I read with green eyes today a web designer\music maker\style guru\photographer\artist\bloody all-round-action-hero-showoff calling himself a, "producer, not a consumer". Git. I wish I was a producer. Trouble is, the stuff that I'd produce, no-one would want and the stuff I want to consume I can't afford. What does that make me? Some sort of in-limbo twonk that's what.

My only observation today is that when oldies are blowing their pension on quite possibly their last car, a Honda Swift or Rover 75, that sort of thing, do they actually ask to have the car geared down so that they're able to travel at 3 mph in first gear without stalling? They must have something done, because I sure as hell can't travel that bloody slow when I'm behind them. I mean, it's not like they actually have all the time in the world is it? "You are going to die soon love, put your bloody foot down for gods sake!".

The only three films I've cried at: ET, Philadelphia and Schindlers List. Aliens, AIDs and Auschwitz.

Loads of random stuff I've notice over the past few days. Loads of weird dreams too; must stop eating acid before bedtime.

We took Toby to the Hellfire caves just outside West Wycombe the other weekend. He loved it and shot off into the pitch black tunnels with just a few glo-sticks for company. Very brave. And probably more his sort of adventure than the OAP's that was being shepherded through the treacherously slippery caverns, moaning, "where are we?". Her family must be particularly cruel. Or maybe she is and they're getting their own back.

Another OAP related observation. Do you ever see oldies (as I call them) slumped low in a car waiting at a junction or roundabout waiting for a break in the traffic? They can often sit there for ages unaware of the priority or order of traffic and then suddenly get it into their head to just thump their foot down on the gas and go for it. I wonder if they're thinking, "I could die of old age sitting here, I may as well go for it!" and you see them propelled forward frantically trying to feed the wheel round in order to make the bend, G forces pushing them back into their seat. Oh it makes me laugh. They're laughing too most of the time. Or could that be crying?

Sarah had her hair cut by The Barber of Sexville last weekend. An oversexed hairdresser cum actor that always manages to insert innuendos into conversation or sexual references to most situations like popping a swollen purple glans onto your shoulder. Or something. Summer - "Summer is so sexy!", Drugs - "Coke goes to my groin!" etc etc.

I also had a thought about something I've invented called "Fat Fitness Reciprocity". The short story is that fat people lie on toning tables, which already exist and basically make the person lying on them exercise by moving their arms and legs for them. The tables are usually operated mechanically, but instead could be operated by skinny people, looking to muscle up, using brute strength and a system of pulleys and that. The beauty is that you get your own fat\skinny partner to help motivate you to go to the gym and one gets built up while the other gets toned down. Effing genius I reckon.

I'm going to do a separate update with some of my recent co-incidences and a mental dream, but I leave you with Toby's latest saying, "I'll kick you in the face". Nice eh? He has also been craving a "Saver Light". Light sabre to you and I. Aaah, the little retard.

Yo yo yo. Why do you (most people do this, so I'm taking a chance that this applies to you too) walk up the right hand side of the stairs? Don't you automatically follow the same principles as riding a bike or driving a car and go on the left? Maybe it's because most people's strongest, leading hand is their right and they feel safer with it nearest the banister. I like to dramatically prove them wrong by shoving them hard in the back and watch them crash painfully down the stairs. On the right.

Also, weird, the new Saab advert. It shows a Saab convertible winding along an alpine road driving through glacial scenery that’s melting and changing as it passes. Flowers bloom early through the melting ice and die as it speeds by with carefree driver and giggling passengers. The car drives over a bridge and spawning salmon foolishly leap from the freshly melted river underneath only to get stranded on the still frozen water downstream. Ducks fly back from the south (and presumably starve to death off camera) tricked into thinking summer has arrived due to the simple fact that the car has it's top down and is exuding some kind of "printemps" essence. Yeah, I'll tell you what that is that it's exuding, bloody greenhouse gases contributing to global warming! I can't be the only one to have noticed this colossal miscalculation by Saab's marketing people. Rather than, “Put some joy into your life. Buy a Saab.”, what the advert actually says to me is, "Look at this gas-guzzler driving through perfect, unspoilt mountain scenery and marvel at the effects of it's pollution". And they make fighter jets. So why not see if you can do even more to contribute to global destruction by jetting over to foreign climes and bombing some babies. Unbelievable.

And boy, am I glad to have purchased the Madvillain remix 12” by FourTet – awesome stuff.

I'm reading Superman comics at 34 and around me there are people saying things like, "We need to formulate a new revenue stream". It's not good. I've started subverting already and have created a facsimile of the washroom cleaning rota to include checks for "massive logs, skids and boogers". I very much doubt that anyone will ever notice, but I hope they do otherwise it will be pointless. And it's always at times of the day like this, when I can't have a hug from my wife, that I want one. C'mon, let's do a bit of back-kicking.

Sax muzak. Like cigar smoke in restaurants and egg farts in elevators - unwanted. I forgot to mention that while sitting in the hotel bar last Wednesday evening before going to the HDI Awards dinner (previous entry), I was subjected to some horrific saxophone muzak. I actually have a reasonably sized dislike for saxophones and their "music", apart from the solo in Hazel O'Connors - Stay Now (which exalts the soul) and possibly some embarrassing Spandau Ballet tunes. I once heard someone comment that the saxophone (or "saxomophone" as Homer Simpson calls it) is the instrument closest to the human voice and I instantly thought, hmm that's like saying that that freshly shaved transvestite in makeup and a frock over there looks like your mum. Well, it might look like your mum, but it sure as hell don't look like mine. Anyway, in the banal world of bar muzak the saxophone is worse than the pub singer and the way it's used to supplant an actual voice in a whole plethora of power ballads and love songs makes me cringe myself into a teeth-gnashing stupor. I heard:

1. Theme from Arthur ("If you get caught between the moon and New York city"), which I actually quite like and reminds me of when Sarah went to NYC. However, when the tune is produced by throttling a nasally congested goose, it does kind of lose some of the original magic. From there it went downhill faster than Rik Waller chasing a ball of Edam
2. Lady In Red. THE most hated song of mine (order a bottle of Bud)
3. (I've Had) The Time Of My Life - how ironic!
4. Up Where We Belong (order pint of Kronenberg)
5. I Will Always Love You (run screaming from bar and douse self in fuel; ask passerby for light)

Later that night at the awards, a DJ played G4's version of Queen's - We Will Rock You. I nearly twisted the neck off my beer bottle and ground it into my face with pure hate driven rage. Nasty.

Anyway, to the main news of the day, Labour has secured an historic third term in government. And I wanted to point out that after Liverpool beating Chelsea in the semi finals recently, Michael Howard was asked what he thought of the result. Being a Liverpool supporter, he said he was naturally very happy and was looking to repeat the win in the forthcoming election. Well the red team certainly did give the blues a hiding, but I'm not so sure that's exactly what Mr Howard had in mind.

I accidentally called a Snickers a Snickers yesterday. I realise that's actually correct, because that's it's name, but I always used to call them Marathons, because that's what they used to be called. It was a feeble attempt at retaining some English identity in the face of US globalisation. Presumably they (the Americans) changed the name so that visiting Yanks could recognise all their favourite food and therefore not waste away whilst on holiday without their daily calorie intake. Of course I jest:

1. Americans by and large (excuse the pun) don't visit other countries, and
2. The thought of an American wasting away, when 30% of the buggers are obese, is a bit far fetched

Remember, it's America's world, you just live in it. Die in it, go poor in it, get hungry in it, get invaded by it, get democratized by it etc etc.

Listening to: Easygroove at Fantazia New Years Eve 91/92 on my iPod!!

The awards dinner at the Natural History Museum was good. I think. Someone was putting alcohol in my wine and I think I may have got a bit lairy towards the end of the evening (shouting, stealing beer, making w*nker gestures when we went up to have our photo taken etc). At least I didn't try to steal a bone from the brontosaurus in the Main Hall. Mr Duck told me that he knew Acen (no, not the Asian Chemical Education Network, the hardcore breakbeat virtuoso circa 1992) and instantly became my hero. Then he spoiled it a bit by explaining how Hammond organ's work for about half an hour. But then I spoiled that by claiming that I could laugh at anything, which is obviously a lie. If Michael Howard is elected on Thursday I will definitely struggle to find the humour.

Then I popped down to the Old Smoke again on Friday with Oakes and Phoenix to check out the Seen exhibition, which was good, although a little smaller than I expected. The gallery was fresh open a couple of weeks ago and I'll definitely keep an eye on it for future events. Got some excellent piccies for my desktop. Also picked up some TokyoPlastic prints from Playlounge that I've been after since they sold out last year. Nowhere to hang them mind, so I'll have to stick them under my bed like an idiot. Then, slightly delirious from 2 pints of cider and the pain in my foot caused by my Roc-a-Fella kicks I accidentally bought the DJ Vadim and DJ Woody CD again. Doh! But this was balanced by the yin and yang that is rife in our beloved capital city, by purchasing the DJ Riz - Live From Brooklyn 12" featuring about 100 absolutely rocking old skool soul, funk and boogie breaks.

Going down Oxford Street at about lunch time and this open topped bus decked out in Boots the chemist livery went past with about 8 women on the top deck waving balloons and streamers to Phat's and Small's - Turn Around, shouting, "WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!". I presume that this is some sort of advert, but what for? Boots obviously, but how does that rabble constitute an advertising campaign? The advertising executives at Boots are sat around having manicures and getting free eye tests and one says, "How much money have we got left in the kitty for advertising?". His mate lifts up his cooling face pack, peers at the books and says, "About enough for 8 girls to stand on top of a bus and shout "WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!". "Great, let's go with that then". I could do that job.

Then to car boots on Sunday and Monday. They're back and now I have a dribble of money coming in from eBay by hawking my disco gems to ungrateful Italians. Sample dialogue from carboot #1:

"Hello Eric how's the old missus going"
"Sorry mate, that's my older brother you're thinking of"
"Oh, sorry mate, you look so similar. Are you twins then?"

Well technically speaking all twins have an older or younger sibling by sometimes only a matter of seconds. But I prefer to think that this bloke is an idiot, cos I'm a misanthrope. Then I picked up a copy of American Splendor, which was a surprise.