I've just got back from Zac's. I don't normally have a cup of tea at this point but tonight I needed it.
Sometimes I think God has a wicked sense of humour. I'd hoped/prayed that our Irish friend who'd been quite vociferous last week - 'I'm a catlic' - might decide not to come this week. He did but was very quiet - unlike Cookie.
Cookie's an old friend of mine: we've met on numerous occasions in prison. He's a sweet old soul but he can't half talk. And he isn't entirely coherent all the time. When he wasn't joining in the discussion he was muttering in the background as were a few others so I spent most of the evening SPEAKING LOUDLY AND REPEATING MYSELF!
I'm not actually sure if speaking loudly helps as my voice gets squeakier the louder it has to go and I'm not sure how much of what I wanted to get over did get over. But then it's not about me - although it turned into a 'stop-Liz-feeling-guilty' exercise at one point when everyone was reassuring me that although I had a bigger house than anyone else it didn't necessarily mean I was going to hell.
It's Paul's birthday on Friday. Paul has been a familiar sight to Mumbles road commuters for years as he's stood by the side of the road in his sandwich board. I doubt if many people read what it said on the board but most will know him as the happy man who always has a huge smile on his face.