A few years ago we went to a poetry reading evening at an Oxfam bookshop. One of the readers was a young (when I say young, I do of course really mean someone merely younger than me), charismatic and good-looking Welsh poet. I generally find modern poetry difficult to follow, but I seem to recall he was pretty good. (He did a nice poem about finding a picture of his mother when a young woman called, "Not yet my mother"). This was from his second book of poetry (blue something or other), he'd won a posh-sounding award, and the bio in the event programme said he was already working on a novel for some publisher or other.

Git.

Anyhow, fast forward a few years to last Saturday, when I'm minding my own business on the Central Line platform at Bank station, and what do I find in front of me? A damn great poster advertising a book called "Resistance" by a bloke called "Owen Sheers", a name that was instantly familiar.

"Wasn't he that poet we heard at Oxfam?" I thought, making but failing to file a mental note to tell my other half about it.

An hour or so later, I'm walking into Foyles bookshop, minding my own business, when a book cover leaps out at me from a thousand other books. Resistance, by Owen Sheers. I read the blurb. It's alternate history, not what I'd have been expecting. But when I flip to the biography section at the front, it's him, blue wotnot and all.

That evening I pick up a copy of the Guardian that my other half just happened to buy the day before, flip to a random page in a random section, and what do I find? Bagging Munros in a weekend. An article about a weekend walking holiday climbing mountains in the Highlands of Scotland. By Owen Sheers.

And then this lunchtime, what do I read, whilst reading an American webzine? (An American webzine). A review of Resistance, by Owen bloody Sheers.

Now I know some will argue that this is just coincidence, nothing more than obsessional pattern-recognition and observational bias by a bitter, jealous and unbalanced individual. But I know better, and I think - deep down - you do too Owen. This is stalking, and I want it to stop. Now.

Mind you, the book does look interesting. Must buy it some time.

In this mad, mad world, it's good sometimes to see someone get their priorities straight:

The host, whom Arrington says is a gadget-hound, was carrying his new MacBook Air, and thus he had a big decision to make: Protect his face, or the beautiful machine? In the split-second before he kissed the pavement, Rose chose to save the computer. "In doing so, he pretty much hit the pavement face first, unfortunately," producers told Arrington. Producers say the MacBook Air was undamaged, save for the blood stains.

After all, this was a MacBook Air!

In other news, from the same source, it appears that some Mac fans have an irrational and emotional bias toward Macs and against PCs. Can't see it myself.