Nothing like a bit of blogging just after waking up, is there? This is the first time I've ever tried it and so far the whole thing is going quite well. My faculties are not yet fully functioning, the screen seems to be wobbling around within itself, and I keep pressing the wrong keys. I may still be asleep, I'm not sure.

The length of this post is contingent on several factors beyond my control: 1) how soon Naomi gets out of the shower, and 2) how soon Pete finishes with the sport section.

I'm back at my parents' home in Worcester for a week, cunningly coinciding my visit with those of brother, sis-in-law, niece, and sister - 'tis a veritable family reunion of sorts, with everyone seeming to eat and drink for the day's duration, and a game of Hearts never too far away.

I've been doing my Uncle Mike stuff, and it's been as good as ever - wandering around the garden with Eve on my shoulder until she falls alseep and makes these odd, contented gurgling sounds. This week she has just discovered her hands - apparently that's what happens after a couple of months, I had no idea - so seems to love just stuffing them in her mouth whenever she can. Occasionally she has trouble finding her mouth and ends up poking herself in the eye, which doesn't end well.

A drawback with being at home with numerous family members is that I have been asked the "what next?" question on more occasions than I'd care to remember. "So, Mike, what next?" - it all just emphasises how clueless I am about, well, what next. There's too much choice, so I'll probably end up doing nothing. I spent a while on t'interweb yesterday flicking around places to visit and travel to and lay my head.... as a result, I now have an almost insatiable urge to get to Truth Or Consequences as soon as possible and just sit in the hot springs for six months, reading books and occasionally getting dressed to do some karaoke across the road.

But the city remains... intoxicating.

It's all so confusing. Both of my brothers got married the summer after graduating so they didn't have this kind of shit to put up with. Sure, they had big choices to make, but they had to make them with someone they planned on spending the rest of their lives with, which is a wee bit different. Do I go nuts now trying to break into journalism and really go for it? Dick around for a year before doing a Masters? Up and leave for somewhere far away and come back goodness knows when? Sell out somehow?

Actually, the concept of 'selling out' is alien to me. Lots of humanities grads recently have been talking about 'selling out', and the fear they have of it. But no one actually talks about what selling out actually entails. Is there some market stall down by Bank where you go and sell out for a lucrative some of money? See, even if I decided that I want to sell out, I'd have no fucking idea what it meant, or how to do it.

I've been thinking a lot recently about my faith, or lack thereof - I think perhaps I can feel some kind of intangible religious belief slowly creep into my life. I don't know why or how, I guess that's the whole point of it. Anyway I'm planning to go on a retreat in the autumn to a place in France previously visited (and raved about) my my sister, and a frequent getaway for my mum throughout her career as a priest. BAsically involves sitting around for a week, not saying anything, and helping some monks with their chores. Sounds a bit full-on, but even if I come back with my little faith completely quashed, it sounds like a worthwile experience.

Ok Naomi has been out of the shower now for about five minutes. Before I go, though: Damien Duff for £5m? Chelsea are stupid, plain stupid.