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

Well I've made it through the night and it's 5.32 in the A.M. on a Sunday morningtune of God. I'll try to make it to church this morn. I can't remember the names of the ladies who were so kind to me last week and I can't decide what to wear. Suit or slob? I don't seem to do anything in between. Well there's the red/mauve outfit that might work.

Now it's 7.22 and the idea of church fills me with horror. I don't want to go. I'll go in time for chuckout. Then I can have tea. But I'm not sitting in that room. Not with all those people, no. Horrendous. Actually afterwards isn't very nice either. But I've got to make the effort.

Mum thinks it's an excellent idea that I should go to Jerusalem for a month and learn to speak Hebrew; I'm going to go, but I don't want to go on my own. I want to go with someone. But that's not going to happen is it. Not with a lunatic like me. So I shall have to go alone. But the work and the fun of being in Jerusalem will more than make up for having to endure my accustomed solitude. I shall immerse myself in the language and really hope to do well and come back fluent and wanting to go back. Then I could go to Israel whenever I liked, I suppose. I think I'm happiest there than I am anywhere else, except possibly Warsaw. I was very happy in Warsaw. I felt at home there like more than I was at home at home. The city sounded made for me.

I mean you only live once and I'm 45 and it's time I got up out of my chair and did something for a change. I swore after an unhappy week in Madrid in 2001 that I should never go on holiday alone again, and it's dire, being in a hotel alone. But this you see will be different, because I'm have a legitimate excuse for being in the City of David. I always need a reason for being anywhere or doing anything. So I'll have a month in Jerusalem learning to speak Hebrew, and learning to read it unpointed, which I've already broken the back of. So I've got a huge head start and so it should be a very great deal of good clean fun. Just like the Greek courses used to be, only in Hebrew. Superlative. Then I could concentrate on my Polish and go to Warsaw to practice. I could have holidays in the Northern Hemisphere in Poland and Israel and make like my brothers the Warsaw Jews.

I mean, of course, "to practise". Tut. Dreadful show. Sorry about that.

It will be so much fun learning to speak a new language, only Hebrew isn't exactly new, I've been reading it for years. And getting down and dirty with Polish again will be wonderful. The last time I did that I was 16. No; I did it in Aberdeen in 2007. She was astonished at my progress. "Dokad?" she asked. "Czytam we ksiazkiach" I answered.

That should probably be we ksiazkich, I don't know. I don't think the form above is correct. There's lots of basic stuff I need to brush up on before I can consolidate and move on. Hebrew on the other hand! I should desire to develop a personal idiom comprising a mixture of a Modern foundation with plenty of Classical flavouring and lots of quotation, just like my brothers in Israel.

This means that by the end of next year my main four languages will be German, Ancient Greek, Hebrew and Polish. All I need to add to that is Xhosa and I've already done quite a bit of work on the foundations of that language. That covers the Indo-European languages in the Germanic, the Greek and the Slavic families, the Semitic and the Bantu. That'll probably do me, I think.

"They look at you with their tongues and stab you with their eyes. Horrible. Sometimes I really don't like life."

That's what I wrote early on. What an unfortunate mood I must have been in, to have written that. There was a lot more the same. Oh, I need a good long rest.

Oh God, the mind control. Young Pianistin on YouTube, all sex and skin, has completely ruined my luncheontide. I could only watch a minute or so. The video is charmed. She is charmed. The whole orchestra was charmed. All to the detriment of the music, I think. You can't excite a man's total body-soul via the sex chakra (if there is such a thing) and expect him to concentrate on the music. No no no, Go away miss gorgeous thing, I would rather watch Horowitz. Play tennis or something and I'll watch you. But not the Schumann.

Darling Thelma used the phrase "a wee while" and laughed and commented. Bless her Cape Town cotton socks. That's Scots, Thelma. You can't say that until you've tasted the air of Scotland.

We had a power cut from 2.30 until 4pm. One and a half hours. The darkness made me tired and forget that I have to go out and get fags.

I'm feeling a wee bit chilly this afternoon. I ought to have a hot bath really but you know what, I cannae be bothered man. Cannae be fashed with the whole washing business, it's all waste of precious time, time you could better spend on more profitable and less wasteful activities such as shunting shet.

Anyway, so that's the agenda for this afternoon. Have a bath (if possible) and go out and get forty Marlboro (necessary). I've got to do that within the next couple of hours or it'll be dark and I'm not going out in the dark to get fags from the seven eleven.

I've decided I can't go out because it's too cold, or at least, I'm too cold, in this fecking flat pointing South and freezing my bollocks off like a brass monkey in North East Scotland during a gale and a blizzard in fecking February freezing bloody cold and pissing down with fecking rain. Well that's a wee bit of an exaggeration but you know what I mean. I'm feeling cold, I'm feeling tired, and I'm far too shunted up the waste pipe of time to go out and get forty Marlboro from the seven eleven. OK? So I've decided to try and cut down and save as many as possible for when I really want one, and I'll just have to roll up the rest of the time until such time as I can face going out into the frozen Antarctic and fight off all the penguins and Polar Bears and bloody fish that keep bubbling through the air holes in the snow.

So anyway. I feel too dirty to put on any more clothes, but I can't quite manage to summon up the energy to run a bath and take my clothes off. That's too big an ask for me at the moment at this point in spacetime.

So I'm in a bit of a quandrary really. I can't get warmer by putting on a shirt but I can't get clean because I'm too tired to have a bath. So I'm cold, dirty and tired. A deadly combination. This is the life of the unmarried forty-something on a Sunday afternoon in November. Too cold, dirty and tired to have a bath or put on a shirt or go out and get forty fags from the seven eleven. Pitiful.

I mean if you haven't got paired off by forty five people are obviously going to have to think, what's the matter with him. What's his problem, that he can't find anyone to share his kitchen and living quarters. Why is he still alone, the sad fecker. You see? That's what they're saying. So anyway, I sit here, in utter oblivion to the contempt of the rest of the world, I sit here on this chair in this room 24 seven all year round year after year after year and suddenly it's about 2045 and time to die. That appears to be the sum total of my life. Not very good is it.

But I can't be bothered to do anything about it, I'm too tired, cold and dirty. And even if I could, there's nothing I can do about it. So I might as well stay in the can't be bothered camp rather than hopefully emerge into the wanting to but destined to be forever thwarted camp. The first one is much easier on the liver.

Now I keep yawning but I think it's mind control because no normal man in his 40s would hear that yearning in the heart of Jesus.

What? I fell asleep shortly after writing that and woke up an hour or so later feeling well enough to DRIVE to the 7-11 and get fags and Red Bull.

Lynwen, you and I have got so much sheer joy in store, so much laughter, if you will just trust me to lead you in places where you have not been, and show you things you have not seen. You will die laughing at some of the treasures I've got stored up for you, my darling, and be resurrected laughing. Soon.

I'm going through a very strange place at the moment. Lots of energies coming through. Lots of things happening with memories and so on. Not getting any new ones, nothing before the age of 4, but things are definitely happening although there is one BIG mutha memory block that seems Titanic in its strength and immovability. I desperately need a really mature Christian with experience and knowledge in demonology and advanced spiritual deliverance practices. It would be so nice to go quickly through everything I need to go through to arrive at integration. It's taking SO LONG! That's what the worm said in the email. Why? Am I going to have to give my whole life to these bloody things in me? What a waste. But all made up to me afterwards, that's what God said through Rigby. "I'll make it all up to you," said the Spirit.

I'm suddenly opening up and I've got loads to say. I've got so much I want to say to Helga but I can't because I don't want to hassle her. But if i could, I'd tell her, my modus operandi is to be totally open and up front and tell everyone everything, the good, the bad and the ugly, and to just let it all hang out; and this frightens most people away. Your MO is to fearfully teeter about trying ever so hard to only say what you think is the right thing. There's a lot of fear. And the result is a lack of openness, a lack of naturalness, and basically a lack of honesty. You only ever wrote to me once honestly, darling. When you wrote about your MIL and how things were at home. It was a beautiful email, written straight from your beautiful heart. And it was just after that, that the enemy saw his chance and ruined everything. You had just started to trust me, and open up to me, and just then the enemy fecked everything up. I was gutted. What a cock up. So I'm going to try really hard to prove myself and show her that I'm a man worth knowing and worth being friends with, and that she only has to understand one or two basic things about my spirituality and then everything will become clear. Then I hope she'll let me help her. Because clearly no-one else has. I don't know what her pastor thinks he's up to on a Sunday because he clearly isn't doing his job. My God your church is in a state, Father. You sent me here all the way from heaven to put it right in time for Jesus to come and take his Bride. So let's get to work, Father. Put me right so I can do your will. Amen.

Blimey I'm whizzing round at high speed at the moment, nearly out of control.