I dug up the weeds which were all the slugs and snails had left. They do not seem to like weeds, but find cabbage delicious. This put me in a moral dilemma since I promised not to kill stuff once, but since they're eating my cabbages, I've decided to let slip the dogs of war. So I dug up some of the weeds and planted the new cabbage plants the Domestic Bliss got somewhere, and have surrounded them with slug traps; plastic cups with Guinness in them. Drowning in Guinness, which they find even more delicious than cabbage, may they be reborn as Irishmen!

Allotment soup day!!!

The guitar on the left of the top photie was bought in the pawn shop for £15 just over twenty years ago. Hardly playable now. The one on the right was bought a few days ago from the Shelter shop and it also cost £15. I was wanting to buy a half decent guitar with my lump sum, but I spend all my money on drink and drugs, so the fifteen quid one is fine.
          I love the first day I can take stuff out of the allotment for soup! So today I brought home a cabbage, a leek, two turnips, curly kale, and three onions. You can make soup from that if you add lentils and the usual condiments. Hurrah!!! The stuff for the soup is in the bottom photie.
           In one of the other photies is the cabbage and kale patch of the Domestic Bliss. She protects hers with wee blue pills. When the slugs eat these, they become over-sexualised and thrill themselves to death. Or maybe not.
            The photie with the munched, scabby cabbage leaves is the most of what's left of my cabbages. I've never tried to grow cabbages before. You have to live and learn. I would not put down the blue pills because  ... anyway, you don't want the traces in the soil really, do you? Then you might digest it in your vegetables, but if you don't put it down, you don't get any vegetables to eat. I think next year I set slug traps using beer. Drowning in beer. It's kind of poetic. Maybe ironic since I stopped drinking yesterday.

Maybe after the wake, Skinny McDuck  got off with the wummin in the pub who had stabbed her husband in the belly, and the chest, and the face. He was beating her up at the time, so I'm sorry he's not deid, and I hope Skinny got on okay with that, and managed to get away the next day with all his bits.
                    His brother from Denmark was in Bellshill for two hours before he got knocked unconscious by the kick-boxing champion, but his pal, who was also knocked unconscious, is a taxi driver with a long memory, and that's not a taxi you want to fall into one night pissed if you were involved, due to the retributions.
                     An elephant was buried in the foundations of the chapel in Mossend where the funeral was, and not at lot of people know that.
                      They were not allowed to put a steeple on the catholic church, the same chapel, were my grandfather was married because the protestants wouldn't let them, as it would have been bigger than the steeple of the protestant church at Bellshill cross. But they are all going to hell, Jack. They're all going to fucking hell.
                       The Domestic Bliss thinks I should go to the Holy Isle off Arran from January till the end of March to do the juju, and I think I will. Do you know anyone else who would like to go to jail and lock themselves up like that? Froggy McDuck told me today that I should be going there right now because it is my chance and opportunity to do this. Also, your body starts to die after you are sixty two no matter what you think.
                         You have to accept the world as it is.
                          At the funeral I met the other two folk from the half back line I was in at the Holy Family primary school. Right back, centre half, left back, which was moi.
                          Some folk asked me if I was the writer. Well, I am not, but what can you say?
                       
                     

Saturday 6.00 p.m.
                               Dreich and drookit!

Walkies and photies today in the Botties!

Photies at an exhibition.
Sunday 5.35 p.m.
                           We attended the opening of an exhibition last night, one with two panels from the kiddo and some paintings by her partner Andrew; both rather talented people really. It runs for a fortnight.
                            I've been thinking over something Ringu Tulku was going on about earlier in the week about accepting the world for what it is and not expecting or hoping for it to be any better than it is. This will lead to disappoint, or .... grief, sorry, lamentations ... disillusionment, disappointment and despair ... suffering in this life.
                             There is nothing I can do about people living like morons and dying like dogs. That's just the way it is and, unfortunately, I'm not really any better. And after speaking to the consiglieri recently I've realised that there is no point in talking to folk about non-self and emptiness, or any of that. If folk aren't going to meditate, they're not going to meditate and knowing about non-self and emptiness is useless if you don't meditate. So it's time to shut up about all of that. This will make me even more withdrawn with people - partly because there's hardly anything else I want to talk about -but that's probably a good thing.
                              I was reading Chapter 11 of the Tibetan Book of the Dead yesterday. Yogis go into a very weird state for a while after they die. I've often wondered about this because I assumed you'd have to die sitting up to accomplish this state. I didn't see how it might occur when you died doolally or while sleeping, or when you were too weak to sit up or move your head even. Well, I think I know now and that's the way I want to die. I want to spend the rest of my life making sure that happens and when this kerfuffle going on just now ends, I'll try to see Lama Yeshe and ask him how I  can manage this.

Of all elaborate plans the end.
She said that she didn't want it to be me doing it when it came to being there, and I said that she was giving me the chance to increase and develop my compassion, and it was an opportunity for me. And I'm now so sorry about all the anxieties I had, and all the stupid resentments I fermented about being there, and how it should have been someone else shouldering this burden, and all of that because she was just a wonderful person, and now she is dead. What a great help my mother in law was to me! And all the things she'd known and thought about me for the last forty years are all gone. Allah Akbar, Allah Akbar, Allah Akbar!