"LONDON. YOU KNOW... FISH, CHIPS, CUP O' TEA, BAD FOOD, WORSE WEATHER, MARY-FUCKING-POPPINS... LONDON!" I was pretty tired yesterday. Oxford Street is getting that little bit more crowded and people have the first signs of Christmas stress. Personally it never really gets to me - as long as I have a couple of Charlie Brown cartoons to watch over Christmas and the occasional dose of Laurel & Hardy then I'm pretty happy. The nice people at Granta sent me a copy of Iain Sinclair's London Orbital yesterday: "It started with the Dome, the Millennium Dome. An urge to walk away from the Teflon meterorite on Bugsby's Marshes. A white thing had been dropped in the mud of the Greenwich peninsula. The ripples had to stop somewhere. The city turned inside-out. Rubbish blown against the perimeter fence. A journey, a provocation. An escape. Keep moving, I told myself, until you hit tarmac, the outer circle. The point where London loses it, gives up its ghosts." Beautiful. So we've got Ken Loach coming into the store today - that should be good. We just got the bumpf back from the estate agents that they've put together on the house. I just read it through and it makes me want to move here. Hopefully we can get it sold early and move our arses somewhere new before Christmas. That would be excellent. Pretty good mood at the moment so not a lot to rant about.... how about if I just mention that the thought of John Major with an erection and Edwina Currie spread out before him, dripping with excitement is not something that the nation should be lingering over. No breakfast for me then. Mike is blogging to: Feminist Sweepstakes by Le Tigre