You kind of know when someone nicks the remains of your mother-in-law that things might be getting a bit too hairy to continue.

It seems that four British animal rights protesters have admitted plotting to blackmail the owners of a farm that bred guinea pigs for medical research. They have also admitted to using the theft of the remains of 82 year old Gladys Hammond as part of their campaign.

I’m sure at the time their strategy seemed very logical and correct — I know, let’s save the poor little guinea pigs by acting like complete twits for the next six years and if that doesn’t work, we’ll just dig-up one of the owner’s dead relatives.

Oh yes, that’s a plan! I can really see how it all hangs together… Link

For most of my life, whenever I thought about dying, I hoped I’d die in my sleep. I didn’t want pain and I certainly didn’t want any lead-up to that final moment. The thought of waiting to die, being told I had a few months or years to live was not something that sat well with me. I couldn’t begin to imagine how hard it must be to live each day with such knowledge. For me, death was something to fear and depressing to consider.

A few years ago while attending a Vipassana meditation course it came to me that death would be the last experience I’d have — that it was something that would definitely happen and there was nothing I could do to change it.

There is nothing terribly profound in those thoughts — except for me it was the first time I had thought them. After I’d calmed down and was able to think about it without my pulse racing, I realised I could go back and try to ignore death again or I could start thinking about it more, which is what I chose to do.

Thinking about death was not just scary, it was downright terrifying for me. I don’t believe in reincarnation, nor do I believe in heaven and hell. I do believe something carries on, but I have no idea what, and anyway, I don’t think we are conscious of whatever it might be.

I see the whole life death thing like this: It’s as if we’re a glass of water plucked from the ocean and given life and form and then one day the glass is upturned and we are returned to the ocean — death and whatever. The form in the glass, I, no longer exists — it has gone back and been mixed, diluted, joined with the ocean.

Over time, I have begun to feel differently about death and the experience of dying. Today, I would prefer to be present, I would like to experience my death in the same way I experience a sunny day. To be in it and a part of it. I can still get scared when I think about it all, but most of the time the thought of death as my last great adventure has a somewhat calming effect.

Stonehenge, on Salisbury Plain, was their technology and like some of ours it allowed them to sacrifice people to appease their God. Technology is this weeks Photo Friday assignment.

god’s chosen
slay god’s children
a deathly silence on high

Haiku by soji.

Now, here is a country that sells itself as socially progressive and culturally rich. Yet it is an elitist and some might say selfish society that scorns the opinions of the world in order to maintain a rather tacky tradition — the seasonal killing of whales.

Norwegian whalers will be allowed to kill a total of 1,052 minke whales in 2006, an increase of 30%.

The quota was raised from 797 – already a record – after a unanimous vote in parliament, the government said.

BBC | Link

The US President, George Bush, has been widely quoted today saying that responsibility for invading Iraq, based in part on faulty weapons intelligence, rested solely with him.

“It is true that much of the intelligence turned out to be wrong,” Bush said. “As president, I’m responsible for the decision to go into Iraq.”

I suppose that means Mr Bush, Mr Blair and Mr Howard that you and your cronies are also responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands of people for no good reason. Clearly, it’s time for you all to go.

A convicted drug runner but you didn’t deserve to die. Singapore will forever be shamed for taking your life.

I found this great photo of Georgie Best  at Wikipedia.org. It was taken in 1968.

George Best, died yesterday in a West London hospital after a long struggle against the effects of alcoholism. He was 59.

Georgie the Best, was a Belfast boy who made it to the dressing rooms of the Manchester City Football Club.

A Northern Ireland football international, Best is widely regarded as one of the greatest players in the history of the game.

Rest in peace George. Red or blue, Manchester loved you
was a message left on a Manchester City shirt.