I'm getting more and more uncomfortable with this sponsorship caper, I must admit.

Out of the $39 per month I'm paying, I feel increasingly suspicious that less than 10% of it is getting to where it is most needed and the rest is going to pay the overheads demanded by western fatcats more concerned about their plasma televisions, their BMWs and their illicit dalliances than the well being of unprivileged children. Under privileged is erroneous. Those kids have nothing.

It also bothers me that I can neither confirm nor deny this suspicion.

Why has it cropped up all of a sudden now?

I paid a visit to some friends last night and Mary reminded me of the monumental scam the Christian Children's Fund in particular is - how out of every $40 worth of sponsorship donated, what manages to filter all the way down the pipeline amounted to $1.88. Now, if I can neither confirm nor deny what percentage of my donation to Oxfam makes it all the way through, I'm inclined to suspect a rather high level of security is being employed which, of course, is more money going to computer nerds with BMWs instead of children with empty stomachs.

Is this just a bit of paranoia I can put down to my deeply ingrained cynicism or what?

I'll confess I signed up in a moment of weakness. It was a magnificent day as I remember it and I had just made my way out of Flinders Street Station here in Melbourne when I was approached by an English backpacker doing donkey work to fund a year's worth of traipsing around Australia. You guessed it, another needy young person full of hope, enthusiasm, joie de vivre and an expectancy that their time backpacking in my country would prove to be the most outstanding experience they were likely to enjoy for the whole of their lifetime.

Who was I to dampen their spirit?

So I signed up and $39 per month has been deducted from my bank account ever since.

What became of the young English backpacker? What of the child I am supposed to have been sponsoring all this time?

Apart from that, it was nice to see Mary and Kathy last night. I went to pay a visit to George - my old boss from the bakery - but he'd gone across town to be with his girlfriend because her mother is ill apparently. We'll catch up on Friday now, all things being equal.

I'ma gonna hafta sell the beloved Saab. *sniff*

Yep, two cars is one too many and the Saab has it over the Mitsubishi in one vital respect: it goes - quite well as a matter of fact.

I've addressed this before, whether here or elsewhere, that once the Magna gets its new clutch, it will have its own advantages over the Saab in two very important respects - anonymity and air conditioning. Neither of which changes the fact it's going to sadden me to part with the Saab, haunted though it is by the ghost of the fucking toaster.

Oh well. Such are the mixed emotions of Wednesday night as was.