Aug
Space Dog
First Things First. I've put off writing about last Wednesday's lunch with the bonzerlicious Max because of laziness; but there's not a great deal to say – I don't think I was on my best form that day. Certainly it starting to, then continuing to be, pissing down half an hour after we met certainly put a bit of a damper on my mood – I wasn't looking forward to having to face the drive home; which eventually took hours because I had to take to the back roads, the A12 being pretty much undriveable because of spray and water.
Anyway, the afternoon: after more than a little sodding around [and finding that the London Borough of Islington is the worst place in the western universe for car parking - thanks, Mr Arsenal] we did a little driving then dived, more through "hey, it's dry" than anything else – at Itta, a tiny pizzeria down the Kentish Town Road. Well – it did the job fine, it's nothing special; at least it's not Pizza Froggin' Hut.
Subjects included: her latest profile piece, my latest adventures in Munchland, weird religious shite, Personal Services [you must find a copy, sweetie], and why photoshopping Labour leadership candidates into schoolboy outfits would not be something that would benefit Western civilization.
Thanks, gorgeous: and I promise next time I won't make you shop for phallic umbrellas…
==================================
Actually, it's been autumnal all round for the past ten days – for the first time in months this morning I put on my fleece to go out.
…Isn't it amazing what you find in clothes you've not worn for months? "Oooh, there's my Trout Mask Replica badge".
Those of you who closely follow my health will be glad to know that the cold/infection has just about gone, although I still have a bit of a cough. However, rumours that I've been signed up on a contract to be "the mandatory coughing fucker" at the quiet tragic bits of films, concerts and plays are, as yet, unfounded….
==============================
In a way, the end of summer opens up a few opportunities, because it means my friends who have school-age children are less tied down to being 24/7 babysitters.
Plans include Chelmsford Market, which apparently has a "specialist" footwear purveyor; the Polish Arts Festival in Southend on Sunday 12th, in which for once the sausage I'll be ingesting will be an actual dead kielbasa; and, stuff permitting, I just might get to go further afield for once…
Watch this space.








