Wow, life sure is exciting when you're on the front line, welfare-advising, studying Christian Ethics and doing yoga in the evenings and getting thrown off buses.

So you understand why I haven't posted for ages. Yep. I've had bugger all to post.

I have, however, discovered Rakia, which is (apparently) a Macedonian spirit - purportedly grape brandy, but think Whiskey with a hint of "I-made-this-in-my-garden-shed" and you get the general gist. Good stuff, until you regain consciousness.

My dairy-free self is now climbing the walls, and every day that passes without a blinding headache makes my heart sink. In the grand scheme of things I appreciate that life is easier when you actually have possession of your sight and are not throwing up, but at the same time, I LIKE CHEESE!!! I'm positive cheese is an energizer. Or maybe it's just psychosomatic. But I'm tired at the moment (obviously this has nothing to do with Rakia and spending my days explaining the British Immigration system to people who don't speak English...) I might start drinking coffee again...or does that defeat the object?

My poor Camden has been wronged. Ever come across a book called "Crap Towns"? Well, can someone please explain to me how the strip of land that has spawned music stores where you can buy Sandinista for £4, branches of Belgos AND Porchetta within 100 yards of one another, and a shop dedicated entirely to the sale of large chairs made out of dead tree trunks possibly be deemed able to beat Bradford on the "crap towns" front? Bradford that voted in BNP Councillors and whose greatest assests are a second division football team and Museum of Film and Photography that is broken. And it was only just narrowly beaten by Luton! LUTON!!!!

I'm sure soaps are more exciting than they used to be. I haven't watched them in ages, then suddenly Zoe had burned down Home Farm and Les Battersby was suing Francis Rossi for assault. Bizarre.

I did however accomplish something this week: I gave a dinner party without burning anything. Or, better, killing anybody. I did manage to get my hand caught in an electric whisk, though. That hurt. Even after I'd found the off switch.

I'm getting old.

This amused me...and bemused me at the same time. Che Guevara and Jesus...two of my favourite people...and yet it just doesn't work...

Shame I didn't call "Grafitti" "Jesus Was A Communist" after all

We won the Ashes!!!

That's it. We won the Ashes.
Linguistically, as I kept pointing out, we couldn't "lose" the Ashes, since we didn't have them in the first place. At worst we could "not win" them.

But we did win them. We won at a game where the teams officially break for tea. How great is that?

And so ends a week of pseudo-culture. I started the week watching "The Producers", a Mel Brookes extravaganza with Nazi-saluting pigeons where you can play spot-the-Jewish-joke for the whole glorious three hours; then I went to the Proms to watch Ravel and Sibelius (well, not in person, obviously. They're dead.) We stayed over in the RAF Club in Picadilly (oh yes, I have friends in high places. No pun intended.) This is a place where you are not allowed to wear jeans down to breakfast and where you get complimentary show polish in your room, and quite frankly it made me wish I'd taken my Sex Pistols God Save the Queen T shirt with me. As a variation on a theme I spent Saturday evening standing in the middle of a field in a downpour watching a Freddie Mercury impersonator whilst surrounded by middle-class people in Union Jack hats getting drunk on Marks and Spencers sparkling wine and shouting things like "shame!" for no particular reason. I have to admit I'm not really the patriotic type. I'm not unpatriotic exactly (don't worry, I'm not going to go and bomb the crap out of the London Underground - well, clearly I'm not, because I supported England in the Ashes, and apparently that's the key) but I do think events like Proms in the Park is an open invitations for pillocks to shine. Plus we have a really quite rubbish national anthem (I assume that on all points above the Cavalier will strongly disagree, and will say so!) Yes, there's a lot to be said for lots of people standing together and feeling proud of their heritage, but this was rather a lot of people getting together and feeling proud of their intoxication and distinct lack of vocal ability. I'm not denying that £20 was fantastic value for a five-hour concert of Nicola Bernadetti (which I have probably spelt incorrectly: I don't do Classics very often), Andrea Bocelli and G4. It was a shame about the other English people. Oh, and Simply Red. That was a great shame, too. 40 minutes worth of it as well. I could have done without that.

A new National anthem would be a good idea. I am listening to "Living in an Island" by the Boomtown Rats at the moment, which is not hugely relevent, but since Bob Geldof is Irish (and Catholic, in the baptised sense, at least) I would find that a mildly ironic choice. But I hope you can think of better ones.

Night night.
Px