My talking lava tree is at it again.

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As you all know, my toilet still insists on having the last word every night as I head off to bed. It gurgles a bit, but it makes a lot more sense than anything I’ve heard said by people all week so I ought not to complain. Tonight it told me (again) that I’m going to have to check my priorities and pay less attention to cooking and more attention to music. But I do my best thinking while cooking. Conflict of interests. Let the dead bury their own dead and all that. Open up your coffin and let the sun shine in to flush away the blues. And there’s worse up ahead - it’s just about 5 weeks till Christmas comes around again, and already anxious shoppers are worried about what they’re going to do on that most distressing of all days. I wish that’s all I had to worry about.