What comes around, goes around. Spin the big wheel. Moss grows fat on a rolling stone. Those two birds are either dead or sporting matching lumps. Ah, lumps. Lumpiness. It's all good. And as I lay me down to sleep, it comes around again on the guitar: My turn.

Helen just seemed to be wanting for a bit of a push-start. Have you ever push-started a car? "Pop the clutch" has such a nice ring to it, putting the Karate Kid's Jersey Mom delightfully in mind before her image fades in favor of the image of a tow-strap. I hate towing/being towed on a strap, but I've done it at least twice, because I bought a lemon of a car. I should paint it yellow, I really should.

So, Helen, here's a push, along with a nudge and a wink, say no more, say no more. What shall we talk about? Is it time to tell the story about the toilet seat? Or shall we hold that one for when they're least expecting it? Yeah, that's the ticket.

Carry on.