It has stayed the same size over the last six months, as the Brain Doctor's Lab in Calgary has now confirmed. I am very pleased with this news.
I blame the combination of my sister's voodoo, an exercise regime, and the magic of the warmest, most genuine and kind yoga teacher for ensuring that new growth was prohibited this season. And the general family and friend love and laughs, of course. And cabbage.
My general conclusion about the state of the world is that it is one big steaming heap of human shit. I have a lot to say on the topic of turds and digestion and I could talk about it with interest all day, but we can't really escape the fact that shit is revolting. And human shit is especially toxic. It's not like a nice, wholesome manure. It's miserable, full of preservatives and cluster bombs and Monsanto and the Alberta tar sands and Qaddafi's bad hair and bad poetry and blood-soaked broken everything. It's full of perverted growths and the radiation of wireless communication devices that add to the incidences of perverted growths.
But within that shit I still sometimes see the glitter of undigested non-GMO seeds, good ones, like from strawberries and blackberries and tomatoes, all peeping out and following the master plan of their mother plant. I like the seeds in the shit. They make it okay to be alive. And that's how I've been feeling lately. Like a whole foods advocate with dreadlocks and a natural oils-induced spotty face, inflated with feelings of relief and elation and 'hope' (is that what they call it?), temporary as it is. I know the thing will keep growing at its own desired pace, but I currently have the upper hand so ha, bastard child of the O2 network! I hurl my seeds at you and confront you with Brassica and fish oils. You are a Tory, you are feces, you can't grow but plants will emerge from your sorry gut-spew.
I thank the rest of you all for your capital-enriched seeds at the donation page, by the way. Almost half way there now: 40% of the goal has been achieved. I've been altitude training here in Calgary, which is approximately 1025m higher in the sky than London. Which means a lot less oxygen and a lot less being able to run at all. Which has been embarrassing. But it should mean I'll have super powers upon my return.
Except that I've been eating port and Stilton. There's no reason why it shouldn't be consumed year-round, and in countries outside of England.