Well I had a bloody rotten Christmas, full of flu and cold in a damp Melbourne hotel. I even wrote a song about it (Cud, we're putting the band back together for the fourth time):

Something I penned while full of cold and squeezing my breath out through my lungs.

'On a damp Melbourne eve still unable to dream,
where even the songs have grown quiet,
going through hell in my stop-gap hotel,
it's the silence that makes me run riot.

Thinking of you as I chew on cold stew,
that I save when the evening grew tired,
the cold empty bed that seems forever unslept,
is the only bench welcoming me now.

Happy Christmas yeah right it's the same fucking night,
As it was two thousand years long ago,
Hallelujah noel god damn me to hell,
there's nothing that's changed but the might.

So Christmas my arse pray fuck it's my last,
as I reach for the bottle tonight.
There's a lonely hotel with an unmade cheap bed,
that's home for one last desperate night.

Merry Christmas everyone

I went in search of something to eat for Christmas dinner, but most places were closed, or those restaurants that were open were filled with people with party hats and pulled crackers.
I just didn't feel like sitting down like Norman no-mates.

I finally found a restaurant with no fucking paper hats and kazzoos so settled down to eat.

I ordered some Turkish bread and Tahini and chickpea dips, to get me going, and some grilled salmon to follow.

I was about to send the dips back, I couldn't taste a buggery thing, and then I realised mournfully, that having a cold meant I couldn't tast anything.

Einstein.

The Salmon was perfectly cooked, not overdone as is usual, so although I chewed on it I couldn't taste a bloody thing.

Typical.

I crept back to bed and drowned my sorrows with a bottle of citrus vodka.

At some stage I must have fallen asleep in the arms of the bottle.

Zzzzzzzzz.

More later.

yechydda,