h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

The delivery of my TalkTalk TV box that is. It didn't show up yesterday, and when I complained that taht was the second time they had missed a promised delivery I was told that it would be here "between 7am and 10:30am". So, when 10:31 came around I phoned them in a rage. (Partly brought on by lack of sleep...)

The woman who answereed the 'phone started out by saying "Oh, she shouldn't have told you that. We don't do morning deliveries in your area." I was incandescent.

I demanded to be put through to someone who (a) knew what they were talking about and (b) was in a position to offer me some compensation for the two-and-a-half days they had already wasted plus the fact that I had hoped to make it out of the house tomorrow but would instead be waiting in for them.

I got transferred to a manager who strated off by saying "We'll get someone to drive it over as soon as the office opens; it'll be with you just after 12:00", to which I replied "No it won't" before once more explaining at length my dialysis schedule and how they had screwed up my entire morning so I was now reduced to packing my laptop bag one-handed while I shouted at her on the 'phone, prior to being down foir the ambulance by mid-day.

We arranged for it to come tomorrow. I win't hold my breath.

Next, I broached the subject of compensation for the hassle. She apologises and said that they could only compensate the sender. I hung up and called TalkTalk.

It was surprisingly easy, compared to the last couple of days calling UK Mail! I got put through to a manager and she knocked £15 off my bill. And I explained the three-and-a-half days of hassle to her, so hopefully they'll claim every penny they can get from UK Mail.

The rest of the day has been a bit of a blur. About all I can remember is the awkward silence when I admitted to a very "Christian" nurse that I was, in fact, a lapsed Druid.

I haven't watched any TV yet, but I'll remedy that as soon as I get a pie out of the oven. "Boss" is on later, and I'll probably watch "Warehouse 13" and "Andromeda" too.

You need a camera outside pointing down at the front door. Then at least you can decide whether you want to answer the door.

This is hectic, this Breaking Bad. She went in to see Gus and when she came out, she looke hypnotised. Now Walt wants to see Gus and he can't because Walt is now persona non boulomene at the road chain. Los Pollos Hermanos.

Something strange has happened to Jesse - he has become kind of flattened, doesn't care whether he lives or dies. So anyway, Mike is taking the boy somewhere in his car, out into the bush by the look of things. Don't know what Mike is thinking of. "What do you care?" There's something terribly attractive about Mike the cleaner. Of course it's only acting. Gus Fring is a nice bloke IRL. It's only acting. But he does it so well. Oh no, Mike's got a spade; he is making like he's going to dig the boy's grave. He had a saddened look on his face. Ahh but it's not a grave, it's something else. He's got a wee baggie of something. Oh it's cash. What?? Why keep that in a hole in the ground out in the bush? Six more times. That's seven holes in the ground. And a lot of miles in between.

This is fascinating. A morality play. Done spiritually. I feel more and more real as time goes by, but when I'm out it's unreal. I feel real when I'm sitting in my chair.

Oh dear, Mrs White was all happy and so on, then they're suddenly making out in their bedroom. Yes I remember that. Frenzied love-making.

Woke up at a quarter to four in the morning. It's Friday today. The maid is coming today. The flat needs a bit of a Spring clean.

In the meantime it's reality and I can feel it coming in on the breeze from the West.

That feeling you get when you have an idea. It's very nice. I wonder what it is. It's a two-man job apparently. A two-man job. Poor Walt can't manage it on his own. Now there's something else coming. And don't you get fed up with the evil? The sullen silences all the time. The fork lift truck. Orange County.

You trust God for meaning. Oh dear, now it's a shotgun. They are playing psychological games with Jesse, but perhaps they know what they are doing, and perhaps they have kindness behind everything.

Go ahead kid. Smoke up.

And we saw the facial expression that Mike had when he was carrying the spade out. Remember those facial expressions? Remember that pastor whom Nomandla accused and took Tutu round who said, This place is no good. Jesse is breaking the ice. Imagine that! Whole trays there filled with the most potent chemical known to human hippy. "You? guarded Mike?" Ah I see Gus Fring. Anyway, just like you wanted, our kid's a hero. It's funny isn't it, how these clever minds plot stratagems. And the peons just do what they do. While at the top, they plot stratagems. There is some of interest in this series. It's the Illuminati. Vince is a Mason or some such.

The Love Principle

The Love Jollity

Brain Factor. Brain Factor One.

Philosopher kings up there. Jesse was doing the meth. Cookup. I don't like wine. Never did. Wine isn't very nice. I like the New Wine though. I saw a man in the shop yesterday. Oh good, I'm going round there today and giving him some books. He was a meth cook - he was a meth chef. He was a genius plain and simple. How many geniuses are there in this world? From what I saw of his papers - genius? Not so much. No reasoning, no deductions. Rote copying, probably of someone else's work. Ooh, wossname, you willy moil. Why did you say that? Alcohol is a stupid drug.

This show is the most manipulative television I think I've ever seen.

If God is doing something, I cannot call it conspiracy. That's looking at the wrong dimension. It's looking at evil to explain the world. That's not right! Cool. So we have a theological reason not to look at things from the chthonic pov. Although we speak of God and of his plans and doings, we overlook evil, although we are not naive.

the bloke on the radio has discovered a consp.. well. "Impassioned dissent"

So we don't look to the doings of the Illuminati. We look to God. We look off unto Jesus. Eyes off the Illuminati.

I should begin to write again soon. I've had some good ideas and some not so good.

Someone is punching you in the face. Again and again, until your face is a bloodied jelly.

And through your mind, a solitary thought arises, of blame to the person who is punching your face.

"Nice," says the voice with sarcasm. Because the ONLY attitude to take to the person who is punching you in the face, again and again, reducing your face to a bloodied jelly, is "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do".

From the girls' pov, they are protected, they are right, they are always right; and a man just has to suck up whatever the world and the devil does to him. I am being punched in the face, again and again, until my face is reduced to a bloodied jelly. Around me and my assailant is a crowd of women. I have to smile and forgive, time and time again. And they stare blankly. If I get angry with my assailant, or resentful, or anything, then they will express dissatisfaction with me. I've just got to take the punishment. It's the inevitability of the world. The necessity.

I am only free to obey God. I am not free to disobey God.

As long as you are forgiving your assailant, the man you is punching you in the face, again and again, reducing your face to a bloodied jelly, then you remain free. And no-one can touch you.

Veer even an inch off the road of forgiveness, and turbulence will start up in the aethers.

But there is yet further reality to enter. There always is.

There may well be a conspiracy, but even if there is, it's none of your business. Your business is rejoicing.

I am only free while I am obeying God. I am not free when I am disobeying God.

I think that's about it for the moment.

Indeed...

Oops! Sorry Peet! My bad. I posted on the wrong Journal.