heads are together as they do so. David and Sam are cuddled up together, holding hands. Sam's legs are draped across Fudge.]

D And then he gave you back her knickers and offered you a bottle of whisky.

F Well, it was a good whisky. And anyway, he's fucked every other woman who's come through that door. Why should Jenny be any different?

S Language, Fudge.

F Sorry Sam. Screwed.

S Forgiven. For the moment. So what happened to 'one for all and all for one', David?

D That was never meant for girlfriends. [pauses] Except you, D'Artagnan. [Pauses again] You didn't, did you?

[S looks at F.]

D With him?

S Don't be so bloody silly darling. [She gets up and goes through the kitchen door]


D You're my best man. But I don't want Justin to feel left out. Do you mind if I ask him too?

F Well, it's a little unusual, but you always were a bit different. Okay, good by me as long as he gets to do the speech. Has Sam forgiven you for asking me first yet?

D Shhh. She's only next door. Ask me about something safe. Like sex.

[Sam returns with a drink and two glasses. She hands one each to the boys]

S I heard that. Any trouble and I marry one of the best men. So Fudge, what are you planning to do this weekend?
F Walk. Drink. Do a bit of thinking. Decide which job to take. And you?
D Stand for election. [Fudge makes a face] No, seriously; I've got the forms in my case. It's time. I'm settled now, nothing should stop me.

[Justin walks through the doorway. Everyone sits up and shuffles a little further apart on the sofa.]

J Typical. I'm the last one in and it's my bloody cottage.
H [to J] Shouldn't work so hard then [quietly, to F and S] Probably trying to get away from Emma. [They nod]
J Glad you made it though. Sorry I'm so late.
F We started the beer. Thought we'd have to drink it all for you.
D Remember the time we locked Justin out and drank his whisky?
J You told me you'd lost the key!
D You didn't expect me to tell the truth did you? We left some beer on the doorstep for you.
J So what did you put in the bottle? No, don't tell me.
S Boys, boys, let's stop fighting and start celebrating shall we?
J Celebrate? What? You're running away with Fudge?
F You're pregnant?
D No, I'm not pregnant. Honest [pats belly, rounding it out as he does so]. We're getting married.
F Oh, wow! [Hugs David then Sam] Can I borrow your fi-an-cee for a bit? I'll give her back, honest!

[F leads S to a sofa, J,D sit down on the other. They all start to drink.]

F So how's little Sammie then?
S Hey, less of the little...
F Big, then?
S Stop it you rat: you know what I mean...
F Okay, okay. So how's the blushing bride to be? How's David?
S Swap you for telling me about your latest girlfriends.
[They sit giggling and drinking together on the sofa]
F Do you ever miss it then?
S Oh. Sometimes. We tried it a bit, but I don't think David sees the point.
F No, for him sex is just something plain.


J [looking at Sam and Fudge] Do you think there's something going on there then?
D I don't think so, he's my best friend. [Embarassed] Well, apart from you anyway.
J That's okay. I can cope with being second place. For a while, anyway. Don't you ever worry about how close they seem?
D He's her best friend too - why shouldn't they be close?
J But they're alone together - doesn't it worry you? Look mate, I know you want to marry her, but think about it: how many times has he stayed over when you were away? Don't you ever wonder what they do when you're not there?
D But he's gay. Everyone knows he's gay: he hasn't been out with a woman for almost as long as I've known him.
J Would that be as long as she's known him? Think about it...
[D sits looking at his beer. J opens up another can and settles into the sofa]

[S and F are sat heads together, whispering]
S Look, about the announcement. There's something else, but I want to surprise David tomorrow... swear to secrecy? Girls' honour?
F Do I get to wear a dress? Oh go on, please! Oh all right... girls' honour, scouts' honour and any other excuse I get to dress up honour: okay?
S Cross your heart and hope to...
F Yes, yes, the bra too... so what is this amazing secret? You're not pregnant are you?
S You've spoilt it now: I wanted to be really dramatic when I announced you were going to be an uncle.
F Oh please - an aunt, or I won't be able to wear the big hat at the christening. I'm sure David made me best man so I wouldn't wear a dress to your wedding.
S You are awful
[They hugtightly]
S Love you, Fudge
F Love you too Sammikins
[They are all very drunk by now. David rises from his seat and stares at S and F]

D What the hell do you think you're doing? Groping my own bride in front of me? Do you think I'm really stupid? Do you think I haven't noticed?
F What the...
D Pretending you were gay, you bastard? Well, I'll show you...
[D rises to hit F. J stands behind, and restrains him]
J Don't get upset about it - I'm sure there's nothing doing [whispers] don't let him see you get upset...
F You're pissed as a fart. Yes, I love your wife, and I don't know what the hell's upset you but we can sort it out when you sober up.
D [struggling] You bastard...
F Okay, okay, I'm going now. [Picks up his coat, opens the door and leaves, walking backwards through it]
S What the hell did you do that for? I haven't seen him for months, we were having a lovely time: what the hell did you do?
D [Tears starting to run down cheeks] I don't want to talk to you. Just leave me alone. Just go...
S But...
D Go!
[S leaves via an internal door, starting to cry.]

J Come on, mate. [Moves D over to the sofa and slumps him down against it. D starts to cry, holding onto J. A clock ticks in the backgroud. Blackout]

Scene 2: Justin takes David

[Same place, an hour or two later. Is lit only by the blue of the tv screen]
S David? David?
[S opens the door and puts on the light. J is sat naked on the floor behind D, arms around him and one hand holding his penis]
S [Screams] David?
D [Very slurred voice] It's okay. I can handle this.
S David?
D It's okay. Go back to bed.
[J smiles victoriously at S. She turns around and walks slowly back through the door. Blackout]

Scene 3: Breakfast at the cottage
[Sunday morning. Justin's cottage again. Sam and David wander into the room, together but not touching each oter.

Scene 4: Breakfast at the cafe
[Climbers' cafe. Sam and Fudge are sitting watching the waiters wandering past]

S It should be such an insignificant act. You put this bit [holds up finger] in that bit [holds up thumb and finger to make a ring, and slides the first finger into it]. So what? Why does it matter so much?
F You know that's not the point. Well [slightly dirty grin]. But seriously, it's never been about sex.
S Power?
F He didn't have a choice. It's a shame they didn't do it before you appeared. But then, you never screw your mates.
S You don't think David meant to?
F No, he's too screwed up by it. Even if yo'd caught him at it, he'd never be this upset. You'd have dealt with it between you.

S So why did Justin do it?
F Nobody comes out and says 'I'm bisexual'. It's ridiculous. You mum will say 'yes dear' and your best friends will ignore it til you've decided. He doesn't exist outside porn films and a little letter in LGB.
S It's never bothered David. David never raped anyone.
F David isn't a big macho army officer with a girlfriend who'd kill him if he looked at another woman. Except he isn't. And he idolises David. Everything he's had has always been newer or faster or better than David's, but David's always had what he wanted.
S Like hair, you mean?

Act II. Later that month.

Scene 1: Sam and David talk
[Sunday lunchtime. Sam and David are walking alone on the hills.]

S Someone tried to rape me once.
D Oh for Christ's
S No David, please listen. I need you to hear this
[D nods]
S I was at the blues bar. Was chatting to the bouncers as I left, knew them all from the gym. Bill offered me a lift home. He was the quiet one. Sweet guy, with a lovely Welsh accent and a steady family at home. We chatted about the weather, and the guys he saw me at the bar with me. It was a while before we stopped and I realised I was lost. Somewhere out in the countryside, I think. I was tired, slightly drunk, confused and then he was on top of me. Holding me down and pulling at my jeans. It wasn't a request. He didn't even try to kiss me, and that probably saved me. I talked. It had happened before and I'd always thought it was my own fault. And now I had a chance to find out. So I looked up and asked him why he was doing it. And he started to cry. Was terribly upset about his baby dying and his wife just turned her back on him and he was desparate for some contact, any contact with someone. And I was there, being friendly. And bringing so many blokes to the club that I must have been a tart, right. Wouldn't have minded a bit of extra that night. The strangest thing about rape is that it's often so non-violent. You know the person doing it, and you're transfixed. You don't do anything about it because you don't believe it's happening.

D I'm scared. That I wanted it. That I encouraged it. Scared of aids, scared of cancer, scared of losing you.

Scene 2: Sam and Fudge slip away
S A small flat somewhere. A job I believe in. Somewhere to write and listen to music. I'm not sure I want to be loved. Not sure I need to. I don't know.
F That's rubbish and you know it. Do you know how lonely you'd be without David. Even in this mood? Give him a chance.
S I've been giving him a chance for months. That bastard has taken over our lives. I want my life back. I want my husband back. [Starts to cry]
F How's it going?
S Fine, fine... two more big orders, some more stuff in the pipeline.
F Busy at work then? Lots to do?
S Yeah. Yeah. [Looks distractedly about her] That waiter's taking his time
F Sam, it's me. You know, the person you told about your abortion. The one who stood beside you all night when your dress split on the side. The only person in the world who knows how he ticks. Don't hold out on me now.
S [sits up straight] You have no right to...
F Please?
S [sagging a little] He won't let me near him anymore. We're sleeping in the same bed, but he's always somewhere else. All I want to do is just hold him and make it better, and he can't even bear to be near me. And the worst thing is when he forgets: sometimes we'll be giggling on the sofa, just like it was before, and he's round me and stroking me, and something stops: the shutters come down and he's not there anymore, and he's off making tea before I can even hold his hand and talk to him. He won't even let me listen, can't see any problems. And everyone tells me how perfect we are, and how lovely we seem, and I have to face that bastard Justin tomorrow and it's my appointment and [starts to sob. Fudge pulls her head over to his chest]
F Whoa there little sister... [lets her cry for a little]...

Scene 3: The stagnight. David goes back to Justin.
[Fudge and David cuddle up on the floor together, still wearing all their clothes. Blackout.]

Scene 4: The morning after
[Sun's coming up. Fudge and David are still cuddled up on the floor together, except they're now head-to-foot with each other. Fudge stirs and wakes David with a pillow round the ear]

F Wake up lazy. [Comes to a bit more and pushes David's feet away from his face] God, your feet smell.
D [grinning] At least I wasn't farting all night. Do you want coffee?
F You okay? [David nods]. You did know about Sam, didn't you?
D I'd guessed. That's why we were still getting married.
F I think you'd better go and talk to her. You've got a lot of ground to make up. And some ceremonies to arrange. Go on, shoo.
D [pulling on his shoes] Justin?
F I'll tell him when he wakes up. Shoo.
[David walks out quickly. Fudge picks up two mugs and wanders off towards the kitchen].

The end.

Tears in the Rain

Another foundling, this time from 26th August 2000.

Like tears in the rain

I'm not bitter. I'm depressed, confused, scared and angry, but I'm not bitter.
Shit. I am bitter. Since I found out I've hardly slept. To sleep and lose consciousness would be too close for comfort. I don't know what to do. There is nothing to do. I can only wait.

I can only wait.

I've decided to get my thoughts on record. As far as I know, nooone else in the world is going to do what I'm going to do. Nobody has done it for over four hundred years. I'll be the first. Hopefully I'll be the only one. Or one of the very few.

I'm going to die.

That isn't so exciting these days. Nearly everyone dies sometime. Illness, accident, it still happens. But it's easy to recover, a week or so and they're back in the land of the living.

I'm going to die permanently.

My doctor told me a week ago. It's taken that long for it to sink in. I knew I had cancer - it showed up in my annual med-scan. I was't too worried about it. I decided not to get it treated. Well, why go through the difficulties of treatment when I could regenerate if it got bad enough to be a problem. My friends said I should deal with it; not to let it get out of hand. But I believed in the great miracle.

I believed.

And I think I wanted to know what it felt like to come close to death. I've always wondered if it would be different. Well, I'm going to find out now. Big time.

Eventually the pain started. I booked myself into a regen unit: in for a few days, then back to my life. All the standard checks, my brain scan recorded, DNA extracted, personality saved as a backup on the mainframe, everything as normal in the assumption? The hope? That I might have changed slightly in the last year.

And so I went into the unit.

Lowered into the tank. Naked and slightly cold. Green gel surrounding me, starting to fill my nostrils as it washed above my upturned chin. I panicked, tried to hold my breath as it invaded me.
"Relax and breathe normally. The gel is oxygen rich. You will be able to breathe perfectly well. Relax and breathe normally".
The slightly metallic voice with a slight edge of brogue washed across my brain.
"Relax and breathe normally".
I tried to relax, opened my mouth to swallow the gel. I choked as the jelly substance filled my lungs. Fought the panic reflex as the anaesthetic worked and I slowly lost consciousness. I'd like to know why they don't put you to sleep before you're immersed. Must be some reason. I made a mental note not to die too often as I went under.

I should be more careful what I wish for. I'll remember that in future. Ha bloody ha.

I woke up in a plain white room. Sterile. Gentle hum of machines monitoring my body functions. Lungs breathing in perfectly-balanced air. I slowly opened my eyes, letting flourescent lights flood my senses. I was alive and well. The cancer was gone. My existence ongoing.

A soft voice murmured my name.

Something wrong. Something trickling into my conscience. It didn't sound right. The voice again.
"Are you awake?"
Still something wrong. I thought I was dreaming. The same brogue as before, the same soft reassurance. But no metallic edge. I was listening to a human. What was a human doing in a hospital? I was in regen. I always thought that you didn't dream during the process. But I must be dreaming. I tried to ignore the voice but it was insistent. Getting louder. I turned my head away from the lights and there she was. A doctor. A human doctor.
"Mr Phillips".
She smiled slightly, the reassuring smile that the robots used when you visited hospital. I wondered briefly if she was just a better robot, but then that voice came again.
"There's no cause for alarm".
What an understatement. I'd never met a human doctor. I knew they existed. The last bastion of human control. They didn't often see patients themselves: they oversaw the robots, did research, sorted out problems.

It was the sort out problems bit that stood out in my mind.

I tried to force the words out of my mouth. They sounded like an unoiled cog in an old motor. Grinding and squeaky at the same time. She held a glass of water out to me and I took it, allowing the fluid to lubricate my throat before trying to talk again. Words gushed out in a torrent of questions that needed to be answered.
"Who are you? Why are you here? Where's the robodoctor?"

She did that smile again, smoothly, automatically, but just a little too lopsided at the edges to be believable.
"Relax. I'm your doctor. Doctor Price. I'll be dealing with your case from now on. There's been a"
She paused as if trying to find the correct word.
"A complication".
I closed my eyes and a series of images passed before them. Not nice images, but I didn't panic. With the medical expertise we have we could deal with everything. Even death. So at worst I would have to stay in hospital a little while longer before going back to normal. But that didn't explain why I suddenly had a human doctor.

So I wasn't worried when I asked the question. Just curious.

"What's wrong?"
I wasn't expecting the answer I got.
"We're not exactly sure. In simple terms, you're allergic to regel. Your body wasn't affected by the treatment."
A sense of dread started to creep through my body. Toe to head, just like the gel. Did this mean?
"The cancer? Was it removed?"
Her eyes broke contact with mine. Bad news when the doctor forgets to reassure you.
"No. The generation didn't deal with it. We considered the old-fashioned cures, but it's too advanced. If you'd had it treated earlier, we might have been able to help you."
Even her smile had faded. She looked terribly young. But I still didn't want to believe the truth.
"What's going to happen?"
Simply, plainly, a small helpless voice.
"You're going to die".

I laughed.

--------------------------------

And that was a week ago. Since when I've had my examinations re-examined, my body re-examined, my cells re-examined, the gel re-examined, my parents re-examined and still nobody understands the truth.

I'm going to die.

Permanently.

I can't swim. The silly, hopeless thought. I can't swim, I don't swim, I'm never going to learn to swim. I thought I had eternity, forever, an infinite lifetime of sometimes when I could do whatever I wanted to. And now I'm never going to learn to swim. Ever. Someone once said that man is huge compared to zero but tiny compared to infinity and now I'm going to learn what it is to be human. He's dead. And so, soon, am I.

Pascal. We learnt about him in school. Silly sod who believed in gods and spent time worrying about what happened if you did things for eternity. Started the Triangulars - no, was made honourary president of the Triangulars. Posthumously, of course.

The Triangulars. Strange bunch of people. Wierd sect that started in the Jupiter fields near Earth. Kept trying to kill themselves. Went on about how infinitely breeding people would eventually populate an infinite universe, or something like that. Called themselves after Pascal's triangle, but they couldn't even get that right: any mathematician could tell them it was a Fibonacci sequence they were talking about. They'd find some way to kill themselves, leave a big red triangle behind and then get pissed off when the councils regenned them. Stupid bastards don't have a clue about what death's really like. But I will.

I'm going to die permanently. I'm going to die.

It doesn't matter how many times I say it, it still doesn't make any sense. I'm going to die. But then what? I just stop existing? Hang around the databases until someone works out how to regen from my DNA and pops my personality back in? How do I know when I'm dead? Is it when someone stops trying to regen me? When they forget about me? If someone accidently deletes my records? I don't know what happens.

Maybe I should look up some dead people. Access the library. Hope that there's something amongst the geniuses in funny clothes to tell me about how to die. What to wear when I do it. What I ought to be doing. I wish I'd paid more attention to history class now. Hadn't scribbled notes to the girls while I was supposed to be listening to facts about fighting. And colonisation dates. And mining rights. And air-mixing systems. I don't even know if I get a choice about what to be doing. I'd listen harder in my re-school. Except I'm not going to live to be there. Or join the breeding program.

Ah well, one small chink of daylight in the darkness then.

Horatio's Big Day

This one was written 6th July 2005 for my eldest nephew. It has pictures, even...

Horatio’s Big Day

Everyone was busy on the Sloop family mooring. Horatio’s Mum was tidying the jetty, and Horatio’s Dad was cutting the weed from the piles and wiping some oil smudges off his hull, because Horatio’s Grandma Yawl and Grandad Ketch were coming to visit.
Horatio was excited because today he was allowed to go out as far as the old brick fort to meet them. ‘Bye Mum’, ‘Bye Dad’ he called, and sailed off down the creek.

…and saw his friend Sam and Sam’s mum coming towards him very very slowly. ‘Hi Sam’ shouted Horatio, and Sam went a little bit red, then a little bit redder, then something very very red and wobbly slid across his cockpit and Sam keeled over and almost capsized…

… but Horatio hauled in his sheets to make himself go faster, dashed forwards and caught Sam by his rigging just in time. ‘Close thing’ said Horatio as he helped Sam’s mum put him upright again. ‘What are you doing with that jelly on your deck?’. Sam went red again and muttered ‘learning to sail very slowly and carefully’ before concentrating so hard on the jelly that Horatio couldn’t talk to him again before they passed each other (port side to port side, of course).

Horatio carried on sailing out towards the entrance to Cow Creek, carefully keeping out of the shipping lane so the big boats didn’t collide with him. ‘That’s funny’ he thought. ‘Why are all the happy boats wearing hats and blowing whistles?’ The happy boats were the little boats that weren’t quite big enough to go out without a grown-up yet. ‘Maybe they’re having a play day at the nursery’ thought Horatio as he rounded the harbour wall…

…and nearly bumped into his Grandma Schooner. ‘Good afternoon Horatio’ said his Grandma. ‘And how are we today?’ ‘Why are all the happy boats wearing hats?’ asked Horatio, who hadn’t quite got the hang of answering grown-up questions yet. Grandma paused for a second. ‘Because it’s hot and they don’t want to get sunburnt’ she answered. ‘And blowing whistles?’ ‘Because they might get lost, and the whistles help the grownups to find them’. Grandma made a very strange clinking sound. ‘Oh, my stays’ she said ‘I must get my baggywrinkes replaced’ and dashed off towards the harbour.

Horatio had reached the old brick fort, so he let his sails fly and waited for Grandad and Grandma Ketch to arrive. But the day was just getting stranger and stranger. Something pink and yellow and purple was heading towards Horatio along the coast of White Island. It came closer… and closer… and closer… until it turned into George and Sally Jetski, each towing a big big bunch of pink and yellow and purple balloons. ‘Hello’ brmmed Sally. ‘Helllo’ brmmed George. ‘Hello’ flapped Horatio, who was starting to get a little suspicious about this very strange day. ‘Where are you going with those balloons?’

‘Errrrm…. We’re just playyyinggg’ brmmed George. ‘Yes, playing’ brrred Sally, and she went round and round and round in circles to show Horatio how close to the water she could get the balloons.

… and got so excited that she let go of the string! “Eeek!” cried Sally. “Whoops” went George, and “Oh dear” said Horatio…

…and caught the runaway balloons in his big billowing jib. ‘Thank you’ brmmmed George and Sally together (because they were twins, you know), and ‘Oh, there’s Grandad’, and off they went at a slightly more cautious pace. Brmmmm… brmmmm… brmmm… Horatio filled his jib again, went about to watch Bryan the Ferry hoot hello as he went into the harbour, and thought that since it was such a strange day, he wouldn’t even think about why Brian had a big white box tied across his stern.

‘Hello Tacker’ said a friendly voice. Horatio went about again and saw his Grandad Ketch and Grandma Yawl sailing towards him. Grandma Yawl had the biggest cake Horatio had ever seen on her aft deck, and Grandad Ketch was letting off little things that threw lots of paper streamers all over the water. ‘Have you guessed why we’re here yet?’ said Grandma. ‘Well’, said Horatio. ‘Jelly, and hats, and whistles, and balloons, and cakes and streamers. Is it a party? Am I invited?’

‘I hope so’, laughed Grandma Yawl, ‘it’s your birthday party’. ‘Happy Birthday Horatio’ shouted Grandpa, who was very excited. And they all sailed back to the visitor’s moorings by the ferry terminal, and everyone ate sandwiches, and Sam’s big red jelly, and Grandma Yawl’s cake, and Bryan the Ferry’s ice cream, and drank Grandma Schooner’s lemonade, and wore silly hats and blew whistles, and held balloons (except Sally, who lost hers again), and let off streamers all over the water, and everyone had a thoroughly joyful time and went to bed tired but happy that evening.

Happy Birthday Horatio!

Is chic lit the new fairy tales?

PS happy new year, blogworld.

I've been thoroughly enjoying the television twists on classic fairytales lately. I've also, fairly uncharacteristically, bought and read some chic-lit. And found it surprisingly enlightening. Well, enlightening for someone who knows next to nothing about the niceties and throwbacks of human relationships. I do so hate recognising myself in these things, but it's also a wakeup call, a reminder to reconsider. And an old theme emerges. Chic-lit can be shallow, vacuous, meaningless, trite. But underneath all that boy-meets-girl-runs-away-is-captured-by-girl-in-the-end sometimes lie some eternal truths and warnings. Like fairystories, which read in the right light are a careful set of warnings from way back in time; the sexual predator as big bad wolf, the infanticidal needs of a new wife (aka wiked stepmother) staking her children's claim to their father etc. And maybe these types of truths also persist in the otherwise-fluffy genre known as chic lit. Perhaps in these torrid tales of romance and resolution lie the same cautionary overtones that sat within 'don't go into the woods' and 'avoid the pretty fruit'; perhaps they can be seen as moral tales, even if unintentional (some stories are told and retold, and a lazy author won't ignore a good plot if it already exists) ones. Maybe I read too much into these things, maybe I'm just a little too naive and prone to oversimplification, but it would be interesting to distill enough chiclit to see if universal themes emerge.

Enough... I have a theme of my own to contain.

Almost Haiku

We are not Us.
We are You, I. Alone together.
Watching leaves fall.

Obsession

Okay, I admit it, I'm obsessive. Have a personality that leans towards obsessive- compulsive sometimes. Not noticably; I mean, I can't resist straightening a pile of papers on my desk, but the usual chick things like chocolate don't really do it (although I do have to finish the box, I don't have to do it immediately, and I have a lovely team at work who'll happily sacrifice their waistlines to help). No, what I obsess over is relatively-simple puzzles. I can spend hours piecing together online jigsaws, pretending to myself that I'm learning things about colour, whilst listening to tv detective puzzles, and I daren't keep any card games on my PC lest I start playing them repeatedly. And this puzzles me: why do I do this? What part of my personality can it possibly be satisfying. And if it doesn't satisfy (and it doesn't), how can I program myself to stop before I start? I know that sometimes the absence of thought is comforting but unsatisfying, and that obsessive puzzling usually happens when I'm tired. But I'm puzzled (to pardon the pun) about the mechanisms of this.

So today's topic for analysis is obsession. Possibly even obsessively.
Hmmm... the psych definition of OCD is obsession = involuntary, repetitive, and unwelcome thoughts or images that upset or interfere with an individual's life, and compulsion = action that temporarily relieves the anxiety caused by obsession. Which immediately broadens my own naive repetition-based definition. And at that point, my ability to sit playing games for hours deviates from the psych definitions of obsession. These include a sense of reality about the obsession (most people know that the obsessed topic is unreal; those that don't are said to have poor insight), and an underlying fear of "what if" scenarios. There's a subset of OCD, impulse control disorders, that could match, but right now my going-to-sleep obsession is kicking in. Maybe more later, but I may have just cracked the puzzling obsession by using the analysis obsession. Hmmm... I can feel a top-trumps-style game developing here...

wwwhy?

WWW is so passe now; why, there are even addresses now that skip the www altogether and go straight to the meat. Or vegetables, or whatever else they happen to be talking about (me, I favour the vegetable pages, lapsed gardener that I am). But that www leaves a space, a useful niche for seeing what sort of page one's landed one without having to read all the address at once. So, without ado, onto the alternative www alphabet.

aaa: innuendo-laden jokes pages.
bbb: apiary, but could be shared with self-assertiveness groups (if they ask nicely).
ccc: nautical.
ddd: 1980s music (ddd.dadada, that's all I need to say to you).
eee: mandatory for all pages from Yorkshire.
fff: diy (it's all the swearing, innit).
ggg: equestrian.
hhh: .
iii: opthalmology.
jjj: ornithology.
kkk: .
lll: witchcraft/ satanists.
mmm: recipes.
nnn: .
ooo: gifts and surprises (not always the same thing).
ppp: toddler training.
qqq: government (external).
rrr: transport.
sss: reptiles.
ttt: government (internal).
uuu: celebrity.
vvv: .
www: .
xxx: porn.
yyy: philosophy.
zzz: insomniacs.

I've missed a few, but will be back later to fill them in (if you can stand it!).