Thursday, 1st February, 2007

Back to my blog at last (the ultimate in self-indulgence). The past week has been filled with folk - bodies on mattresses on the floor with dogs squashing in between the sleeping forms, all vying for the best position. There is something special about waking at 3.00 am to drink some water and hearing the sound of all those tails wagging, delighted with me simply because I sat up.

Holly helped me finish my David Hicks banner this morning - it's hanging on the washing line, drying off. "BRING DAVID HOME" it says in black fabric paint on a shocking pink sheet. I didn't think it was necessary to put "HICKS" because obviously anyone who doesn't know who David is by now is not worth bothering about (although I could be mistaken - my father told me that people who didn't know how to hold their knives and forks properly weren't worth bothering about and I have found that not to be true). I thought about David as I was painting - five years in Guantanamo, in solitary confinement, feet chained to the floor, and I meditated upon his suffering as I worked so that what I was doing became an act of devotion. This evening we'll go and put it in place on the footbridge across the Victoria Road, a plea for compassion hanging above seven lanes of relentless traffic.

We all watched Dylan Moran doing stand-up the other night and laughed till we wept. I particularly enjoyed his dire warnings against ever trying to use one's potential. He explained that the door marked "Potential" should remain shut, securely fastened, because if you ever opened that door and tried to use your potential, tried very, very hard and gave it your all, gave it everything you had - the best, the very best that you would be able to achieve would probably be to give up eating cheesy snacks.

The reason I haven't opened that particular door is because I imagine my life would become incredibly busy, just when I've perfected sitting as an art form.