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  <title>Forget your lust for the rich man's gold</title>
  <subtitle>All that you need is in your soul</subtitle>
  <author>
    <name>Greer Kirkam : Retired Chaser</name>
  </author>
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  <updated>2010-12-15T14:03:29Z</updated>
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    <id>urn:lj:scribbld.com:atom1:greerie:2338</id>
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    <title>five</title>
    <published>2010-12-15T14:00:17Z</published>
    <updated>2010-12-15T14:03:29Z</updated>
    <content type="html">&lt;center&gt;&lt;img src="http://img600.imageshack.us/img600/5738/lucasa.png"&gt;&lt;/center&gt;</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:scribbld.com:atom1:greerie:2054</id>
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    <title>four</title>
    <published>2009-08-11T18:15:06Z</published>
    <updated>2009-08-11T18:18:14Z</updated>
    <content type="html">&lt;a name="cutid1"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Friends and Family]&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mum and Dad are still in Mungo's. Dad's been talking a little, but Mum still hasn't woken up. Griff, Gerry, and I have been trading off shifts to sit with them. We haven't decided what to do when and if they leave the hospital. The house is fucking gone. The tornado destroyed it and everything else. I don't think our parents would've lived if Dad hadn't side-alonged with Mum while she was unconscious. He lost a chunk of his ear by doing that, but who gives a shit about half of an ear when they're lucky to be alive?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what to do after this. They can't stay in Mungo's forever. I wouldn't be able to live with myself when I know my parents are stuck in some fucking hospital while I'm...not.</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:scribbld.com:atom1:greerie:1913</id>
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    <title>three</title>
    <published>2009-04-08T07:20:53Z</published>
    <updated>2010-12-15T14:03:19Z</updated>
    <content type="html">&lt;a name="cutid1"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Booth]&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where are you? Are those assholes still attacking Hogsmeade? I need to check on my parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a name="cutid2"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;b&gt;[Gerard, Griff]&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you listening to the Wireless? Death Eaters attacked the Broomsticks.</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:scribbld.com:atom1:greerie:932</id>
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    <title>two</title>
    <published>2008-10-05T02:04:21Z</published>
    <updated>2010-12-15T14:03:05Z</updated>
    <content type="html">&lt;font size="+4"&gt;&lt;b&gt;FUCK &lt;i&gt;OFF.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;I have an entire fucking TEAM to lead. I don't have time for this bloody &lt;i&gt;shite.&lt;/i&gt; My &lt;i&gt;arse&lt;/i&gt; these blighters need to be privy to me and my wife's history. FUCKING BOLLOCKS. Not even the bleeding &lt;i&gt;rags&lt;/i&gt; are this fucking ROTTED and nosy. It's a fucking cock-up, this is. Ministry can put this "exam" right up it's fat manky arse! I'll be leading my bloody QUIDDITCH PRACTICE on Wednesday if the tossers are fucking lonely.&lt;/b&gt;</content>
  </entry>
  <entry>
    <id>urn:lj:scribbld.com:atom1:greerie:681</id>
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    <title>one</title>
    <published>2008-02-04T18:09:22Z</published>
    <updated>2010-12-15T14:02:57Z</updated>
    <content type="html">How much you bidding on me, Booth?</content>
  </entry>
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