2003-05-05

What�s that? Pardon me? Oh, this? Why yes. Yes, that IS me, in London, with ROBYN FUCKING HITCHCOCK. Marriage plans to be announced shortly.

Yes, my friends, London rocked beyond the telling of it. The first weekend I was there, Robyn Hitchcock (who hails from Cambridge) HAPPENED to be playing in a tiny little pub in Clerkenwell. My brain nearly exploded at the mere prospect. When I arrived to find signed copies of Fegmania, on vinyl, on sale for ten quid each, I honestly thought the night couldn�t get any better. Then Mr Hitchcock sidled up next to me at the bar, and I couldn�t resist the opportunity to importune him for a photo. He was quite personable, actually, although characteristically incoherent. I can now die a happy woman.

�Except, of course, for the fact that I live HERE. I now have conclusive proof that in comparison to real cities, Ottawa blows donkeys. I�d rather have chopped off one of my own fingers than come in to work this morning, but seeing as I stupidly left my meat cleaver in my other pants, here I am, hating life as is my wont.