The blue inflatable

I had great fun this morning emptying out cupboards. I found, and binned, all sorts of curios including a blue plastic inflatable thing which seemed only to semi-inflate. Was it once a lilo? An inflatable bed? An enormous balloon?  It looked a little sinister if you ask me, but it was made in China, so I didn't need to think twice about throwing it away. I am trying to cleanse my life of things bought in China. Obviously it's a battle I'll never win, but I'm determined to do my bit to register my disgust at the human rights record over there, and the largely rubbish quality of what they make in dubious sweat shops.

I left the house today looking like a tramp, wearing clothes I found in bottom drawers which I decided to audition instead of immediately throwing away.  The trousers I wore lasted until 2pm, when the zip of the fly suddenly broke, and left me needing to walk about with a bag pressed against my groin. I'm such a tramp!

Still, on that note, I feel very pleased with myself after throwing away every sock I could find with a hole in it. The joy about always wearing odd socks is that I only have to throw the damaged sock away! 

I met Ellen (Taylor - from the folk song) for lunch at St Pancras station. As ever, we laughed hysterically whilst putting the world to rights. She's had the most shocking 2012 and I sincerely hope that things will very much pick up for her this year. 

We talked, amongst other things, about the cul-de-sac of atheism. There's really no way out, apart from a miracle, which of course is about as unlikely as I am of knowingly eating meat again. 

Atheists have the most difficult paths to tread on this planet, largely because there are no easy answers for us to fall back on, and, more crucially, because there's no one else to blame for our inadequacies. None of us want to be atheists. All of us would love to believe there was something else; that we're merely pawns in a game of universal chance, but when you look at the inconsistencies of all religions, and the  complete lack of proof, there really is no other option. And that's very difficult to stomach. 

I listened to some of Plan B's Ill Manors album today. There is, in my view, no doubt that the man is a genius. His music is daring and unconventional and his lyrics paint extraordinary pictures. My great sadness is that he comes across as such an unlikable, arrogant sod in interviews.