Guess where the male specimens of Newman House are? They're on a little outing. They've gone to a poledancing club! I was actually offered a ticket, but graciously declined (I wouldn't mind going, I just don't want everyone to think Rob needs a chaperone). Fr Peter decided to wind them up by telling them they all had to go to confession tomorrow or they'd all go to hell. They believe him!

Oh, about the never clubbing again? I kinda lied, & went out on Monday. To a place where they sold £3000 bottles of brandy. I bought a coke.

This is an suggestions list for a teenagers mass - I have been asked not to name the person responsible for the slight alteration of lyrics, but I don't really need to, do I?


Bind us together with whips and black leather.

Colours of day – this has either three or four authors. None of them was the Holy Spirit.

Follow me follow me on the road to purgatory,
leave your wit, your taste and brain upon the shore.

Let there be love in my teacup,
I’ll just be twee and say nowt,
if I don’t think, this won’t hurt much,
frontal lobotomy looms…

Whatsoever you do to the least of my brothers, do it to me – oh go on, make my day!

I danced in the morning as I rinsed off the scum,
the ring round the bath makes me wish I’d not begun.
I’d shake and I’d vac if you’d let me be,
“but I am the Lord, don’t sing crap to me.”

This little light of mine, I’m gonna whine and whine.
Whine and whine. Where’s the wine.
Oh God, please, WINE! Save me from the madness.

Father I place into your hands my brain and poetry,
Father I’m gonna sing to you in ways that shouldn’t be,
Father I want to be a drip, and ask you where to go,
for I know, I certainly can’t trust my own judgement if I’m singing this crap to the Almighty Creator.


We love happy clappy, don't we children?