Anyhoo (yes "anyway" was already taken).

In no way does this have any implication upon the result of George Galloway versus the Daily Telegraph libel trial, or the subjects contained therein, however; hands up if you can tell me which media organisation features most prominently in the images of Mr Galloway making his victory speech [it shows better in the live footage]. I wonder where I've seen that drop of gold before?

So why should a Qatar-based news channel take such interest in a civil court case in London? What do they know about Mr GG that we don't?

And you've got to love the placard held up on the left. Galloway 1, Telegraph 0. Written in scrawled pen. Do you think they might possibly have been waiting to find out if the Telegraph's claims were false before preparing that? His supporters must have an awful lot of faith in him.

Speaking of that which inspires faith, I've recently finished Catch-22, so that's only 2 months. Whatever happened to slamming through books in a weekend? Probably the lack of suitable weekends. And Moby Dick slaughtered my reading habit (if the choice was between reading, or not, and reading meant Moby Dick...).

Anyway, it is a good book, if worrying, and infuriating [but knowingly so]. And somehow it manages to have cheesy ending that has just enough doubt left that it might not be. But as you might have noticed, I'm not a book reviewer, and so I'm not really very good at writing about other people's writing. Basically it's strange, funny, bemusing, and a cruel manipulator of logic. But it shows just how easily reasoning can be obvious, and yet lost to all sense. As for Heller's habit of using linguistically natural sentences to jump between people, times and contexts, well, I suppose it is a useful literary technique, but it just makes me feel like I'm back doing Withering Heights.

Moving on, as I have done, straight onto another block pillaged from my brother [ok, borrowed, and this one he suggested I take, but that doesn't have quite the same power to it]: The Day of the Triffids. No, not some odd half-remembered memory from early in my childhood [they were green, and like dinosaur tails which wobbled, not that I've ever seen dinosaur tales], although I'm guessing it was based on this book. Either that or there are some remarkably poor copyright lawyers out there.

I'm not very far into the book, and already some aspects are amusing, such as the quaint 1950s fear of the Cold War, and the bizarre wranglings betwixt east and west [what do you mean "Ukraine"?]. And others are oddly familiar. Could the writers of 28 Days Later have read the book perchance? One starts with a man awaking in an apparently abandoned hospital, and the other is strangely similar. Admittedly, our man in the 1950s sci-fi is encountering people quicker, and the mysterious affliction isn't quite the same. But still, one experiences a certain deja-vu [but not really presque-vu, and certainly not jamais-vu].

And with that I got distracted, by an H2G2 (it used to be big, think Wikipedia with a [often dubious] sense of humour. That was pre-BBC, or being revealed as BBC) piece on deja-vu. Apparently someone Swiss has broken déjà-vu into two distinct forms: déjà-vecu and déjà-visité. The former being what I usually mean by déjà-vu, as in catching a falling tomato whilst listening to the people in the programme on radio 4 break into French (the programme was about farmers who emigrate). But I usually tend to have dreams, which then crop up in life. I mean a dream about a bouncing tomato that runs away, whilst the radio is talking about pigs in French, well, it's just not normal, is it? And yet it was.

I know this is all supposed to be the result of synaptic confusion, which is thoroughly logical, but it just hasn't convinced me even though it should. But then I don't think I'm susceptible to things like that, but I have tendency to find myself stopped, for no reason, only to later discover that something major has happened to someone I know [such as them dying, or getting knocked off their bike]. It's physically impossible, and nonsensical, and yet, and yet.

But then one of friends is about as fey as they come. She'll walk in talking about things she can't possibly know, and has no idea how she knows them.

I would say I'm able to predict bad things, but I think it's just that my brain is in a state of constant worry, and so runs thorough so many worst case scenarios that sooner or later some will mesh with reality.

All of which distracts me from defining déjà-visité. It is the sensation that one has already been to a place. With me it usually happens in small towns in West Sussex. Which either means I am the reincarnation of a local, or that possibly there is an innate commonality to such places, and I'm quite good at picking up the subconscious signs.

I think I better stop now before I worry people by mentioning I still do "touch wood". Scientifically it's rubbish, and about it does is indicate that the room one is in has a reasonable degree interior design (just think how miserable rooms are if they are without a single wooden item).

I also believe in "tempting fate", or trying not, if you know what I mean. And yet I don't believe in fate.

"Just in case" is a very powerful argument.

Anyhoo,