Tragic news. Singer/songwriter Kirsty MacColl died in a boating accident in Mexico. She was one of England's most talented songwriters with a wit to rival Oscar Wilde and an ability to marry latin rhythms with a British sensibility. I was a fan for years and was very lucky to see her concert this summer. She was best known for writing the Tracey Ullman hit, They Don't Know, and for singing A New England. Terrible loss. I'm depressed.

International panic. Front page news on CNN.com: the international concern over Bush's lack of foreign policy experience. Too many hotspots that could plunge the US into treacherous waters. I have a feeling I'm going to spend four years embarrassed and apologising for America. Just this morning, the UK's Big Breakfast said "Bush proves that anyone can be President of the US, you don't even have to get half of the votes."

HAPPY BIRTHDAY. Today is John's birthday. Today is also Jeff's birthday. Hope they're both being spoilt rotten. God knows, they deserve it!

Downsizing. So, today Organic announced that it was reducing staff by 25% and closing two of the offices. No one here in London was affected, thank God, but I wonder which of my friends in the other offices are currently out of work. On top of that good news I found out that my storage unit had been auctioned off because I apparently missed a payment over the Summer. Guess things are lighter all around.

Bushwhacked. Dubya seems very likely to be the next American president and I've officially lost hope in the country. I just hope it can keep out of war for four years. Better settle in here, methinks. London's cold, raining, and miserably expensive, but has yet to do something as daft as elect a shrub to the highest ranking office in the country. By the way, if you haven't read anything by Molly Ivins, click on the link above to get an introduction, I think she's simply brilliant.

Catching up. Let's see: Berlin, Berlin, Berlin, flu, flu, flu, flu, dinner with Lance, cocktail party at my flat, work, Eugene O'Neill.

I'll write more about Berlin once I've downloaded the pictures. Fantastic trip, but got a flu and had to fly back wishing my head _would_ just explode and get it done with. Instead of returning to work, I spent three days in a delirious fever. Then slowly recovered. Went last night to see Long Day's Journey Into Night with Jessica Lange and Paul Rudd. It's 3.5 hours of a morphine-riddled Jessica Lange battling her alcoholic family in a fierce battle of self-denial and turn-of-the-century isolation. Although there's very little action, it's enthralling. The audience couldn't take their eyes off of Lange, and I couldn't take my eyes off of Paul Rudd who, despite a scruffy beard and despicable character, was beautiful. We left the theatre exhausted, but delighted.

Get out of town. Having put off taking a proper holiday, and thinking I'd wait until Christmas to do so, I now find I must leave the country quickly (don't worry, just to get my visa re-stamped.) Where shall I go? Weekend in Paris? Berlin?

If anyone is unsure what to buy me for Christmas, just let me know...I have a little list.

No shit Sherlock. Today the newspapers reported that this is the wettest Autumn on record (for 230 years). Someone should chart when the rain fell -- it seems to have been every Saturday and Sunday since August. Interestingly, whilst Gordon Brown asserts it is due to ghlobal warming, some reports show that there is a type of weather oscillation that has no pattern, but sometimes causes mild, wet winters.

Up to the minute...A week ago (today?) Lance and I went to the Hammersmith Apollo to see French & Saunders on tour. Dawn French is the star of Vicar of Dibley and several Alison Moyet videos and is one of Britain's favourite comediennes. Her comedy partner, Jennifer Saunders, is better known in the states as the writer and star (Edina) of Absolutely Fabulous. Seeing them live on stage was a thrill. They are remarkably funny women -- although some of the material, obviously hastily written, was sometimes weak -- and it was a once in a lifetime event for me. I giggled for two hours straight (when not peeking at my Irish neighbour with the sexy deep voice.)

Friday night, Lance, Eddie, Deborah and I saw a "classical music spectacular" at the Royal Albert Hall. An evening of classical music's greatest hits set to laser lights and pyrotechnics. You may sneer, I certainly did at first, annoyed by the blinding laser lights. But eventually I let go of my cultural snobbery and started to have fun. The Royal Philharmonic did a brilliant job of some of the pieces (the O Fortuna was especially well done). There were certain songs, Land of Hope and Glory (better known to us as Pomp and Circumstance, or the Graduation song), Hail Britannia, and Jerusalem where the crowd took out their little flags and sang along. It was moving to see how patriotic the crowd was (I can't recall the last time I saw an arena full of Americans sway and cheer and get teary-eyed to our rather unmelodic national anthem.) The evening ended up with the 1812 overture complete with booming cannons and 19th century soldiers firing shots over the hall.

Saturday night Lance and I (isn't he sick of me yet?) went to G.A.Y. to see Sheena Easton. G.A.Y. is a Saturday night dance club in the cavernous Astoria on Tottenham Court Road and is often host to the most offensive of the bubblegum pop scene (Steps, S Club 7, the Spice Girls,) or 80s icons trying to revise their careers (Boy George, Belinda Carlisle, Ms. Easton). The BBC was filming a documentary about Sheena easton (who was discovered in a BBC documentary and groomed into a recording star). That's the only reason I can find to explain why the place was packed (either that, or Sheena Easton has a rabid following in London). I've never seen it that crowded. She went on stage at 2am and sang six songs from her new disco album, vamped around the stage with her half-naked dancers, and left. Now, I'll confess to having been a huge fan in the 80s, but wasn't much impressed with her first performance in London in over 15 years. She looks fabulous, sounds brilliant, but six songs of disco re-hash does not a comeback make. At the very least she could have thrown Sugar Walls or something into the show. I went home exhausted and nonplussed.

Sunday, went to dinner with Julian and Lara in West Hampstead (very near a charmingly downscale Czech social club where one can eat roasted pork and bread dumplings in the company of scruffy olf Czech men and their czech-fabulous wives.)

Foggy London. There's brilliant scene in The Tall Guy were Jeff Goldblum plays an American actor starring in Elephant!, a musical version of the Elephant Man. The opening songs contains the line, "it's a real pea souper." That's the fog today, thick as pea soup. I love Autumn.

I hate pitching for new business. 12.30am and I'm still working. Getting very very tired.

Down for the count. Woke up bloody depressed that the US was looking at four years of being amBushed. Now, I'm impatiently awaiting the results of the Florida vote recount and the identity of the next President. When we thought Bush had won, some of the British news show hosts could barely contain their disdain. I hadn't realised what the rest of the world (or at least Europe) would think about a President who had travelled so little of the world and would now be its so called most powerful man. He would to work very hard at having any stature -- as someone said, America hasn't elected a President, they've elected a President's son. Ouch. Please please please let it be Gore.

Spice up your life. Last night, after an extremely dodgy chinese meal in Leicester Square, Lance and I stumbled into a group of photographers and policemen. They were waiting for the Spice Girls to arrive at a new club to promote their new album (fabulously skewered in the New Music Express.) Though not a big fan myself -- I once quipped that wiping my ass with $8 would have been more enjoyable than Spiceworld, the movie -- it was exciting to see real-life stars just feet away. Unfortunately, David Beckham was not there.

John has redesigned his website.

So I've refrained from commenting on the presidential election which will free the country from its relentless muttering tomorrow. It's been very pleasant to observe it from the distance of Europe -- only being within its cacophany by choice. I'm terrified of Bush, and the what he'll do to the Supreme Court if he's elected, rendering America in the legal backwater for at least 30years. Even more terrified to hear the BBC refer to his Texan government as the most prolific execution machine in the Western world. Please vote.

...Thunderbolt and lightening, very very frightening, me...We've had hail, thunder, lightening, gale-force winds, and sunshine in the last two hours. The British weather is nothing if not prolific.



Had dinner with the magnificient Lance McDaniel last night at Wagamama's (Soho's communal-style japanese eatery). Drowned my work sorrows with a lovely bottle of sake and pepped up my spirits. Lance never fails to make me laugh. Funny how we began our friendship as work colleagues years ago, hadn't seen each other, then picked up right back up. I especially admire his ability to talk to anyone. He's promised good Mexican food tonight, but I just don't believe that exists in London!

Stayed in last night for a marathon series of soaps and documentaries. EastEnders is getting downright wierd what with Sonia giving birth after not knowing she was pregnant, and Frank and Pat having an affair. So to counterbalance the fluff with substance I watched three hours of medieval British history documentaries. I now know just about everything about the Plantagenets that here is to know.

Huge storms this weekend across England. It blew rain at gale force which brought down trees and powerlines. Most trainlines aren't running and those that are do so perilously. West Sussex was hardest hit -- the flooding continues. I'm glad I didn't have to commute from outside of London (although I'm slighly jealous of those that got to stay home.) Finally, England has a good reason to talk about the weather!



Had dinner last night with New Yorkers Monique Te Selle and Lucy Lieberman at Exhibition in South Kensington. Very careful presentation and lovely taste.

Just got the new Sweeney Todd CD in the mail from the New York Philharmonic. I'm a fan of very few musicals (to spite my people) but love this one. And Patti LuPone is always brilliant.

New pictures from Prague on the Awake, and Dreaming page.



Knackered from living the rockstar lifestyle. We've been out every night drinking and dancing up a storm. I don't know how some club queens keep it up. I'm shattered, unable to focus at work, have no clean laundry, and haven't a single edible thing in the refrigerator. I'm really feeling my 30s.

Current:



Painting It Red, by Beautiful South

Selmasongs, by Bjork

Chanel's Allure for Men

Becherovka and soda on ice

The Biographer's Tale, by A.S. Byatt

Magnolia, the DVD

I haven't written in a very long time. Sorry to those who've looked for something new...if anyone has.



Notes from Prague:



Czech Airlines plays Vltava by Smetana when you land in Prague. It was cold, raining, and foggy, so I didn't see Prague from the air when you fly into the valley -- but I've heard it is beautiful. I was met at the airport by someone from the travel agency that booked my hotel room and driven to the Bubenec neighbourhood to check into the miserably names Hotel Splendid. The buildings on the street were all in disrepair, and I shouldn't have been surprised to find that the hotel is no more than a glorified Communist dorm from the 1960s. I checked in, laid down, worried that maybe I shouldn't have given my passport to the women at the front desk, and feel asleep. A bit later, Robert came, looked around the hotel room and said, "you're out of here." I changed clothes, re-packed, and we headed to the much more fabulous Grand Hotel Europa. The women at the desk look incredulous when I checked out. Robert leaned over and said. "she thinks we had a quickie." And after thinking that I was in the room for an hour, changed, and slept in the bed, thought she had reason to suspect.



The Grand Hotel Europa is a stunning art nouveau hotel on the Wenceslas Square -- apparently just across the street from the advent of the velvet revolution in 1989. The room was delightfully turn of the century, but cold, and the bed was hard. Still I was miles closer to Robert's flat and happy to be out of the Hotel (not) Splendid in it's suspect environs.



We walked to the Old Town Square and met Steve, Rick, Linda and Terry near the Hus monument. The old town is a lovely mixture of art nouveau and Baroque architecture. Linda and Terry are friends of Robert and Rick, and although I hardly know them we have momentous times. I spent my last Saturday night in San Francisco at a party in their flat, and my first trip to Prague in their company. They're delightful -- charming people with infectious laughter.



I can sum up the rest of the weekend as: walking, walking, eating, drinking pivo (beer), walking, shopping, eating, walking, sleeping, etc. We ate at places like the Hotel Europa and Cafe Slavia (the famous haunt of the Czech surrealists and political dissidents before it was closed for five years and tastefully remodeled in a Czech modernist style), the Zltava near the castle, Chez Marcel,and a fabulous restaurant near the Slavia. Things like bread dumplings, roasted pork, stewed meats, sandwiches, and pivo, pivo, pivo (I bloated). Shortly after snacking at the Zltava on potato croquettes and bread (and pivo, of course) we ate a Czech diner (that reminding me of the Czech drinking club in West Hampstead that Giovanni took me to) that Robert's friends took us too. I think I actually did damage trying to politely eat my dinner and drink pivo without needing to purge. Then, because I deserve to be punished, we went to the Thirsty Dog bar to drink, yes, more beer.



Did we do anything but eat? Of course! We saw Mozart's Requiem performed by rather haughty Czech divas at the stunnning Smetana Hall in the Obesci Dum. We climbed up the Mala Strana to the Prazsky Hrad (castle) and walked across the Karluv most (Charles Bridge) in both day and nighttime. Shopped (I bought a Czech boyband CD and a leather bookbag), climbed through the St. Vitus catacombs. Admired the beauty of the Czech people in their Czech-fabulous style (brilliant mix of East and West European) and strolled the Vltava.



It's dreamlike. One can see in the shadows the dark, mythical past of Kafka's Prague, and its more recent Soviet "occupation." But one can also see the hope and determination of the city. They're methodically stripping away the literal and rhetorical soot and re-discovering the shimmering gem of the city. Go. Now.

Today, I'm 32.



This morning it took me 3 hours to get to work because of "security alerts" (read: bomb threats) at various stations and several disruptions. So I took a break from trying to get to work to have breakfast in a restaurant and buy a new mobile phone. Was taken to a lovely lunch by the department and am having drinks with friends tonight.



I'm a bit blue about it all. I miss my friends and family, and it's really the first time that I haven't had a big celebration on my birthday. And I'm feeling ambivalent about getting older, more tired, less adventurous, etc.



I think that's the thing about birthdays: they're uplifting and depressing at the same time.

Just booked my ticket to Prague for the weekend. Very excited. I really should travel more often! Now if I can only find a cheap, but fabulous hotel.

How strange to think about the way in which my desk is actually a small island. Everything handy, in reach, familiar, taking up my day. I need a holiday.



My department's taking the day off tomorrow to rejuvenate. We're going to see the Apocalypse exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts, then the Anthony d'Offey exhibition. Then a big boozy dinner at our creative director's flat.



Then he goes away on holiday for two weeks. That worries me. The department energy and mood seem low and people are testy and uncertain. Hope tomorrow helps. It's going to be a long two weeks.

Just as I'm starting to think about a grecian sun-filled holiday, a ferry sinks in the Aegean Sea and 45 people are dead. Seems I can't plan a holiday without courting danger. And, oh boy, do I need to relax.



The Labour Government is actively doing damage control over the petrol crisis, the pensioner tax, the Millenium Dome and one can't turn on the TV or flip through a paper without seeing Tony Blair's sweaty face. And Mo Mowlam went away....we're sad.



But, in good news, my latest project, BT.com won an award as the fastest download time of any major British commerce site. Cool. Hopefully it does well in user testing too.

Innocue vivito, numen adest

"Live harmlessly, the spirit is close."

Tuesday had a meeting in Bristol. We took the train through a verdant green, foggy countryside to the city infamous for its underground music scene (think Massive Attack, Goldie, Tricky, etc.) but, as we were there only for the morning, we didn't get to experience it. The train passed through Bath, one of England's first planned cities with its sparkling rows of Georgian houses and cathedral spire. Must plan a weekend trip soon. I always enjoy train rides through England -- even when one must pass through areas like Swindon.



Flathunting is proceeding slowly. The market's incredibly active -- which means flats are snatched up before one has the chance to see anything. Saw one flat in Farringdon. They wanted £300ppw for a flat smaller than what I've got now, that had no eating area, was in a dingy building on a busy road, and had a view of the Royal Mail parking lot. When I suggested I was looking for a better view, the agent said, "well, all the red trucks ARE cheery." I wonder if I shouldn't stay the winter in South Kensington.



Not quite sure about the new Madonna CD -- it has it's moments, but isn't as immediately likable as Ray of Light -- maybe I'm too old for the club music thing.

How quickly the last Summer turns into the onset of Winter. Four days! It is cold, grey, and dark in London. The steamy summer air has been replaced by the damp cold. I turned on the heat yesterday for the first time and layered the second duvet on my bed. It doesn't get depressing until January, and I quite love autumn in London, but its a shock to see it get dark at 7pm when it was light until 10 only two months ago.



A.S. Byatt has a new book out -- the Biographer's Tale -- and the jacket hints at a relevant point about trying to understand people from things like Blogger: How do we put the idea of a person together? How do we ever know more than fragments, moments, pieces of a person and not a whole one? As usual, will be thought-provoking.



Listening to my new CD, Madredeus, a Portuguese band recommended by the lovely Giovanni. Very relaxing music -- perfect for this job and the quick descent into Winter.

Berocca is not tasty.



Clancy's in town today. I'm slammed at work, but want to leave and go hang out with him as he's only here for two days. I hate work -- it's always getting in my way.



Krupnick is tasty.

There is a ridiculous gas (petrol) crisis in the UK. To protest the high prices of petrol, several groups have blocaded delivery tankers so that many parts of the UK are without petrol. The British seem to disregard this very French protest and refuse to let the country come grinding to a halt because of the (legitimate) concerns of farmers and others dependant on petrol for their business.



Nomura, the Japanese financial backers, have decided not to buy the Millenium Dome because the Nme has been reluctant to handover financial information. They're talking about tearing it down if they don't find new buyers -- now I'd go see that.



In good news, Lance and I had dinner at Zilli Fish in Soho. Had a wonderful salmon stuffed with spinach and crab which will be a new favourite.

Will this headache never go away? I'm struggling through work, when all I really want to do it go home and go to bed.



Stepping up the flat hunt in Islington. I really want to be out of the dull cosiness of South Kensington. Now if I can only fine the perfect flat for less than I want to pay my life would be perfect.

Busy weekend. Friday, the office went to the London Eye for our Summer outting. True to form, the weather was awful -- hot, humid, wet, cloudy. But, a day off is a day off. The London Eye (also known as the Millenium Wheel) is actually quite impressive. Here are the photos. We then took a cruise of the Thames to see the river view of London, including some of its most famous buildings. Of course, drinking lager on a swaying boat does something to one's inner balance, and I spent hours afterwards feeling as though I were going to be pitched over.



Last night went to see Hedwig and the Angry Inch. I was reluctant to be excited about a Glam rock musical about a East German transsexual GI bride. But it's deliciously trashy -- and has a surprisingly strong performance by Michael Cerveris as Hedwig. Watching the show transform from a rather predictable drag story, to a deeply moving, troubling show is inspiring. Go see it if you can.

Tonight I'll be co-presenting Collaboration: Organic Experiences with Team Structure to the London Advance for Design. This is the first time I'm speaking to this group of London designers. A bit nervous, though I quite like the presentation which I'll post on my site soon.



Had drinks last night with Nick and Neil in Soho, then dinner at the always delightful Busaba Restaurant. Wonderful Thai food served by beautiful people in big, flowing, charcoal grey pants.

Had dinner last night with our CEO and his wife and their charming little baby. We ate at a Sudanese restaurant in Notting Hill. Sudanese food is a lot like middle Eastern food -- grilled meats and rice and hummus.

I'm co-presenting a talk about collaboration with one of our engineers and can't get him to meet with me. Isn't that ironic.



John and Jason have been together for a year. I'm jealous [oops, I mean happy for them. Yeah, that's it.]

The Divine Comedy are brilliant.

Bought a digital camera this weekend and have decided to become a more active chronicler of my life. Now I wander my way through my day wonder what this and that would look like in a photograph. The great this about it is that I was able to quickly show my friends and family a bit of my London life.

Went to Paris last weekend. Stayed in the Marais. Got soaked on the Eiffel Tower. Marvelled at the renovation of the Opera. Bought expensive stationery at the Galeries Lafayette and new CDs from Patricia Kaas!



Ate moules frites at a Belgian restaurant near Montmartre and found tiny, perfectly-formed crabs the size of the fingernail of your pinky inside the shells and inside the flesh of the mussels. I'd never seen that before, but was assured by the waiter that it was normal. They must grow the crabs and the mussels in the same tanks.



My French isn't as out of practice as I thought, though it's by no means fluent. I understood most of Buffy, le Vampire-Slayer.



Then this week I had dinner with Giovanni. I hadn't heard from him in weeks and was worried he had taken offense at something I might have said. Instead, a friend/mentor of his had died and he had been dealing with that. But Giovanni's very consistent, and seems to have handled everything with a certain maturity. I also got to meet the boyfriend, Giovanni (I kid you not!) who, behind his quietness, seems lovely. They're an annoyingly cute couple but it's hard to begrudge Giovanni the happiness he seems to find in the relationship. I'm glad we're rooted in friendship.



It's important now in light of certain situations I'm being asked to go through. Must act with grace, must act with patience, must have a vodka martini.

Scott Palmer, dapper eConsultant, is back in town. We went to dinner at Belgo's, new Belgian cuisine in Covent Garden, then sat on Lance's roof garden drinking American beer and gossiping about people we knew. Lance's friend's boyfriend is best friends with an old colleague. What a wierd small world.



Tonight it's off to the Donmar to see Betty Buckley.

I did something I didn't think I would -- I called in a vote to have someone evicted from Big Brother. And simply because the other nominee was cute. I've now confirmed that it's an evil thing.



But seriously, to think of the ways that a tv programme is going to alter some people's lives for the worse is frightening. This isn't entertainment, it's the equivalent to psychologically stalking someone. I didn't like Nick, but hope he has the sense to sue them for ruining his life.

Hi blogger. Sorry I've been ignoring you.



Let's see. Booked my trip to Paris today for the bank holiday. Two and a half days of shopping, winetasting, and muddling through with my appalling French. Should be fun! And will be a nice break for the tedium of rainy weekends in London.



I'm now fixating on moving to Islington. Going this weekend to check out streets and see where I want to live. I'd like a nicer, cheaprer flat in a cool neighbourhood. Oh, and a trendy boyfriend or at least a periodic fling! That's not too much, is it?



Had dinner last night at an Asian restaurant in Maida Vale with Niamh and Rob. Had a couple of glasses of wine and became Chatty Cathy, but don't think I said anything embarassing.

Madonna named her baby Rocco. Eeek.

The Weekend Report

Friday night went to the pub with some people from work. Met a man does casting adverts intent on picking up one of my co-workers. He was, however, good company and kept us amused and in pints for the evening. Then went to Spice Grills and had a curry and drunken conversation with our MD (always a good idea.)



Saturday did some shopping and cleaning and a very long walk in the sunshine, and framed the new print of Shaftesbury Avenue in the 1950's that Annabel gave me. I like it because there's a 14 bus (that runs near my flat) and a play called Hippo Dancing on a marquee. Sunday, I got adventurous and went for a hike around Richmond until it started to rain, then chatted online with a Danish man who may or may not be coming to London.

Had a brilliant night last night. Our editor's boyfriend let us take a tour of his workplace. The HultonGetty Images library is one of the largest collection of photographic images in the World, and their Paddington warehouse has millions of catalogued photos, daguerrotypes, plates, and negatives. We got a brief history of the collection, a tour of the vintage rooms and workstacks, and beer! We looked at original Cecil Beaton prints of the Royal family and Vivien Leigh, 19th century Punch editions, and a 1870's San Francisco panorama.



We then went to some tragic bar and drank vodka martinis until midnight. I love boozy olives.

Why do smart, sarcastic, caustic men appeal to me so much?

We had a freak rainstorm today. It rained, biblical rain, in driving sheets that flooded streets within minutes. Kind of exciting, except now it is going to be hot and humid.

Who wants to be a big survivor?



What the hell is happening to television? Apparently, people are finding real people more interesting than fictional TV characters. Big Brother in the UK is just unbearable. I tried watching it and found that I just really wanted the whole compound to explode in one fireball taking those annoying people with it into obscurity.

Saturday night, on channel 4, there was a documentary on the life of Bob Marley. I'd forgotten how amazing reggae music is. So I'll work the rest of the day with Bob Marley on my headphones and a slight boogy in my step.

Today's the Queen Mum's 100th Birthday. It was also Liza Tarbuck's last day as host of the Big Breakfast. Guess there's no reason to not be at work on time anymore.

Our London office celebrated its first anniversary party with a blowout at the 10 Room in Piccadilly. Salsa music, free beer and wine, and the press! Could have been a tricky situation, but fun was had by all. When the pictures are up I'll post the good stuff. Then some friends and I went to Cafe Boheme where I continued the doing damage to myself trend by switching to vodka at 1am. Not feeling at all pretty this morning!

I have a headache and am meant to be writing an outline for a mentoring programme here. I guess writing that "giving a sh*t about people is a requirement" isn't appropriate.

The NHMM site, the perfect accompaniment to the mullet.

Had dinner last night at Jason's, a seafood restaurant on the canal in the lovely Warwick Avenue. Warwick Avenue, known as little Venice, is a neighbourhood of stately white homes and Georgian row houses. It is also home to a species known as "trustafarians." Rich, young, white people who live off of their trust funds, but have bohemian pretentions.



The food was lovely -- monkfish and crab meat in a creamy sauce. Highly recommended.

I don't know if this is real or not, but it seems that the Web will smell.

I admire Jakob Nielsen for many reasons. Being visionary isn't one of them, however. Nielsen has never been a fan for branded interfaces, but his repetitive didacticism is growing tiresome. Who will be the new Web gurus? Will they have more than five thoughts at a time?

My friend Doris once wrote, "Anywhere is within walking distance if you have enough time." I'd add, "Anywhere is a long distance if you have no idea where the hell you are." Yesterday I walked home from Victoria, through London squares I'd never been through. What should have been a 30-minute walk took over three hours as I walked a circular route around my neighbourhood. Then I came home, cleaned my room, and found a mouse that had crawled in between two suitcases and died.



Maybe he got lost too.

I've been accused of being drearier-than-usual by Paul. Gee, thanks a lot. That'll cheer me up.



Actually, the sun's out, the tourists are in town and the bars will be packed. Should be a fun weekend. Going to see Chicken Run and buy new chairs for my patio. Very domestic, but then that's in style now.

Hate intro movies? You'll love this.

Hey, today is "getting email from long lost friends day" Kate, Michael in New York, John B.

Giovanni, British boy, says: "I think we're well on the way to getting you to understand irony. Takes years in most Americans." Believe me, no one lives my life and doesn't understand irony.



John fixed my javascript errors. Cheers, mate.

I've added a new section to this site, On Visual Culture.

After a lot of work, I've finally got this site working a bit better. I'm sure you'll tell me so if you agree. It's amazing that I've spent more than six years in the Web business and still can't wrestle HTML.



I love the new Bjork/Thom Yorke song, and the fact that John is moving toe Phoenix to live in an English cottage!



The lovely Kelly is taking the California legal bar exam. Cross your fingers!

Went with Chris Bolton last night to Abbaye, the new Belgian brasserie in South Kensington, and flirted with the Greek waiters. I like living in a multi-cultural area (ok, South Kensington's not very multi, but it'll do.)



I need to move someplace where there is a better sense of neighbourhood -- shops, cafes, pubs. Some place cheaper, some place with newer furniture.



My friend Lance is apparently a wizard at finding places, so I'll get him to help.



Now if our stock price would only go up!

It's cold, grey, and cloudy in London -- gotta love the Summers.

Flew to Stuttgart for meetings. Stayed in a junior suite in a wonderfully tacky hotel. The team worked the night in my room -- cleaning out the mini-bar. When I checked out, the reception clerk was very concerned.



Spätzl is a South German delicacy made of an eggy dough that's put through a ricer into boiling broth. It looks like play-dough, but tastes very fine with a nice German beer.

Yesterday, on the Tube from Oxford Circus, I sat next to a group of Russian women. Six of them between the ages of 30 and 40. They took turns drinking from a small bottle of dark, sweet Vodka. They sang Russian songs and were smiling, robust, and cheerfully drunk.



It was 11am.

Just saw Dogma, and recommend it for any lapsed Catholic -- even if it does have Matt Damon in it.

I'm not paintballing on Saturday, because I'll be working instead.

I love my job, I love my job, I love my job.



Thank god one can listen to French radio on the Web to heighten life's absurdity. I hate going through Patrick Bruel withdrawal.

My site looks like crap on anything but IE. I hate the Web.

I'm meant to be paintballing on Saturday. "The biggest bruises you've ever had in your life." Gee, that sounds fun.

Ok, so now I'm blogging. You can blame John for my newfound loquacity. I thought I should at least try this, having been critical of the phenomenon of web logs. Well, that and I really just can't be interesting and eloquent in long format anymore.



So enjoy the blog, muck through the rest of the site, and feel free to email me below.



Is this thing working???