Dear Diary

Constipated again. Why is this happening to me? I don't deserve this! I am too good for this.

Remember that ad for Metamucil or Anusol, with the young woman lamenting to her diary about being constipated (from the latin anusfringium - disused rectum)? We need the diary form in adverts now more than ever. Dear Diary, I bought a ute today. My wife left me. Oh, woe is me. Or: Dear Diary, don't forget to watch Dancing With The Stars, my favourite celebrity is appearing.

You know what I realised today? I love thinking about what I'd like to with my life. I love looking and thinking and wondering and hoping. And reading. So much potential. So much promise. Some would say my own head's so far up my arse that in fact my arse is up my arse too. Fair point. My genius is Labouring Over Details.

I have come up with what I call the three-tined approach. Tine one: relieve crushing despair through visions of a happier, more satisfied future. Tine two: avail myself of various techniques to improve current enjoyment of job, such as worrying less and doing more, taking time to do the important but not urgent things, and making defamatory statements about my colleagues and superiors. Tine three: improve the out of work life, so that even if work is a huge pile of horseshit, there's so much other loveliness going on I can take it in my stride, like an Olympic walker being made love to in the middle of a long and arduous race. I did some lovely socialising this last days, and came to an important understanding about the future of homes, I ate Franks Pizza and Clem's Chicken, I went for a swim and did a personal bessed 11 laps!

Les Biles

Feel the stone face in your head
Feel the pain from building a shed
And I wait
For you
Slight of hand and twist of fate
On a sealy posturepedic you make me wait
And I wait
For you
With or without you
With or without you oh oh
Ike Cunliffe
With or without you
And you give Yusuf some hay
And you give Yusuf some clay
And you give
And you give
And you give Yusuf a dre-
del