Matt Sullivan

I'm now in the middle of last, last minute preparations; it's just after 10 PM here, and I'm heading for the airport in, oh, about six hours. All I have left to do is pack. That will involve five minutes of throwing clothes into a backpack, thirty minutes of trying to decide what books to bring along (why is it that every time I go away, what I really want to read is either in hardback or those oversized softbacks which are entirely an inappropriate size for travel?), spend far too much time copying music onto my iPod, and then repacking my bag because I always figure I've forgotten something vital -- underwear, toothbrush, passport ...

Preparations are almost complete for the month-long tour of New Zealand -- with a bit of Toyko thrown in for good measure. Let's see ... the checklist: yen, dollars, passport, tickets (well, one of the three of us going has them), driver's licence, obligatory guidebook(s), insurance, accomodation bookings. Check, check, check and check. And don't forget the camera and small pile of memory sticks! I sense a photographic frenzy looming on this trip ...

The Green Man has been online over a week now, but it'll be while before the next story, The Voyage, is available. When I first thought to create recordings of these tales, I wanted to release one roughly once a month. I figured that a month would give me enough time to write something -- if I had already worked my way through the back catalogue -- and for Regina to record it. Any stories that were long enough to justify splitting into multiple podcasts, then I'd release those parts weekly. But new stories: one a month.

Well, well ... I actually managed to crawl out of bed before 11 AM on this nice, mild Irish Saturday morning. The reason for my incredulity is that I crawled into bed last night around 3:30 AM. My insomnia was in no small way caused by the two large mugs of coffee I downed late that evening; I had just arrived back from Dublin and had trekked to Heuston Station through torrential rain, and was soggy and grumpy. Two and a half hours soaking wet on an overcrowded train usually ends with me throwing caution to the wind when I get home.

... I can release The Green Man podcast into the lonely wilds of the internet. I say 'lonely' because, in all probability, there are very few people reading this journal, visiting the Worlds Abound site, or even aware that these things exist. I wonder how long that will remain true. I have software that tells me some of the terms people have typed into Google -- and other search engines -- that have lead them here, and the weird associations never cease to amaze me.

On the subject of brain training, there has been a surge in the number of computer games that claim to be good for the grey matter: keeping the thought processes sprightly and the mind sharp. I think its a great idea, something to suppilment a bit of suduko or a crossword over coffee. Most of these are on the Nintendo DS, and the most popular title is Dr Kawashima's Brain Training.

The reason I mention this at all is that I became obsessed with the damn thing before Christmas; not because it is addictive, and not due to an overriding desire to greatly improve my mental capacity.

Regina brought back with her over six hours of recordings that she had done for both The Green Man and The Voyage; five mini-discs in total. The first two hours we went through and edited into the version of The Green Man which will be posted shortly. The other three contained various cuts of The Voyage, and Regina was not very happy with how she portrayed some of the characters. So she decided to re-record the entire story, but not start until we had both listened to what she had already done, and commented on it.

And it turns out that my birthday this year fell on the same day as Chinese new year; so we are, thrust into the Year of the Pig. I grew up surrounded by many, many pigs, of all shapes and sizes -- usually around three inches in length and made of pottery. My mother collected them -- though not any more, and I'll probably get yelled at if she reads this -- and the kitchen was filled with them.

As another weekend -- and birthday ... thirty-four ... where'd thirty-three disappear to? Must have blinked ... -- and I find myself sitting on my oversized beanbag, with laptop in lap, busily trying to pen a few more paragraphs for the story I'm currently writing. This one will probably be called The Coyote, but I'm never sure until I see what it finally becomes. Things I write rarely turn out the way I initially envisage them. It's a good thing, because most of the enjoyment gained from writing is in taking the journey, and it is always more fun not to know where you'll visit; or where you'll finally end up.

Most of today was spent in a haze of tiredness brought on by late nights in work -- four days in a row. Said lack of sleep has been known to cause excessive grumpiness and irritability; however, a Firday spent dozing on the train out of Dublin, building a large roaring fire and then sitting in front of it while watching Flushed Away, eating my first home-cooked meal in weeks, and finally tapping away quietly at the keyboard, while the smell of chocolate cake baking in the oven fills the house.