A Ramble Down Obscure Roads

This could easily go wrong. I'm warning you that right now. Prepare the dust sheets of doom, and the rusty pickup truck of escape, for it might be a rough ramble ahead. It's inevitable that after a church wedding, a principled agnostic can get a bit disturbed, even as happily watching the married couple be united in blissful matrimony. A large part of it has to be that when you actually look at the words to a lot of hymns they're actually rather upsetting and disturbing, stacked with all sorts of implications and direct statements on the subservience of man and dominance of the theoretical deity in question. It can actually be a a very creepy relationship between deity and worshipper when things are taken too literally, and when thought about in depth. Let us, however, get away from ungraciously critiquing such things. There are plusses and minusses.

London makes so much more sense when you walk it. A foolish novelty plan to navigate the metropolis on foot has actually made the city a cohesive geographical entity, and not just a random assortment of spots linked by tube trains and busses. How many of those previous trips could have been so much less stressed? How many side jaunts to the Orcs Nest (excellent board game shop) could have been accomplished by pavement pounding instead of riding the underground metal death tubes? How much longer would it have all taken? Would a personal zeppelin have made it easier still? Now, there's an idea to bring into fashion: The personal zeppelin. How groovy. Might need a crest for it though, which will need some work.

Obviously, thanks to the grand traditions of the Quirky Muffin, today can not pass us by without at least a token mention of the accursed Daylight Savings Time, even now beleaguering people all over the country for the first time since October! Curses on you, British Summer Time, coming in and confusing my biological clock for the next seven months. Even now the brain of the Muffin is worrying at keeping two parallel times in mind, as it does involuntarily over the summer, until the last two weeks, when suddenly it will seem entirely natural just in time to change back. It's a cruel twist of seasonal depression that half of the happy period when the daylights hours are growing is hexed by Daylight Savings Time.

Is that enough? Have we rambled enough? Should there be a side jaunt into the world of SJ Perelman, hilarious if misogynistic humourist extraordinaire? Perhaps a perambulation to the wonders of the first season of 'Community'? No, another day would be better.

O.