I've decided that I'm giving up pub meetings for the time being -- I want to get back to a 32-inch waist again, and the beer isn't doing any good. Last night's pizza didn't help -- I'm going to join the Stepson with the salad-and-jogging thing that he's doing. Expect to see less of me in the future. Also, it'll give me an excuse to get some new clothing in colours other than black.
I've emailed the Redemption committee to say that I'm no longer available for the "Realism in Slash" and "Blokes who like Slash" panels. I now realise that it's a foolish affectation which I should have grown out of years ago, and I'm not going to do it any more. I'm looking for someone else I can hand the whip-making workshop over to as well.
Finally, I'm quitting the Masons. There's no real reason why I should dress up in an apron and walk around with a wand in my hand eight or more times a year -- it's silly -- and I don't really get on with the people there either. It's not as if Freemasonry ever achieves anything anyway -- all that talk of contributions to charity is bunk. You know it, I know it, and it's well past time that someone came out and said it.