Hello fans and admirers! How have you all been?

Ah, who am I kidding, like I care.

Inside: Old school diary! Why yes, I am a filthy capitalist pig-dog! Summer days...!

Hell, it's been a long time since I actually sat down and wrote one of these. But now we have new people, how could I resist?

I have some questions. Questions regarding Paypal, regarding CDs and regarding acoustic venues outside London. Also, sofas.

Ah, London. Visiting you in high summer is such sweet sorrow.

Inside: London. Attractive young women.

Don't worry, almost no politics inside.

Socialism died in England today, after a long illness. There were no celebrations, there were no mourners. Its passing will excite no tearful column inches, and only a few mocking ones. It passes not with a bang, not with a whimper, only in silence. No flowers.

Just a little rambling.

I have a black notebook.  It's about A5 size.  It has a hardback cover, bound in a soft fabric.  It's pretty thick, an inch or so, about the size of a novel.  It has nothing to tell which is the front and the back since I took the barcode sticker off it.  It has plain white pages inside it.

I have a black notebook.  And it scares me.

I had no idea how easy it was.

You know, this article started out as a calm scholarly examination of the nature of belief and religions. But then the vodka came out, so you get a bit more of a rollicking rant. Forgive me...

So, anyway. Here's the thing - we're living in a world which is becoming increasingly obsessed with certainty. This obsession is manifested in a number of ways, but the one thing they all have in common is an almost evangelical zeal around them - because it is a certainty, anyone who disagrees is wrong, is foolish, is evil. For someone to know that their certainty is, well, certain, different views cannot be allowed.