1. I am very tired and pathetic after spending the week drinking cocktails and tottering round London inappropriately dressed. It is also very late since I have just got back to Brussels (and why does the house smell of sileage? Perhaps best if I don't enquire too closely. Is that even how you spell it? Silage/Sileage? Countryfolk?) on the last train AND I had to find a cash machine AND my taxi smelled like something had died in there and not too recently. As a consequence this will be a SHIT confessional, and I have no idea when I will be able to dispense penance. So. I suggest either you turn on each other and establish some kind of comments box martial law, or you go all Opus Dei on me and punish YOURSELVES.
Actually, no. I have a better idea: we should leave penance in the hands of the monsters from the Guardian's guide to Monsters of Greek Mythology.
Which guest confesser will you choose?
Will it be number 1: Tennis skirt wearing, baby wielding cow?
Number 2: "Holy fuck Leo, I TOLD you not to let the cubs swim in that power station effluent"
Number 3: "My tail is the least of your worries"