Yes, it's a fatal mistake to provide me with a soapbox. I'm an incurable yabberer. Prob is, I'm also a keen tippler and I tend to write these things in the evening when I'm... well, a tad merry. And I wake in the morning and say, "OMG! What the bloody hell did I write last night!" Yes, dear Breth, I'm a worry.

Meanwhile, a visitor left a message asking "how's Ned?" For the uninitiated, Ned Kelly was an infamous and notorious bushranger in Oz in the late 19th century. He was hanged at age 24 and his last words were, "such is life" before the trapdoor opened and he departed this world. I've heard rumors that I'm a distant relative of Ned. However, I AM a distant relative of another bushranger named Jack Doolan whose name was immortalized in the song, "The Wild Colonial Boy". Yeah, so I'm a worry on at least two counts.

The great thing about being of Irish descent is that one has three legitimate excuses for being who and what one is: a drunk, a writer and a poet. Ya know, two outta three just ain't enough.

So, what's the point of this blog entry? Glad you asked. Um... well, lemme see... point... yeah... I'll think of something really profound in a tick... hang in there while I pour another drink.

Okay, firstly I'm impressed with the general intelligence of contributors to GA; I admire thinkers as opposed to followers of some rigid agenda, and there's no shortage of thinkers here, even the young ones. Cerebral stimulus is lacking in the wider world. Just ask an expert like GWB.

After three score and bit of wandering around, I've concluded, thus far, that the bod is simply transport for the pound of gray soup we carry around on our shoulders. You can talk about hearts and souls, but I believe that the essence of a person is contained within that ikky bit of goo. If you doubt me, check out somebody with Alzheimer's.

Something profound? I think I'm too tired and... merryish, but here goes: Life is all about living for others so that others can make your life worth living.