May 19th 2003 - May 25th 2003
Sunday Belgium
Saturday Spam
Friday Round'n'about
Thursday Bestspeller
Wednesday Dusky Soho
Tuesday Whatever
Monday Probe
Sunday 25th May 2003
Do you ever have those days when you wake up and go: "Let's abolish Belgium"?
Saturday 24th May 2003
As if receiving endless invitations to enlarge one's penis, send money to Nigeria and watch foxy chicks! naked!! in the dorm!!!! was not enough, another really annoying thing about the growing tsunami of spam that sticks its foot in one's door every day is that it's all too easy to lose genuine mail as you sit there sighing and repeatedly tapping the delete key.
Which is the only reasonable explanation I can come up with for the fact that I found a couple of rather mysterious and totally unattributed photographs in my attachments folder a week or so ago.
They're surely not any kind of advertising - but they show no place I remember being, and no faces I remember meeting.
So, in the unlikely event that it's you that sent me this "RooftopAug2001.jpg" and the equally mysterious (but, surprisingly, even less interesting) "Tim (rear view!).jpg" - please explain!
Friday 23rd May 2003
Meanwhile:
Mike takes time off from cataloguing (amongst many many other things) his "favourite songs which failed to qualify for the Eurovision finals" to nail, at length, a concept that's been bothering me lately (though not, it must be said, anywhere in the vicinity of a Kevin Spacey lookalike): the absence of neeeeed [if that purportedly accurate url fails you, scroll down to May 20th, third section]
Dave keeps mum about the distinct possibility of being spotted even more often at a bar near you (well a bar near me, at any rate)
Marcus has been busy doing nothing (with added nuts) [if that purportedly accurate url fails you, scroll down to May 17th]
Luca takes me seriously when I poke him in the back and say it's his turn to blog The Amateur Strip Contest.
Thursday 22nd May 2003
Wednesday 21st May 2003
Mostly they would plunge back peaceably into twilit Soho, enjoying the nightly handover, the silver cans of film spilling stardust as they skipped between production houses, the workers leaking home and the theatregoers nosing out, the shops shuttering, the rubbish piling, the bars starting to fill, the daytime beggars leaving with their sleeping bags over their shoulders, ceding to the night shift, and the mobs of inflamed teenage boys from penurious countries, bound in a sort of helix of indecision, drifting apart but always attached to one another, like the arms of a kindergarten mobile.
- Who's Sorry Now by Howard Jacobson
Tuesday 20th May 2003
Monday 19th May 2003
A vibrating grapefruit-sized probe you say? Mm-hm. And you want to send it...where!?
......previous week
