I thought it was about 4am cos the moon was still up, but no, it was 7.30. Painted the bathroom yesterday while almost simultaneously reaching the conclusion that Trio's Da Da Da is one of the best songs ever written. There was no warning about this on the tub of paint.

It must be almost time to go to Tesco's where L will be frustrated by my indifference about everything other than eggs, celery and lamb, while I will be finding out who has been Reconciling The Seemingly Disparate.

In fact, it's time to go to stinky work. Boo.

Well, I have just spent a very relaxing hour or so on the lovely Boards of Canada site which got me all excited about music again (esp. next month's re-release of Twoism) which I will no doubt not do anything about, seeing as I haven't written anything since July (which will eventually make it onto this website). While I was doing that L was watching some dodgy soft-porn thing on LivingTV, including a bloke with a 'diamante winky'. Lucky him.

Having involuntarily shunned Quinquireme's anti -Telewest stance, I have changed my ISP from Virgin to Telewest's 'unlimited' dial-up offering. This is because broadband has apparently not made it as far as Slough - and I can understand why nobody would want to stop in Slough (in case they accidentally experienced any of it) - but in Telewest's terms 'unlimited' appears to mean that there is no limit to the amount of timeouts you can view for a flat rate of £12.99 a month. However, while I was waiting for my blueyonder (note lower-case b. Chumps.) 'experience' to kick in, I discovered that eating Skips then eating Wotsits makes the Wotsits taste like chicken. Mmmmmchickenwotsits.

Why do I think blueyonder is a rude Afrikaans word?

Anyway, it's now time for holiday. Gute bye old rifle.

Ha. In the time it took me type this (about 4 minutes), the connection dropped. Pah.

L has a hurty leg, which will be remedied by Tesco's pretend curry - this is unrelated to the revelation that her ex-flatmate is having Botox injections. Or maybe it isn't. Maybe I shall start outlining my theory of How Everything Is Related, which may save you from the boredom of other rubbish theories such as Why Whitney Houston Is A Dalek, the grammatically incorrect How Everyone Else Are Twats and the less than scientific Buffy Hemline/Plotline Interdependency Theory.

Bugdozer was already there.

Dentist's pills now making my head go funny, or maybe it was the x-rays. I have a new job now too...in fact I've moved from one button-pressing department to a different button-pressing department. The new department is slightly more enigmatic (i.e. greater opportunities for lying/slacking/lying about slacking) and has a view of Windsor Castle which I won't be able to see cos of the 3 computers I now have.

I went to the dentist today. He said I was 'lucky' cos I 'only have to lose two teeth'. I'm going to keep jelly babies in their vacated space.

Anyway, The Strokes. I can do without their clattery old tat, thankyou very much. I'd rather listen to Dylute's thippy mewking.

We are trying to find out who keeps making that marble noise against the skirting board. It's not The Strokes, that's for sure as mustard. My money's on Sock Ghost.

Have just seen the godawful www.flashbanger.com. Rubbish!