According to James, the burglars who infiltrated our lives on Tuesday were crazed cartoon characters. We have passed that information on to the investigating officer, but I suspect he has an unnatural bias towards real people.

James reckons that they were wearing masks, and I can only assume that they wore striped shirts, had designer stubble, and carried sacks labeled ‘swag’. He is terribly upset that they came through his window, and immediately suspected them of swiping his red plush dog. They were invasive and intrusive, but they were innocent of that particular accusation. Dog turned up.

They were guilty of stealing his favourite music, which at the moment is apparently ‘Here I am to Worship’, and the Joan Armatrading song ‘All the Way From America’. They left a cd cleaning kit, which was ironic, given our lack of music and Hi-fi.

They stole juice and yoghurt from the fridge, and the collection of Easter eggs Neen had prudently bought before the Easter rush.

Masked fiends with a sense of irony.

Easy Job of the Year Award: Now that I am no longer a manager, I kind of wander around the shop aimlessly, picking up books and putting them down again, while my under-utilized brain congeals like overdone spaghetti. My new (apparently) boss came to me today and asked if I needed ‘I.T.’ time  I said no, I didn’t think so, but what was it…? She said that it is time set apart for us to sit down and read. At work. And get paid. To sit. And read. At work. Whooooohoooo!

I feel like an interesting stone that has been tumbled smooth by turbulent waters and various traumas. I lie there on the shore, snug amidst a host of identical pebbles, grey and purposeless. Can I get my edginess back?

I am no threat to anyone. Can’t I get a big flaw again? A rebellious crystal streak, a rakish chip on one shoulder? I want to be obedient to God, but yet I don’t want to dishonour Him by surrendering the character He has given me. I’ll wait for Him to stir things up…

In the meantime, I shall pick a brand new novel, crack that spine, and relax back on my beach. And get paid. Money. Anyone care to swap places?

P.S., If anyone can give me an idea to kick-start me writing a novel, I promise full credit on any published work. Maybe even a place to stay should you visit South Africa…