Shrinks, Scandinavians, Stalinists and Sophie

I have a new therapist. The old one was a guy in his mid-twenties who appeared to have absolutely no clue what he was doing. I'd bent his mind completely to my will by the end of the first session. Nonetheless, after six months of what I will insist on calling `intensive' psychotherapy (i.e. an hour a week, unless I forget and sleep in), some good came out of the whole thing.

The new one is in her late twenties, I would judge, blonde, and potentially somewhat competent. And I managed to scare the crap out of her in our first session. She observed that I'd been talking about university but that we haven't really got to the bottom of the problem. My response was to say, Right, crack knuckles, and launch into a non-stop breathless ten-minute torrent of vitriolic hatred. I have no idea whatsoever what it was that I said, except that at one stage I stopped myself and said, in a perfectly normal conversational tone, I'm shouting, aren't I?... and then continued at exactly the same volume, because it was the correct volume to use.

Scared the crap out my my new therapist in the first hour. I'm sure this will be the start of an entirely wonderful and enlightening relationship.

Why are they all so damn young? How fucked up do you have to be to get the bearded guy with the little round spectacles and the Austrian accent?

~

Today was my first day off work in ten days. Spent most of it going to Ikea to buy household stuff (as if there's another reason to go to Ikea; well, maybe the meatballs). Tiresomely domestic, but acquired a lot of stuff that I needed to acquire.

I don't understand what the deal is with Swedish furniture. I've never seen Fight Club. It's hard-wearing and it's cheap and it keeps our stuff from being in piles on the floor, okay?

And I got a toolset for £3.50 and a couple of halogen lamps for a fiver each. And some Elch Blut `Elk's Blood' Lingonberry schnapps, which I might be sampling once I've finished this post.

~

All Should Read this excellent article in the Indy, which masterfully summarises just about everything that is wrong with this fucking country. Long, but worth it.

It even manages not to say that Someone Should Really Do Something About That.

The article that may get you arrested, it sensationally claims. Sensationally, except for the fact that someone apparently did. I don't have access to the full article on that one, so someone can tell me if she was actually hitting policemen with a rolled-up copy of the newspaper, or something.

~

Oh, yes, and: Sophie Aldred provides advice for the Doctor's future companions.

Wicked.

Sincerely, Mr. Angry of Tunbridge Wells

It turns out to be very easy to troll the Scotsman. I'm currently at two for two.

From today's edition of that august periodical:

Loutish In addition to the myriad idiotic and entirely avoidable problems thrown up by the smoking ban, we are now faced with the prospect of gangs of drunken morons standing outside every pub in every town centre in the country. Young women simply trying to get from A to B in their home towns are faced with a barrage of abusive comments and leering, loutish behaviour every evening. Perhaps much worse is to follow.

Andy Kerr, the health minister, should be deeply ashamed of his contribution to the health and social care of these women.

Paul A J Hamilton
Edinburgh

The actual version in the paper was edited for brevity. I hate being edited.

My goal is to get into a slanging match with one or other of the members of ASH Scotland. You know, the 29 members of ASH Scotland in whose favour the gubmint decided to criminalise thirty per cent of the voters. Maureen Moore, the Chief Executive of this elite clique of single-issue fanatics, has been known to write pointless and content-free screeds to the letters pages in the past.

How many more of these do I need to do before the paper offers me a column?