A Preacher of Habit

Following the death of the self-declared Reverend Mr Moon, his cult "Moonies" is now leaderless and I think there is room in the market for another false Messiah/charismatic kleptocrat full of tartuffery and dogmatic contradiction. Thus, the "Munglies" will receive soul-washing as well as brainwashing, they will put all their worldly wealth into the holy receptacles (my savings accounts) in order to achieve enlightenment, and, er, lemme think, they will all wear revealing togas that fall open when they bend down to pick up a pencil. Yes, that's it, Jesus appeared to me at the top of the curly slide and said I must continue his unfinished business of preparing humanity for the Immanentisation and ascent into the sacred starship, um, and, yup, the pious pilgrims have to shed their money and clothing to save on weight on the inter-dimensional trans-reality journey. They will all sign their wills (wills will be provided) and consume the sacrosanct transmogrification powders (full of natural herbs and spices) before I abscond with the loot, I must have my preacher comforts!

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Today is also National Talk Like A Pirate Day (USA only) with many prizes on offer for dressing up in unlikely costumes and wearing an accent that veers between Plymouth, Cornwall, and Plymouth, Wisconsin. "Souper-soize moi treasure, arr, me purple hearties".

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Wednesday Park! A little late because I invited Erins' friend Jack to play in Box #8, even if it was just for 5 minutes. He was highly impressed but was also jealous of my Lego collection. Bobert was on his own today because Johnny has had a headache for 2 days and their Mum was talking to the builderman about kitchen cabinets.

Ben joined us presently and we found Football Harry and started to play cricket with a football and light sabres, as you do. Lots of known faces were in the park.

Later it was real football and chocolate, chasing/attacking and so forth, and when it was only the 3 of us left we took it in turns to kick the big football up onto the sloping roof of the Barn and also tried to wedge sticks and bundles of dried grass in the gutter, as you do. We were good and didn't have any arguments or howlrounds. Are we finally maturing? At one point we all burst into competing song: Bobert - 'World shut your mouth', Ben - 'I'm a sexy boy', me - 'YMCA'.

In the end we put our shirts back on (not necessarily the right way out) and delivered Bobert home.