Jeremy, Friday 9 June

I’m thinking about changing my name to Jeremy.  People approach my usual name with too many preconceptions.  I used to think Jeremy sounded weak and delusional but now I see it as strong and full of hope

I’m back in Nazareth.  It’s time for the pre-Sabbath meal soon.  I had an encounter with a neighbour of Mary’s yesterday that stirred me out of the negative state I had been in all week.  I said things that made me realise I really have a great deal to say to the world and I really must get moving and save all the people as I can before it’s too late.

At least Mary and I were friends again this morning when I left my home to come back to my parents’ house.  She said she would support me on my mission if that was what I really felt I had to do, but she also made it clear she would rather I stayed and made a proper go of our marriage.

The greetings I received on my return were underwhelming.  Considering that as far as anyone knew I had been fighting for survival in the wilderness for the past month, if not quite the forty days I had been aiming at, I didn’t get much of a reaction.  I wasn’t exactly expecting cheering crowds lining the streets, but I had hoped for something a bit more welcoming than, ‘Oh look, the Bastard’s back,’ or, ‘Found out how to make it rain yet?  We could do with a drop.’  My family weren’t much kinder.  Even my mother only managed ‘Look what the cat dragged in’, but at least then she gave me a smile and a kiss and a bowl of water for my feet.  Tom and Hannah and the kids are coming round for dinner, as luck would have it, so at least someone should be pleased to see me.

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