On Monday, I had a GOOD NIGHT at the Beercart Arms for the first time in ages. Not only did it feature "Beeping Hostile" but severe randomness. There doesn't seem to be much cross-pollination between the Kent and London metal scenes and normally, after a gig in Nodnol, none of the other attendees get the train same train home as me. Yet, despite the minimal attendance of the gig I went to last Monday, two attendees were on my train, and here a guy who'd been in one of the bands greeted me.

Last night, I went to a rock night at Christchurch, but I left early, since I was knackered. Don't suppose I missed much though. [Though, as it turned out, Mark broke his nose in the moshpit!] The company was pretty good, the music was all right once they stopped playing (shudder) emo, but the atmosphere? What atmosphere? Christchurch student union has never made much of a nightclub, on account of being a student union, but as student unions go, I used to like it. It was all dark and stuff. Now it's hideously light and clean and carpetted and wooden-floored where it isn't carpetted and the music was quieter than I have it in my bedroom. And I'm a nice person who lives in a terraced house where you can hear the neighbours talking. Oh well, it only cost 50p to get in.

Still, a girl whose name I've forgotten again was wearing a mood ring which initially matched her nail polish, and I was most disappointed to find her nail polish didn't change colour when her mood did. The people on the door also insisted I bought a glowing wristband, which, because I am the most fidgetty person ever, I snapped until the glow started leaking and then I got it in my eye, which probably glows in the dark now.

When I got home, Sleeve and Emma convinced me "No Angels" with them, a drama series about nurses, which was rubbish. Happily, "Crimes Of Passion", a Ken Russell film, was on afterwards: since I watched one of his films, "Tommy", about a dozen times when I was eleven I've long been curious to see his other work. I'm not convinced this film was good per se -

Me: Ok, I get the point. Next scene, please.
Me (a second later): Ok, when I said 'next scene', I meant 'next scene that advances the story' not 'next sex scene'.

- but the dialogue was charming and appealed to my lowbrow sense of humour, and it was all 80s and sleazy and neon and had surreal bits and wigs and I so want a copy of the score (Rick Wakeman doing electronic variations on Dvorak's 9th symphony). Unfortunately, it made me want to work on my story set in East Germany in 1990, but I was good and worked on The Novel instead. I'm on a roll - I've written 7000 words in the last two days. Metaaaaaaaal!

Today, I met up with former classmate Teresa. Among other things, she told me she'd spent the last weekend at Crufts and we fretted over the lack of seatbelts on buses.