Calling my Guardian Angel

I feel a rant within but can't quite locate the epicentre. Something is desperately wanting to escape - I think it is frustration and energy, being annoyed at myself for a multitude of sins. Maybe I should go for a bike ride tomorrow. Some depressingly large hills in the immediate vicinity that will have to be tackled, but it can't be worse than sitting practically rocking back and forth all day.

Have any of you watched English television recently? This evening there has been a typical selection, including 'Driving Mum and Dad Mad', 'Love Island' and the ubiquitous 'Big Brother'. The first on that list was particularly painful to watch - I say watch, I rather mean I had it on in the background as I ambled around the internet seeking inspiration. There is a fine line distinguishing between whether the kids or parents are more ghastly, causing me to return to the thoughts that frequently invade my troubled mind: is it really fair to have children when the world is such a bloody awful place to bring them into? There are enough kids out there going through ghastly existences; why not sort them out first rather than adding more to the problem. There's a scheme over here of fostering children - essentially looking after them for potentially years at a time, but not actually acquiring parental rights as such. Sounds almost like a noble idea, a family taking on an extra child for a few weeks a month to give somebody else a break. That is, until you realise they are being paid extortinate sums - hundreds of pounds a week - to be a Good Samaritan.

And people say my cynicism is misguided.

On another note, I've been half eaten by various bugs and flies and crawling creepies. Last week my foot took on the proportions of a large melon; today, a point on my arm is becoming increasingly prominent, itchy, and generally darn annoying. Not a person who can set something aside and leave it in peace, I intend to give it a darn good scratching. Things have to get worse before they can get better.