Dear runner,

Only real live people can forgive. Poirot is a real live person. Christ is a legendary figure who, if he existed, exists no more.

Take forgiveness from real people. I forgive you, also.

Just because the subject doesn't get the point, Poirot doesn't mean the rest of us didn't – and enjoyed it.

Here’s a lovely artistic photo by Bill Henson (don’t look runner!):

http://www.google.com/imgres?q=Bill+Henson&hl=en&sa=X&biw=1280&bih=599&tbm=isch&prmd=imvnso&tbnid=YXE4Zbv5-XkalM:&imgrefurl=http://iconolo.gy/archive/be-young-bill-henson/428&docid=NHaQPLWjlfuFEM&imgurl=http://iconolo.gy/sites/default/files/imagecache/h516/017.jpg&w=705&h=481&ei=bKQhULSqKdOgiQeosoCYDA&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=264&vpy=120&dur=23&hovh=185&hovw=272&tx=145&ty=121&sig=104114398348957169127&page=1&tbnh=104&tbnw=153&start=0&ndsp=20&ved=1t:429,r:7,s:0,i:163

And here’s a long OLO discussion about whether this is art or pornography:

http://forum.onlineopinion.com.au/thread.asp?discussion=1831

Good to know, WmTrevor : )

Not having a sister and somehow disregarding my mother's sex I hated all girls at one point in my life. One day in my early teens I walked into the classroom, and it had become a hotbed of eroticism. Wondrous creatures - the aroma, breasts, eyelashes, supple hands, the movements etc. I walked bent over with my hands clasped in front of me. One of these wondrous creatures even started to walk to school with me. I was consumed with lust. Of course I was too shy to do anything more than croak out a few words. She seemed to be equally socially inept, but it was glorious to walk to school together. I am now 86 and still under the spell of lust.

I owe my wonderful descendents to lust. Without lust my life would be empty. Lust is one of our better emotions - honest, straightforward and inspiring in the creative arts.

http://www.econ.ohio-state.edu/jhm/arch/david/David.htm

What's not to like?