This Week

I watched a dispatches special on Monday, whilst waiting for Dragons Den. It was on 'sandwiches', and helpfully told me that the very one I'd eaten that day contained more fat than TWO DOUBLE MACDONALDS CHEESEBURGERS.

Granted that unlike the last time I freaked a bit about stealth fat I could have seent his one coming more, as the sarnie in question was a 'Oakham Chicken Ceasar Sandwich' which contained chicken, bacon, and lashings of some kind of Caesar-Mayo-Dressing-ting.

Still, I did do a bit of a double take, as I generally don't rank the humble sandwich as a fatty snack, though this is of course contingent upon what goes into it. Marks and Sparks (for it was one of their butties) rather archly responded to the report with a statement that the sandwich in question was 'an indulgent treat' which many customers enjoyed.

Yeah, sure I enjoyed it too, until I realised it was an indulgent treat... who wants to eat an 'indulgent treat' at their desk at work while filling out timesheets? I don't (I want to save that til the evening, when I retire to the pub to sink crisp pints of european lager). Anyway. Won't be getting that again.

Last night I got fined for not paying on the baking cattle truck that is the Number 12 'bendy' bus. It was 'one of those things'. I generally always pay on, but in this case was in a mad scramble for a seat, as riding the 12 back to Camberwell without one in this heat is like a scaled-down version of hell. Two stops down I heard "can I see your tickets and passes please" and remembered I hadn't swiped. Busted.

Went for a barbie at a friends house last night, which was nice, but drank too much Kronenbourg 1664. I wasn't even very drunk really, but I've a bizarrely disasterous hangover. I'm tired. My head is throbbing. My skin itches. There seems to be a grey film over everything I look at (including the hi-res mobile phone handsets I'm retouching today). I feel awful.

Roll on 6 o'clock...

Hustled

I went and saw a couple more flats yesterday. The second one was quite nice.

After that I went for a walk up the Walworth Road. About half way along it I spied a ten pound note skittering along the road. Without breaking my stride I stooped and scooped it up. Seconds later I was joined by a slightly lupine rudeboy wheeling alondside me on his bmx.

"E ya blud you not gonna give man is money back?"

He said, his voice a cocktail of indignation and threat.

"Sorry?"

I queried.

"Man up dere just dropped it innit"

He said gestuing at a old man up ahead. *fine* I thought, though I could already see where this was going. I quickened my pace and walked abreast of the man in question; a black gentleman in his sixties.

"Sorry mate, this guy says you dropped this" I said showing him the tenner.

"No it's not mine" he said, in a soft West Indian accent.

"Yeah it is you dropped it innit"

Said the lost property homeboy staring over at me accusatively.

"You lads are very honest I must say" Said the man (no, I'm honest I thought, this hoodrat is just pissed I got to the Ayrton Senna before him).

"Let me have a look" he said, taking the then pound note from my hand and turning it ruminatively. "No, it's not mine" he eventually concluded, making to hand it back.

"Safe, yeah" hissed the rudeboy, before sharply slapping it out of his hand and peddling furiously furiously pff in the direction of The Elephant (the tube, not an actual elephant).

I sighed, and patted the old man on the shoulder, which was a sort of gesture of mutual commiseration. "Take it easy mate" I said, before turning into a shop, though I might as well have said "We both lost out there", and honestly, I would have far preferred he got it. Rudeboys eh? Still, can't knock the hustle I suppose.

I went out last night with Sam. Had a pizza at the "Mozzarella Y Pomodoro" by the green, which was passable, but not as good as those of the late BRB, which in its new incarnation as The Grove resembles an unpopular stand at the Ideal Homes exhibition, with lots of shiney slightly naff furniture.

After that went to The Montague Arms in New Cross which is also full of tat, though more in the order of stuffed zebra head peering from the walls. There was a cabaret act on playing covers on synths. It was alright. After that went back to Penny's flat and drank red wine. Stumbled home two-ish? not sure.

Awoke today in the clammy grip of the hangover from hell, paralysed with self loathing. Didn't really feel like going out last night and I wish I'd trusted my insticts on that. Why do I put myself through the mill like this. Slouched around drinking coffee and staring out the window at plastic bags gusting past in the wind. I looked in the mirror before and Marilyn Manson stared back: my hair looks like someone has poured a crow's wing over my head, and I have bags under my eyes you could comfortably park a Renault Espapce in.

Right at the minute I feel like a sort of giant perambulating sigh. To use a flimsy analogy I sometimes wish my life was like an Etch a Sketch I could give a brisk shake and rack the balls back up on the life I've been scribbling over.

So here I find myself, suspended in self pity writing a blog post so emo it'll hopefully make Coldplay put down their instruments. I'm listening to a playlist of grey New York rain-raps and contemplating what to do with myself. I really feel like getting out of London so might do that later this week. In the meantime, who knows. Something productive hopefully.

Friday

It was Allez Allez's final Shindig at Catch last night, so after meeting up with Ade at the Grafton Arms near Goodge Street, we headed up there. The Grafton Arms is apparently something of an 'advertising pub' (much like the Old Coffee House on Beak Street) and this was bourne out by a conversation I overheard on the stairs to the roof terrace, where a girl was saying "...see myself more as an ideas person than a designer".

I'm very happy for you, I thought as I continued roofwards. Ade was already there with one of his old colleagues – the near legendary 'Techno Phil' who likes (wait for it) techno. One of his co-workers was there, Allie, who seemed really nice, and actually used to work at the place I've been at this week. Afterwards me and Ade trekked to Euston, and caught the tube to Old Street. We spotted a poster within our carriage that seemed to suggest that Teletext had a website. Huh? et tu Teletext? I suppose it was inevitable really.

We met up with Rachel near the 333, and went for a swift bite to eat at Miso, which was perfectly decent if not mindblowing, before heading over to Catch.

The night was busy, which was good, as it moved out on a high note. There were Allez Allez badges eveywhere, and I pinched a couple – one for my hoody and one for my Rizla packet it now adorns.

The music was of the usual high standard, though it did get a bit, dare I say it, Nu-Rave in bits* or at least what I suspect the term refers to.. lots of motifs cribbed from older dance records and spliced together with wide-eyed indie abandon. It seemed all quite giddy and unrelenting, with lots of build-ups and hoover sounds. There were some interesting ideas in there, but it seemed to lack drama to me. Everone else seemed to love it though, so I'll get my pipe and slippers.

My housemate Cecila actually accused me of 'being Nu Rave' the other week, because I was wearing a Modular records t-shirt. Nay love, I'm old rave me (though not that old rave; not grooverider tape packs old).

Felt hungover today. Skulked into work slurping a huge coffee and leaving flakes of breakfast pastry in my wake. Was clicking around in Photoshop all morning. I'm not such a fan of doing fiddly layout jobs in Photoshop but there you are. Wandered round Soho in the sun at lunch, and went and got some Sushi from Itsu, so as to feel a bit more virtuous about the things I'm currently ingesting. Bumped into Kay wandering down Wardour street, skiving off work apparently and who can blame her.

The rest of the afternoon was pretty straightforward and I was out of there for quarter to seven. Jumped on the 12 back to the Well and got myself some duck and pancakes from Silver Lake. The lovely lady who cooks there, Sue chucked in some banana fritters for dessert, which were delicious: crunchy golden and caramelised on the outside, soft and fluffy on the interior.

Haven't done much this evening. Watched a programme which featured newsreader Moira Stuart in locations as varied as Africa, the West Indies and Hull in a programme about the slave trade, which was largely an attempt to asess the impact had by celebrated abolitionist William Wilberforce ("The Liberator") on its demise. That was quite interesting. Then watched some of comic relief, which was actually pretty funny.

I'm looking at some flats tomorrow. Other than that, not sure.

*not in Steve ot Deven Mile's sets, mind.