I was waiting in the National Theatre bar for fm1. And waiting, and waiting and waiting. I guess the fact that she’d said she’d be in the National Film Theatre bar had escaped me. Still – her tickets, her call - an hour standing on my own without a drink listening to plinky twiddely jazz is just deserts for going to a play at the National Theatre and not understanding that you were supposed to meet in the National Film Theatre Bar. It’s not like I have that many hours left that I can afford to spend one listening to wankers with saxophones and pianos. What drives people to listen to this crap? Is there something wrong with their minds? Execution would be kindest.

The problem with standing there is that you really start to get a handle on the NT usual crowd. For a start everyone is at least 100,000 years old. And if you aren’t you have something seriously wrong with at least one leg, needing everyone else to get out of the way of your wildly lumpen walk or motorised fatty-mobile. Seriously some old cow told me I was standing in her usual parking spot. And if you aren’t that you’re a wannabe thesp who thinks that theatre is a means of communicating with the masses, and if you aren’t that you’re a wannabe thesp + 25 years wishing you’d taken Tom up on that trip to New York in ’72 and what the fuck are you going to tell your students on Monday. And if you aren’t that you’re a gitty little kid. Trust me the sight of an overweaned 8 year old attempting to show off to his spineless little side kick because he saw that bloke off Eastenders just last week is just repellant. And if you aren’t a kid you’re an equally sulky teenager only going because your parents have made you – but worse – you could be one of the strained looking parents desperately trying to inject some culture into Muttface’s lank haired life. Alternaitively you could be Divorced Dad taking sulky teenage daughter out for some ‘family’ time – resented by both. The last is easily confusable with groovy aging theatre guy (dinstinguishable by his leather jacket and 1982 hair) who has some hip hugging pre-20 year old sulking along with him. And if you aren’t any of those then you’re Pan – wondering what the fuck you’re doing there and desperately hoping you don’t blend in but knowing that from your Cornish pasty shoes to your Guardian quoting cranium that you are deep in the bosom of your tribe.

The magic of theatre overcame me and I did, despite my best intentions, enjoy the play.

I went to see Democracy, about Willie Brandt and the whole 1969 German Government. I actually liked the play a lot, as ever well done – it’s rare you see something actually shit at the National, and it certainly raised a number of questions about, well, Democracy, and also a lot about what people mean – where their hearts are why they sometimes do things that seem illogical, hidden motives, and how we can start off believing one thing, act accordingly, and suddenly end up in a whole world of trouble.

Which isn’t, unfortunately a segue into some sort of interesting little caper story.

As you can see I’m not a happy camper, and this is because I’m broke, There are side effects. Being broke means I’m sober and being sober means I can see the appalling travesty that my life is. I’m 34 years old, I live in a shitty (albeit atmospheric) rented flat with 2 others, I have no girlfriend, no job, no money, no dole, no housing benefit, minus beaucoup in the bank and not a fucking drop to drink in the whole fucking house. And no cigarettes either. Perhaps now would be a good time to give up. AAARRRGGHHHH.

Plus point : The compost heap seems to be going OK

Fm2 isn’t talking to me – she seems to think that because we are both doleys is some sort of excuse for being chirpy and banging the doors a lot. So far my tactic of remaining asleep from 6am until 10pm seems to be working. And yes – it’s no problem at all to remain asleep that long for me. I don’t even have to pretend. Just lie down, close the curtains, pull up the duvet and bingo – 16 hours of total oblivion. It’s probably not healthy but it certainly saves on food. Which is good. At the moment I’m really not eating much – maybe not enough to lose any weight but good all the same. Today I’ve eaten 3 slices of cheese and a large lump of ham. Yesterday I ate a scone (with butter & jam (naughty)) 2 tomatoes and a piece of cheese. The day before that a bowl of lentil soup and 2 muffins. I don’t feel any thinner physically, but I feel thinner psychologically. And that’s good.

Other than that – remember to check your gas bills kids – I got one on Friday for £486, which was something of a shock. After careful consultation with the authorities (an hour and a half on the phone with British Gas and Energywatch) they agreed that perhaps the bill was slightly erroneous and agreed to revise it down. To £160. All of which is by the by. It might as well be 5pence h’appeny – I still haven’t got the money to pay them. Ho hum. Meanwhile the job hunt goes on. And on, and on, Bastard agents – why do they never ring me?? I ring them, but they never ring me. WANKERS.

On Monday I’ll ring the only agent who’s nice and any good at her job – the lovely Balinda. But she won’t have anything either. Spend 10 years of your life honing your profession, Be the best you can be, my arse. We’re supposed to live in the age of information. Information is my business, but everyone I know who actually understands information, how to buy it, how to sell it, how to manipulate is, how to package it, how to build web portals for it, how to build taxonomies, how to classify, how to shift the fucking stuff is in the same boat. Scrabbling for scraps. At best.

There are a lot of people out there jabbering on right now about how ‘content is king’ (actually they aren’t anymore but hey) but do they have the faintest idea what the fuck they really mean by that – have they fuck. All they want is a quick hit, a flashy cover, something you can throw to the news wolves. In an age where information is supposed to be important quite the opposite is true, Why bother checking your facts or correlating data or even checking if what you write is true when it’s much easier to make some new crap up on the fly. Who cares if it’s accurate, who cares if it’s even true?? Well editors certainly don’t and neither to corporate portals, and neither, seemingly, does the ‘audience’. Whoever that may be.

All this web stuff that we see – all these wonderful news archives – built on shit. Even some very respectable places. I can see inside their news archices and it’s wank. At best half cobbled together e-versions of old paper systems (which at least worked) and have now been scrapped. At 2nd best huge data piles accessed by some shitty search engine that misses as much as it finds, At worst – nothing. Who needs to read what you wrote yesterday – your journos can remember what they need in their heads, and hey, fuck, it’s not like the punters are going to notice, Cheap, cheap, cheap.

I’m an angry man. Maybe not at the right targets, but Goddamit I’m angry. Our leaders are crooks, liars and cheats, our financial institutions use every opportunity to cheat and steal from us and get away with it, our banks, our utilities, everyone hides behind a smokescreen of automated calling systems and computerised point scoring, nothing is honest, fucking the weaker guy when he’s down is a laudable and praiseworthy economic practice, abusing workers in the developing world is ‘just a necessary part of business these days’ and fuck it all I’m sick of it. And there’s nowhere to go. Britain has it’s most ethical and ‘left wing’ (I use the term advisedly) government in 30 years and we’re still being told to bend over, shut up, take this one for the gipper, clean up your bedroom, shut your eyes, you didn’t hear that, how dare you suggest I lied, suck my dick, love me love me love you fucking little maggot! Now drop and give me 20.


I’ve been watching movies, old and new, and (this is really no surprise to anyone) have decided that new movies pretty much suck. I’m not saying old one’s are great but boy, they’re a lot better. And this has nothing to do with production values. I’m sure that a movie now costs, in real terms, considerably more to make than it’s equivalent 30, 40 or 50 years ago. So what’s the problem. Answer – adults. To whit, the lack thereof. I don’t want to go and see a movie about some shaven headed hero who suffers for the pains of his troops and then goes out and kills 20 gooks to show he really cares. It’s a cartoon – it’s not about real emotions, real thoughts. I don’t want to see 30 impossibly good looking ‘teenagers’ driving around in jeeps and whining to their maids about whom they’re going to take to the prom (I’ll make an exception for 10 Things I Hate About You) I don’t want to see superheroes, I don’t want to see action cops who never get hurt and can kill 5 bad guys and not even feel anything, I don’t to see cute kids dying, I don’t want to see ‘odd couples’ falling in love, I especially don’t want to see middle aged men pulling Hollywood starlets (grow up guys) and I especially, especially never ever want to see Mel Gibson’s gurning twat faced mug sneering at the camera ever ever again. Fuck off Mel, I hate you - you disgusting lard arsed misogynistic, bigoted, intolerant, racist fucker. Cunt.

So what do I want to see – well perhaps movies made about people and what they see and hear and feel and think, not in a movies way, but in a human way. Why was Lost in Translation so lauded? Yes because it is all those good things, but also because it’s the first movie made in a long long time that has made it through the Hollywood system that has been allowed to be these things. And let’s not confuse ‘real life crime’ and ‘human misery’ for these things. What I want to see is movies that intelligently, wittilly tell stories about the usual human condition. There doesn’t need be a sudden climax where little Jimmy is taken hostage or Karen discovers a lump in her breast. For God’s sake – isn’t there enough drama and humour in one single normal day without having to resort to these ridiculous clichéd attempts at awakening our emotions? Can’t we be amused by something that doesn’t include 30 minutes of cars exploding and ‘banter’ between 2 (shouldn’t you both be younger) ‘cool’ guys. The thought of ‘Starsky and Hutch’ leaves me utterly cold – wild horses wouldn’t make me see it, and why not, because, as we all know, It’ll be shit. Not funny, not clever, not original. Another lazy cynical exercise in extracting cash from the public in exchange for utter rubbish. The same tired pathetic gags being dragged out of their graves to humiliate everyone involved and make the viewers feel just a bit shitter about themselves for the privilege. Plus car chases.

Zoolander was shit but at least it started off with an idea, not much of one I know, or even an original one, that the idea that models are pretty stupid and our eulogisation of them is even stupider. Ben Stiller, you should be ashamed of yourself. Imagine having the power and influence to make pretty much any movie you wanted and you choose to make Starsky and Hucth. Good Lord.

Which brings me back to Mel Gibson. Making a movie about Christ, Fine fine fine. I wouldn’t go so far as to suggest that what America needs right now is some sense rather than a load of religious gobledigook courtesy of Fuck Face himself, but we really should see this for what it is. Ie another Gibson attempt to force feed us yet more of his egomaniacal self righteous bigotry and rightwing propaganda. This has nothing to do with Christ. If you really want to know what that’s all about then read the book – I think you’ll find it quite refreshing. Except that’s not good enough for Gibson and his kind, oh no, why allow people to choose for themselves, sheesh, they might even end up thinking the whole thing’s a load of nonsense. No - much better to align yourself with the forces of right and good and make sure that everyone else regardless of race or colour or religion is put where they belong – in hell. If you don’t believe and swear to everything me and my chums on the right believe, then you must be evil, you must be anti-American, you must deserve death.


I’m beginning to think that venting your spleen on the written page isn’t that productive. I don’t feel much better. Tired, yes, better, no. Perhaps I should go and stand on the street and address the passersby. I’d be in good company. As I write I can hear what seems to be an orgy of window smashing, car alarms, swearing, bin kicking, vomiting and a bit of braggaddagio thrown in for good measure. Plus the sounds of 1000 police sirens going off as they scream past the flat. No danger of any of them stopping here to sort out the nightly procession of pimps and yobs and muggers that patrol our streets – why bother stopping in shitty old Holloway to bust a couple of illegal immigrants and their child prostitutes when you could be flying up the road to arrive 20 minutes late at a garage hold up. In the 2 years I’ve lived on Holloway Road the only coppers I’ve seen outside of their speeding squad cars was when someone set a BMW on fire outside McDonalds. Saw plenty then. Christ I’m beginning to sound like my Dad. So I shall sign off now and go and solve my emotional and financial problems in one. Kill a dealer – make good and feel good at the same time. It’s not like plod would catch me, and as for anyone else, well, this is Holloway, who the fuck cares. Welcome to Holloway – do you have a dream?

You know what would be handy - some sort of blog spyware that you'd use on yourself. I'm always wandering into the bloggowotnot and finding some cool site and never being able to find it again. And that goes double for where did you commnet and where didn't you. This wouldn't be too bad if I was always on the same terminal but I'm not - e-cafes, friends, other people's work - wherever. I'm a total terminal whore.

So some sort of little program that would only record your blogs - you could log in and it'd keep a record of where you wnet and where you commented.

There's probably something that does this already isn't there and I'm just exposing my ignorance.

Another day, another fuck all to do. What a royal pain in the ass this is. Went out with Mac on Friday and got medium ripped and listened to some show tunes which was pretty much the highpoint of my week I can tell you ;-) Actually I, um, saw my sister as well on Weds, and she regaled me with her latest skiing exploits in Keystone or Aspen or wherever . . . Bumped into Hairy Richard on Friday as well and had one of those quite awkward 'need to make conversation but actually I have nothing to say to you' conversations in the street. Someone who shall be nameless thinks he should be renamed Creepy Richard, but I think that's a bit strong, perhaps something along the lines of Slimy would be aposite. Anything else . . . saw my Godson & Cath on Thursday . . . we went to a teashop with the other Mummys. It was all very nice - lovely cakes. Phil's back . . . fm2 just came home in the middle of the day - she got fired because her boss thought, quote, there was a 'personality clash'. What I love about Britain is that despite 100 years of employment legislation if you work for unscrupulous bastards then they'll always find some loophole to get you on if they want to. Wankers.

Other than that - nothing. Being me is boring, dudes.

Watched Sur Mes Levres (Read My Lips) last night. If any of you are familiar with my list of Top 20 Bad Things you'll be able to guess how much I liked this. Trust me - it was a lot.

What is it about French Cinema - it just exudes cool like nothing else. Even though 'les types' are so architypal - the femme fatale, the coquette, the criminal, the 50 year old bloke in a hat - you know exactly where you are with all these characters but the number of permutations of them is limitless.

Vanessa has spurred me on to write something about the bombings in Madrid, Up to this point I've avoided all reference to this for the reason's outline below (which I commented to Vanessa) :-

Similar problems, except that I just feel it isn't anything that blogging can help at the moment. I don't know what's going on, no-one knows what's going on - who's next, who did it (other than that they might be Moroccan), how do we stop it. What the hell do we do now?? I don't know. Nobody knows one single bloody fact about it. Blogging just seems to be, I don't know, noise almost - not relieving the problem one iota.

I've been listening to the news and simply don't want, however tangentially, to align myslef one iota with the moronic gabbling heads on the telly :-

AnchorWhore : While we've been on air the Spanish Police have said that no stone will be left unturned in their investigation. Lucy Newswhore is on the scene, Lucy

NewsWhore : Yes, the police issued the statement approximately 7 minutes ago, and categorically stressed that the investifgation would cover all aspects of the incident.

AncorWhore : And what does that mean exactly?

And so on and so forth and so on. I don't want to add to the colossal piles of verbiage and speculation that's out there. Let the process identify who was to blame, let us identify what their motives (if any) were. Then let's talk about it. I simply feel that I have nothing valuable to add right now. Talking about something I don't understand yet seems almost like grandstanding to me.

That's just how I feel about my personal situation. It's not an implied criticism of anyone else's decisions. After all that's what blogs are about - letting people speak out if they feel thay're capable of doing so.

So what is there to say now? Terrorism is bad? Al-Quaida is evil? Pretty controversial stuff huh? I simply don't feel I have anythingg to add. How someone could commit such an act is totally beyond me, and beyond all rational people. And what are we going to do about it?? I have no fucking idea whatsoever. We (the 'West' that is) have already invaded Afghanistan and (for reason's that escape me now) Iraq. Where next - Morrocco, Saudi Arabia. Our civil liberties are seriously eroded, imprisonment without charge or trial is accepted in our legal process. Where will it end? Why don't we outlaw Islam? Or kill all Muslims? What's the solution?? This (that is terrorism per se)is a going to become a threat to our entire way of life if we're not careful and there's seemingly not one Goddam thing we can do about it short of turning our cities into military camps or condemning everyone who disagrees with us to prison or death.

Anyone think they know even the smallest part of the answer? Send me a postcard if you do.

I am having the absolute worst day of my life. I just had an interaction with the bailiffs. By some incredible mastery of persuasion and scraping around to acquire every last ounce of credit available to me i have made the problem go away, but I am literally shaking with the stress of it all.

I feel like I could cry. I seriously can't take this any more. I hate it.

Sometimes you really wonder what is going through people's heads. I cannot for the life of me work out what the purpose of the prosecuition of Melissa Ann Rowland is all about if it isn't about the deliberate subversion of the legal process by single issue bigots intent on enforcing their crazy opinions on the world regardless of merit. I'm aware that the "right to life" lobby lost whatever marbles it had quite a few years ago, but surely alarm bells should be ringing when their perncious influence has reached so far into state legislative and legal institutions that the law, common sense, and any even vague idea of attempting to represent the public good has been completely ditched in favour of idealogikal hatred. What the fuck's wrong with people. The word for this is not insanity - it's corruption.

Well that was actually a pretty good weekend. Aims achieved, and no nagging. Sometimes things seem to work out pretty well after all ;-)

Went to the opera at the RNCM on Saturday to see The Rake's Progress. I have to admit I was pretty apprehensive as it's by Stravinsky with a libretto by W.H. Auden and Chester Kallman, but can happily report that it was actually fantastic - great score, really dense story that (of course) made no sense at all, but at least you got the feeling that things were moving along pretty satisfactorily. The production was itself very good. These guys obviously have no money and are only at the start of their careers but it was altogether a bit of a triumph - very very impressive.

I was struck today by the largely very prosaic naming convention for shops on the Holloway road - it's all very workaday - the such and such bakery, so and so clothes. The acme of this is my very own offy which languishes under the moniker : "Holloway Off License" That must have taken an eternity to come up with. Especially when just down the road is the wonderfully named "Booze Nest" HOL is by far the better grog shop tho. There are of course one or two exceptions - the lighting shop is called Helios which i suppose is particularly apropriate given it's such a Greek area and the Kebab shop, which is fantastic but is still , absolutely, a kebab shop, nothing more or less is rather grandly named "Crystal - Charcoal Restaurant". If I ever open a chippie (not very likely I know) i shall call it "Pan's - Unhyrodgenated Vegeatable Oil Restaurant"

Having said all that if you are on the Holloway Road and need a kebab Crystal's is easily the best place to go, so I shall allow them their moment. And they do dolmades and lamb-y/chick pea-y things as well. Mmmmm. In fact food wise they're easily up to restaurant standard, so perhaps I'll let them off altogether.

as you can tell I'm feeling very magnanimous today which is pretty unique as I am visiting my parent's tomorrow which I find pretty difficult sometimes. it's not that we don't get on but I'm broke and don't have a job so i'm going to get a 2 day silent lecture about responsibility and pensions and settling down. All of which is true, and all of which I already know, so moaning at me about it, no matter how well disguised and how well intentioned just put's my back up.

You might wonder why I don;t just tell them to be silent but I also want to borrow £400 off them to pay off the unpaid council tax, which I know I won't be able to pay back till May. It's humiliating but borrowing money always is and as the usual sources of such things rarely favour the unwaged I'm out of options. Esp as I don't have a credit card anymore. After paying off the one I had years ago I swore I would never have one again and so far that has been a good decision. The reason for this is that about the 1991 - 1992 period I got into a piece of hot water with credit of such high temperature that with hindsight it was lucky all I got was thrown out of my bank (after paying it all back natch) rather than actually prosecuted for fraud, which I believe is what knowingly spending other people's money is technically called . oopps.

So I have to take the moaning in order to secure a loan to get the fucking Council Tax bailiffs off my back. Actually it's so much worse than that but anyway . . .

I'm so bad with money it's unbelievable.

On the other hand I had a very positive interview this morning so onwards and upwards ;)

Totally forgot I was going to the theatre last night with fm1 and her priest to see the new opening of Endgame which I haven't seen before. Very good - funny and very lyrical - I enjoyed it a lot which is unusual as I'm not a huge Beckett fan and seemingly after last fortnight's cinema trip not much of a surrealist fan either.

As it was press night there were the usual bunches of luvvies and wannabies hanging about - always fun - and fm1 was mightily pleased to be given the eye by Neil Pearson no less. As she said later if she hadn't had Father P with her she'd have been straight over there, boyfriend or no boyfriend.

tfpl rang me earlier today. Apparently they'd picked up my cv from some job application I'd amde on-line and wish to interview me tomorrow about finding me a job. This is of course great news, but I'd be more thrilled if I hadn't already registered with them 4 weeks ago! Indicates a certain lack of arse / elbow interaction, which for an agency that specialises in Knowledge Management is a bit, well, shite.

Recently there's been this meme going about about hot-or-not for blogs. I'm not addng a link because I can't think of anything stupider. OK part of having a blog is all about 'me big ugly attention whore', and having comments just emphasises that, but surely the whole hot-or-not just doesn't work for blogs. It can take months to 'get' a blog - it just doesn't boil down into hot-or-not categories.

Actually I hate hot-or-not anyway - I can't for the life of me work out why anyone would want to do it. But seemingly they do.

Went to a pub quiz last night which is pretty unusual for me. Generally I hate pub quizzes - stupid beardies getting all competetive about obscure 1960's pop songs and generally making the evening miserable for everyone else with their amplified questions.

Last night was not too bad tho - we came second. Winning (well not quite) eases the pain. can't say I liked it that much tho. Had an interesting conversation about thrid world debt tho. Where do these supply side economists get their looney ideas from? Satan perhaps?

My feet smell of raw cake dough. That can't be right can it?? Maybe it's in my head.

In the interests of passing the time I've been organising my books - I have about 900 apparently. So I divided them into categories and put them in alphabetical order. Yes I am that sad. I'm afraid my categorization scheme bears little resemblance to the Dewey Decimal :

Languages
Biography
Science
General non-Fiction
Modern Fiction
Classics
Science Fiction
Outsize
Dirty
Miscellaneous

Well Friday night was interseting. The song may say "There are 3 Steps to Heaven", but Pan clearly needs slightly more :-

Pan's Ten Steps to Heaven

1) Last week girl X asks the Captain if I will be attending a certain event. He tips me off. We meet up there and she asks me if I'd like to go to the Symphony with her sometime. The Panster say yay!

2) Mysterious neck growth falls off of it's own accord in the night before the date - take this as a positive sign

3) Manage to clean flat from top to bottom and utterly transform it & get a haircut in 1 day.

4) Somehow manage to get last minute tickets at the Royal Festival Hall on a Friday night - Mendelsson, Elgar, Tchaivovsky. Very nice and right up X's alley.

5) Meet at concert hall - both pretty nervous. Enter concert. By half time nervousness has evaporated - have drink - getting on well.

6) Exit concert hall. X suggests drink - proceed to wine bar in very convivial mood - drink bottle of wine, getting on very well indeed. Both laughing like drains.

7) Offer to walk X home. She accepts - stroll off down the street arm in arm.

8) On way home - about 3/4 of the way there - have THE CONVERSATION. This is the one in which she tells you all about how she's been having this affair with someone from her old work and he's married and she knows it's wrong but she really really loves him, and why does she always pick the wrong person to fall in love with etc etc et-fucking-cetera..

9) Get very expensive taxi home - consider suicide. Wrack brains wondering what you did wrong / where you misread the situation. Lie awake all night.

10) Arrrgggghhhhhhh!

There's Woo, and there's Hoo. I cannot say more, but suffice it to say I really wish I'd got off my arse and let Dr Heartbreak cut this mysterious growth off my neck before now.

Probably more info than you needed but there you go.

I have an interview at the job centre tomorrow. Holy crap - the JOB CENTRE. How can I go to the job centre - I'm not a drug dealer.

fm2 has got tonsilitis. This is not good. Very bad in fact. I can't concentrate - my mind is all over the place. Don't know what I'm doing. La de da . . .

No, this really is bad. I've been sitting at this shite terminal for approx 2 1/2 hours now and my feet have stopped bleeding but are now welded to the insides of my shoes.

I can't walk, but I have to be in the pub in a bit over an hour.

Could someone come and rescue me please? I'm in the EasyInternet cafe at Victoria wearing a grey tie with white spots and sitting at the back. Anyone who gives me a piggyback to the Chandos gets a free pint.

This place is weird - there are no staff - it's unmanned. You do everything by machine. I can't believe it isn't more vandalised. Perhaps I should start.

And another thing. Obviously I didn't stay up to watch the Oscars because, let's face it, award shows are unutterably shallow wastes of space, but even given that they STILL managed to fuck it up completely. Anyone who thinks that LOTR is a finer piece of work than Lost in Translation deserves to be dropped off the pier in a concrete overcoat. Bigger, more profitable and certainly longer but better??? I think not.

So what do the Oscars actually tell us:- only that the academy have a serious arse/elbow problem, but this is hardly news now is it?

Twats.

Ugggh - I HATE HATE HATE job hunting. Why are all recruitment people so unutterably, across the board, and without exception SHIT.

I have got absolutely ZERO response to any of my job initiatives. WANK.

I'm particulalry cross about this because I spent today trolling round the shitty recruitment agancies at Victoria dropping off my CV and telling people I'll work for food stamps. Response : Bupkiss. Nada. Fuckall.

Plus I was wearing my only pair of 'office' shoes and now my feet are bleeding stumps of raw chum. So am sitting in the Victoria EasyMyArse Internet cafe where I just bought a sandwich that came (I know not how) to £4.95 (YES REALLY) and I can't move because I can't walk. Lucky I don't need to go to the loo.

All in all after transport etc today's outing will come to £15. For absolutely nothing. Less than nothing. Next stop - The Job Centre.

Somebody kill me now. I'm done.

Well that was a pretty rocking weekend - felt dire all of Sunday and half of Monday so I must have been doing something right. The tidying has progressed not one iota - the only difference being that all my videos dvds cds and, oddly, jigsaws are now decorating the hallway instead of my bedroom. Need to fix that . . .

On Friday night I managed to cover myself in glory by telling the ex deputy chair of the Arts Council, noted arts bod and mate of Mick Jagger's that his view of the development of opera in London was 'bollocks'. Good to see I'm sticking to what I know, because let's face it me with approx 2 bottles of vino collapso inside me is definitely going to know about it than him. I guess that's why people invite me out to dinner - so that I talk shite and embarress myself. Memory fades out somewhere about the point I was describing my new system of road taxation which would 'punish the unworthy'. Eeesh.

And on to The Captain & Micky's engagement do . . . very good night out, totally fun, have a feeling I was flirting somewhat with Bob's partner. Can definitely remember explaining to Ana (who are do be Spanish)in the post party club part of the evening the exact difference between a girlfriend and a mistress so I can only assume the evening went well. Also seem to remember addressing Dr Heartbreak in the middle of Regent's St at some unknown hour of the morning with the phrase 'I know what your game is so just back off muthafucker'. I feel somewhat like lion of Serengeti. Defending my territory. Grrrrrrr.

Tomorrow I am SO going to get a job. Well at least haul my ass down to all the agencies in Westminster and get myself some sort of dumbass temp job. Yay. Have bills to pay and lots of them. I was going to do all that today but total immobility struck once more.

Food intake today

1 x cheese & mayo sandwich
1 x apple

This is excellent, but having pasta etc this evening, so won't last.