The Universe.

Driving home just I noticed a little yellow road sign hanging on a lamp-post. It had an arrow pointing towards 'Jupiter' in bold black font. I always knew Birmingham was at the centre of the Universe.

In other news, regardez le livre 'GOD EXPLAINED IN A TAXI RIDE'.

Picture, if you will, the scene. A sedate library in suburban Birmingham- school children busily tapping away at the computers, chatting on MSN, pensioners grazing amongst the shelves, leaving behind them a trail of sweet wrappers and tatty D.I.Y bookmarks given to them by dutiful grandkids, and the occasional wiff of baby poo drifting from the junior room. At the desk the twirly fan is going full-pelt, keeping me cool as I read like a good librarian, and keeping the dank haze of the public at bay.

Suddenly, my eyes slide to computers where a young boy has just risen from his wheely seat. He mutters something, storming towards the doors. He doesn't stop. His fist goes right through the glass of the door, and he leaves. I stand there, momentarily having lowered my book to observe, before reaching for my dustpan and brush and wading out to sweep up the debris. Its like Baghdad out here (I think). A little bit later the boy returns, his hand wrapped in his adidas hoody, blood seeping, oozing out of the sodden rag. That bit wasn't real, although he did come back, and his hand was scratched. The STATE of our society eh?

Back to the book anyway, its a titillating little dossier- at a mere 125 innocently illustrated, gorgeously brief pages. Its by a guy called Paul Arden, who used to be the creative, sorry, Executive Creative Director of Saatchi & Saatchi. He rambles merrily through the narrative, splashing out on witty anecdotes, cherry picking heart tickling reminiscences and going to town with brain poking questions. It may be petite, but it made me think a lot. And so, go read it yeh.

*KISS*