The Beercart last night was rubbish (apart from the fact that Gaz played Children Of Bodom!) Despite being in a brilliant mood, after spending six hours online sending increasingly silly e-mail and livejournal comments, I couldn't think what to say to anyone. Maybe I never could think what to say to people there, but because I knew everyone, I could hop from failed conversation to failed conversation while thinking I was having a singular good one - and now I don't know anyone anymore. Whatever it was, the prospect of spending Valentine's Night there doesn't fill me with joy . . . but the prospect of not going is even more horrible, little as I care about 14th February and its evils normally.

I also felt rubbish this morning and decided to forego seeing Leisur Hive tonight, as I haven't been having any joy meeting cool people at gigs lately either (something I'm normally quite talented at) and it would have eaten most of the day, and I thought doing some Solid Hard Graft might be better for me. I did do about five hours' writing, but it hasn't made me feel any better.

Beep you, life! Would you start working for me again?

At least Brat Camp's on tonight and I'm not going to have to miss it now.