February 12th - February 18th 2006
Sunday Wedged
Saturday Piccadilly Circus
Friday Done
Thursday Piccadilly Circus
Wednesday George/Kenny/Tracey
Tuesday Piccadilly Circus
Monday Ill-met
Sunday 18th February
Admit it, you're gagging to know what more about why I was buying a door-wedge.
It's not for me, you understand, it's for my new neighbours downstairs, a young black couple whose temperament, judging by their shouted conversations and taste for loud gangsta rap, is not such that I particularly care to go down and initiate a polite face-to-face conversation about the fact that although they've somehow learnt to live with a bedroom door that creaks, endlessly, on its whining hinges before slapping (BAMbambam) closed, every ten sodding minutes, it's SENDING ME POSTAL.
Hence the arsey little package that I posted through their letter-box late the other night, containing sundry items and a hand-written note that read: "Gifts! from your stressed-out neighbour. Oil (for your endlessly squeaking door)! And a wedge (for your constantly slamming door)! (There were ear-plugs too, but I'm keeping them for myself.)"
You'll note that I carefully don't identify which neighbour is responsible for this package. So if you read of an outbreak of frenzied stabbings in E1, it's nothing to do with me.
Saturday 17th February
Piccadilly Circus, Winter 2007
Friday 16th February
Church wedding divorcees face tough grilling
(St. Lawrence, wasn't it, who told his executioners he was done on that side and needed turning over?)
Thursday 15th February
Piccadilly Circus, Winter 2007
Wednesday 14th February
Nice to see the Independent confirming its gay-friendly reputation by celebrating Valentine's Day with a profile entitled: George Michael and Kenny Goss: A pop romance.
Even nicer to see who it is who has written this lengthy piece: none other than Tracey Emin.
Tuesday 13th February
Piccadilly Circus, Winter 2007
Monday 12th February
I went to a meeting today, with representatives from one of the arts sections of the paper, a meeting I was dreading because I know how easy it is for meetings like this to breed a hostile atmosphere, the paper thinking they have a God-given right to have everything they've worked on up on the web the moment they've done it, if not sooner, and the web altogether too conscious of the demands already being made on their limited resources and banjaxed technology, and the none-too-subtle shortcuts they've quietly instituted to deal with it.
And sure enough it was a shit-storm.
A polite shit-storm to be sure, though barely so, with one woman in particular patently determined to blind everyone to her ignorance of everything web-related by hiding behind a coruscating display of complaint, thinly veneered with a whisp of polite bemusement.
A dangerous tactic, you might think, but I did my best not to patronise her, and met her aggressive line of questioning with the best grace I could muster.
My patience eventually frayed after fifty minutes or so ("Why don't you use all the pictures we put in the paper?" "Because they're...not very good?") and I decided it was high time we started bending the agenda my way.
"One of the things we'd like to do - if and when we have the manpower, personpower - is to put some feedback forms onto the bottom of each review. Have you seen this film, heard this album? Let us know what you think.."
"Hmm, I can see the strengths in that," interrupted her slightly-more-mellow colleague. "But I can't help thinking that there won't be many people in a position to respond, given that our reviews are usually printed just a day or so after things are launched.."
"Ah, but that's the strength of the internet. Once a review is up there, it's up there for ever. People can come back and post their own reviews two months, six months later!"
"But how would they know where to find them?" lobs in Ms-Troubled-Stare, disturbed at not having upset anybody for at least a minute. "They're only listed on the front page for a week. And we've noticed there's no way to get back to previous front pages.."
"They can use our search engine. Or, better yet, they'll use Google."
"But can Google show people stuff more than a week or so old?"
There was an interesting pause, during which nobody seemed willing to meet anybody else's gaze, and I decided that, if I didn't lose it now, I would be quite happy to lose it very soon.
......previous week
