So, D came over for dinner tonight with the Winged Monkey and I. I fixed an great pot roast courtesy of a recipe posted by Uncle Bill. We ate. A lot. And then? Then I fell asleep. Because that's what Daisy does when she has eaten a lo and had a glass of wine.

But before and after my nap we watch recordings of Derren Brown, a British mentalist. So far I have seen him find a hidden necklace in Venice, predict the word associations of a waitress and a psychiatrist, foresee the bright shoes of the female accountant who guessed the correct number of jelly beans in a jar.

Maybe it's my sleepy state. Maybe it's the wine. Maybe it's the pot roast hangover that's already begun. Whatever it is, I'm rather impressed. Especially since Mr. Brown is very up front about the fact that he is not psychic, but rather that he is reading all sorts of subconscious clues his audience are giving out or that he is planting suggestions when he speaks to them.

Wonder what it would be like to date him? No more excuses about not being able to read your mind. And you would always get what you wanted for your birthday.

And he has that cute British accent.