Bear with a sore head

In a bad mood. STOMP. STOMP. STOMP. In a really, really bad mood. STOMP.

Look. It's young Flynn and Mr Beaver. They had lunch with Madame at Theo's Cafe yesterday. I wasn't invited. Not bitter. Sniff.
I expect I was busy anyway. Doing stuff. Important stuff. Sniff.

Important stuff? Some interesting things maybe.

Oliver Postgate - one of the men behind Bagpuss and The Clangers - has a website. But it's not what you'd expect if you only have memories of that voice telling stories of Noggin the Nog or Ivor the Engine. He was on Desert Island Discs recently. A fascinating man. And Madame has just finished reading a book by his father. She picked it up in a pile of old Penguin paperbacks. Hadn't realised the connection until she was part of the way through it. A good read.

And listening to Marcus Brigstocke's inspired rant from The Now Show. I'm an atheist and She would probably describe herself as humanist/agnostic if you prod her enough. So he was, um, preaching to the converted.

Have just checked with Madame. We're going with humanist/agnostic. Because the Church of the Divine Rufus only exists in her head. Whatever she thinks.

And Ingmar Bergman. Deary me. I have happy memories of watching Hour of the Wolf. It's one of those experiences that have to happen at the right time. Another day, in another mood ... But for some reason it worked. A twisting tale of strange events. I couldn't tell you what it all meant. Or if it meant anything. But the sight of Max von Sydow in drag ...

Time for bed. Think we have a tough week ahead so have some Half Man Half Biscuit before I go. Good night!