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.