… revelled in the musical might of Vampire Weekend live at the Hoxton Bar and Grill. I don’t know the last time I felt so giddy about a new band. Maybe it’s.. well… ahem.. never… or at least not this millennium. They write songs about public transport and punctuation. Hell, I even had to look up what a Mansard Roof is. Illuminating, inspiring and exciting. And, as you can see, I agree: ‘Who gives a fuck about an Oxford Comma?â€
… moved house. Or rather flat. Never a pleasure. It’s astonishing what gets dredged up as you pack up all your worldly goods. Memories, cards, receipts, photos, trinkets, a thousand yesterdays.
…bought a bedstead, a mattress, a sofa, a rug bigger than my room at university and so much household stuff. How much longer can I keep pretending that I’m not a grown up? But more importantly, how can Asda sell 18 glasses (and pretty good vessels they are too) for £2.45?
… got reet browned off with the BBC iPlayer. I only want to watch Torchwood and (despite the hype) it remains entirely missable: I have so far seen not one episode entirely. Perhaps the soviets at the beeb could spend a bit more on development and rather less on marketing? Despite the iPlayer’s crapulous playability, I remain resolute: no tellybox at Palazzo Wilson. (At least until the new series of Doctor Who comes on when, I confess, I may wobble and buy a flipping huge flat-screen.) And, for reference: amazingly, I do have a TV Licence.
… been mistaken, more than once, for Phillip Seymour Hoffman. One woman even asked for my, or rather his, autograph.
..been stonewalled with impressive resolve and rigidity. Shame on you (know who you are).