Little of import.

I'm a tired and grumpy cephalopod this morning: I stayed up all night reading about new book about Somalia in the 90's, and then I dreamt that Kalashnikov-wielding warlord in a limousine was trying to kill me, because I made fun of him over the internet. Anyhoo.

I read an article about etiquette classes just now. I must admit, though hardly a class warrior, I couldn't help but choke a little on my morning layer cake (a favourite of Dogtooth’s, it involves crushed Anadin and whisky, and rarely makes you feel any better). I will of course accept the existence of such a thing as manners, dependant on respect for others, but can people not see that etiquette is merely a system of shibboleths which the idle rich use to identify themselves, like the lisp of and 50's homosexual or the handshake of a mason. Perhaps I'm just bitter: tentacles and a beak make for poor table manners.

I recently watched, over t'internet, a new episode of House about a brain damaged savant with remarkable piano-playing abilities. Two questions arose - first of all, what is this post-Rain Man obsession with autism and savants? I admit they are fairly interesting, but I don't see why a general public who display no interest in any other aspects of neurology should take these particular subjects to their heart. The more important question, of course, is how do I begin to justify stealing television over the web? I'll come back on that, either with a functioning excuse or a great deal more free time.

You might not hear from Dogtooth and I for a couple of days: we're off on a father and son whaling trip, by which I mean we hope to harpoon both a bull whale and a calf. Don't worry, we always catch-and-release.