Shorn

The hound has been shorn. It's strange, like Sampson, he seems to have lost some of his bite with his hair. He looks so skinny, although it's nice to be able to see his face properly.
The dog-grooming woman looked harassed, she looked shell-shocked. And Whisky went berserk when I collected him from the torture.

Last week, on the Drive, I bought two stickers for my friends. One said,
'I'm sorry I didn't come to church, I was practising witchcraft and becoming a lesbian.'
The other,
'God is coming, and she is pissed!'

Last week, there was a notifiable disease on one of the Olympic security ships. Leprosy.

The body of Star Trek's Walter Koenig's (Chekhov) son, Andrew, has been found in Stanley Park. He committed suicide. I find it horrible to contemplate the dark place a person has to be in to take their own life, and the equally dark place their loved ones enter after the act.
God be with you all.

If you live in Great Britain, and wish to protest the Pope's (costly) visit to the country this September, join this group.

Tomorrow morning I shall be up almost before I go to sleep. Laurence to work, Sleepy to the station to go to Seattle.