~ abnormal petting zoo

She has a dream in which she is half-fish half-slug half-horse. She is swimming around and around in an enclosed body of water, unable to escape.

The Spores are in abeyance, but the humdrum is coming into its own - and the humdrum has secret alliances with ancient demons. Now is a dangerous time, and - knowing she carries a neural implant that can steamroll her resolution at any time - I observe all things with great care.

I offer to look after her bank card, as she's getting paid the next morning. She complains that she feels like a child when other people look after her money. I stick to my guns. She suggests that we not pay off the Romanian tomorrow, but leave it a little while. I suggest that makes no sense. An argument ensues, and grows sufficiently intense to justify her spending the night at her mother's. I am left alone watching Blades of Glory, confused, miserable and unable to stop myself laughing. When she arrives home the next day, she reveals that she has her period. She admits that she was worried by her behaviour, thought she was actually going mad - but realised, thankfully, that it was only PMT, a condition that can affect her strongly.

- It's amazing what hormones can do, she says.

Later, I will find out if this entire scenario was a carefully drafted plan to facilitate a monstrous licking of the deadly honeycomb. Would she engineer an argument like that? Endanger the relationship? Just to seek traffic with the Spores? Am I paranoid? She is still asleep at 10.30 - a worrying sign. We shall see. ...

With Polly, I rode the train into town to participate in Children's Week festivities. The only thing of merit was an above average petting zoo. A penned in area lined with astroturf, teeming with highly exited children and resigned, almost soporific animals. I picked up a baby chicken for Polly when another set of little hands expertly divested me, briefly manipulated the chick, then threw it into the plastic yellow wading pool that was home to a turtle - a turtle whose head remained extended throughout the ordeal. What turtle would not take advantage of its natural abilities in such a perilous environment? A drugged turtle? A diseased turtle? Whatever. I plucked the chicken from the water.

Later, as I closed my briefcase, an official checked to see if I was stealing a bird or animal. I explained that a goat had been eating my papers. Polly really loved the rabbits. I liked the turkeys. I was kicked by a small cow.

Thinking about it, there was something off-beat about that petting zoo. There in the wildly post modern Federation Square Atrium - enslaved beasts; brought to the heart of Man's empire to be fondled by his young. Regard these creatures, any of you who doubt that we are the dominant species. We are superior to these guinea pigs in so very many ways. This turtle has developed none of the magnificent technologies we have. Our social structures are vastly more complex than anything these gobbling turkeys have in place.

Later, Polly told me that she had never seen a clown. Would that this state of purity shall last.