Forgive me blogger, for it has been two months since my last confession

I am becoming a serial offender, a compulsive sinner - no amount of Hail Mary's or Our Father's can save me now. No string of holy beads to mark my laps completed on the journey to redemption and forgiveness. Instead I shall make right the wrong of Blog abandonment with paragraphs of public notations as my decades, scathing cycinisism and rant as my doxology.

Happy Easter?

I could not have chosen a better time to resurrect my Blogging.

Two weeks ago I came back from a holiday in South Africa and the effects have not worn off yet. My Tourrette's had reached an alarming level of severity before I left; where missing the bus would result in a maniacal frenzy of me running alongside it kicking the door while shouting profanities at the bus driver. On one occasion I was accused of verbally abusing the staff of London underground.

The holiday was therapy and it left me wondering how it had taken so long, three years, to finally get away and get paid for it. There is something to be said for paid leave.

A week has passed... It's April 04.

Il Padre è morto. I couldn't choose more precarious times to resurrect the blog. In some relational way, the joins that keep me connected to the collective unconscious have become infected with a rogue Catholic virus that has attached itself to me. As the lumbar needle eeks its menacing way up the spine of the Catholic psyche and the needle scrapes its way past a raw nerve, the joins and limbs spring into random action, jerking and flailing in a disorganised way, paralyzed by the fear of not being able to anticipate the next shocking reaction.