saturday afternoon saw picnic fun between showers in a park, whose namesake was the site of illicit firework purchases and my first political action. onwards then, to olssons garlic and shots for fun and stinky breath with gorro. almost a day in front of the telly later, there is nothing more to report.

went out last night and had too many pints of lager. then went to jolly old colin's and came home jolly well plastered. it would appear that somewhere along the way i came to hate bicuits, so i put all the ones i could find in the bin. then i turned on the telly, took off my trousers and went to bed. how silly of me. my brother is particularly miffed as he likes biscuits the most. i was going to write a pastiche of "hurricane" telling this tale but i am far too hung over to try.

i've had it up to here with your north country talk, you can hardly understand a word i say. all i can do for little one is grate and bore, i know it's gonna rain today. oh yeah, a hard rain's a gonna fall all right. life is tough when you have to match dylan album for album. still, at least there are two clear years before my motorcycle nightmare era must commence.

well, after a suitable recomassaince mission and negatiations more thorough and of wider scope than the G8, it appears i might have found a prospective residence (and a vocation) for next year. pleasent weekend in the city, drank a beer in the park, then in a house, then in a pub and then in some guy's installation. should have been in sevenoaks catching up and so on, but that will happen in the fullness of time, im sure of it. good news is that there is a jeeves story on bbc7 and that it is raining.

went to le gavroche today, a most satisfactory lunch with mr sternberg telling tales of spas and lithuania. i ate a lovely bit of veal and some commendably ripe cheeses, although i found labelling them a bit odd when the menu was written entirely in french. just like the damn clip it and not being able to find the line spacing and so on. purchased a new tarjei vesaas book as i couldn't be doing with going to hoxton and pleasently they have quite a few at foyles. looks like i might have missed a cracking day's cricket though.

hi everyone, i thought i would drop you a line to say how i have been getting on here in england on holiday. i have found a lovely place to stay - the tour is on tv and there is practically all the roquefort you can eat! yesterday i had a wonderful trip into the big city (london!) and went for drinks with some friends in the trandy "brixton" area. such fun! wish you were here, Dan

went to the pub last night with dear old colin and "barnacle" dave the sailor (the big one, not the one whose impending nuptials are delayed if you are following that particular saga vicariously). the whiskey you gave me is very nice ed, thanks again. i cant believe john shuttleworth is reading a slim fast can insted of writing a proper song. i am so disappointed i might defer organizing the rest of my summer for another day.

sunshine, i feel like cod and chips. what do i look like? unburnt through the attention of others and in my best beachwear. bop, pop, huugh, bop, bop, bop. what is your record?

ra - no way! it is like a cloning machine for fosters in this tiny ornate place. sorry ma but there is no way any of this will fit. it is life and life only. pautrat's influence is clear, black pudding is a delight, but everyone knows what i will remember. it is all here, the stove and the bed. do you two know each other? yes, she gave birth to me. hahahaha. walk around. as ever, i am early. dine more, why don't you come home with me? sure, sure, this is where i heard a fox scream in the night. i took flight.

news, gloious news! two days film set catering is surprisingly fruitful, but those of you for whom i have cooked will see that the crew being unavoidably detained for two and a half hours before dinner by the sun isn't the sort of thing i love. still, it is great for my ego to hear be so frequently asked what restaurant i work in. went out boozing with pete and ed, which is good for my id. went for a picnic. i am going to the beach.

your hair is straight, your back is smooth, your eyes are like two jewels in the sky. i have not had a cup of coffee in three days. i am going down to the valley to get one.

parables for paranoids II - the bedtime trap. last night i was struck in bed for no good reason other than i could hear mansfield park on tape through the wall (my brother is back) and i was thinking of a demon moth. i tried to breath regularly and without inhibition, but this didn't seem to help. like a hangover which you think you might be rid of getting you as you turn the corner. i listen to a CD but this was no help at all. i get up and walked around the bathroom in the dark. finally i accept my fate and wait for the dawn. i woke this morning and cursed aloud. it lingers.

well. today i have almost finished "kafka on the shore", and i think that novels have changed their function in my mind of late. there are places where murakami has hinted at direct communication with his audiance (cf. for instance christie's mum, or "the passion of anna") and in this he doesn't stand up the the cold water jolt that b. s. johnson provides. the murakami books are like a sparking, crisp roll of kitchen towl to johnson's chamois leather. to be honest i would like him to write less about cock and more about cake. that doesn't mean that i wont be trying to talk to cats for the rest of the summer or, for that matter, looking down as many wells as i can find.

i have been watching sugar rush since my return from all points north, and i must say that it is superior even to big brother in the late night viewing stakes. the nostalgic romance of a youth spent on vodka, brighton and longing is too strong to be resisted by this calvados addled critic. i give it eight ballons out of a sausage dog. next week, i will be concidering what the best chase dreams are. untill then i leave you in 'aste: goodbye.

today i saw a huge sloe-black* poodle on my walk. i was going to tell you a story about how it could walk on stilts (with hilarious consequences!), but i have been reading wikipedia and something more exciting has come to my attention. allegedly thomas pynchon's next book may be about kowalesky (whose name is spelled differently in the article), which vindicates my peculiar decision to attend the pde course in the third year. i am trying to clear my room and plan july, but i am having more sucess at drinking tea.

*i only recently realised this is probably the spelling in the opening of undermilkwood

today's stage of le tour was won by a belgian hearthrob in fairly decisive fashion. the future mr martin? god only knows why i think of him in this light. fun in london yesterday, though i met three girls on the train home who reminded me of viz. "UB40 were butters but doherty, he is a fitty". i may well go on holiday to a monastry, or some such frivolity. my records have been found, so in celebration i should like to lead you all in song:

i haven't known sorrow for so many years,
with no foe to fight, death's all i fear
and death would take you, death would take you
thats just what it'd do, thats just what it'd do

a bird in my ear, was beaking away
about all the jewels he'd come across that day
jewels in the grass, jewels in the grass
where the worms used to be, where the worms used to be

the cattle were lowing, they cried for your feet
the clouds were your arches, the cows were alseep
and they spoke of you, they spoke of you
as they lay there and mooed, as they lay there and mooed

the house walls are tighter, the bed it is small
housing just one soul, just one soul that's all
when it once held two, it once held two
no it doesn't hold you, it doesn't hold you

the ride and i wont be t'wards working today
that's good that's over, you are away
and now ill undo, now ill undo
thats just what ill do, thats just what ill do

(not, you are free to extemporise your own whistling solo between the second and third verses)

update on bonny/barney situation. look & listen here. also, can anyone suggest where i should be going on holiday? comments would be appreciated (especially if you suggest "the moon" or "up the khyber pass" etc..).