The Thoughts of Chairman WOW!

A flat has been found for Jack to live in and me to stay in temporarily. It's just a few minutes' drive down Paisley Road West from where we are now, in an area called Ibrox. It's a more convenient location as it's a short walk from Glasgow's small, circular underground system, known by locals as 'the Clockwork Orange' is it has only two routes, 'clockwise' and 'anti-clockwise'. It's a top floor flat in an old sandstone tenement building, with a direct view of a nice-looking church. I won't stay long, because I feel strongly that the cats should have a garden of their own, and I need to get on with finding my own place. I'll keep my eye open for places in Glasgow but I haven't had much luck so far, so will be widening my search to include the north of England too. There are things I like about living with Jack and things I don't. About equal amounts of each! So I will let myself be guided by whatever homes turn up.

I do feel sad that our attempt to live here together seems not to have succeeded, but it has been a partial success because Jack likes it here. Something may turn up but I have got to be realistic and not keep putting myself last. We have a couple more weeks in the bungalow before we have to move out. We've been watching a lot of Twin Peaks, with coffee and doughnuts. The thing I will miss most is having the garden and feeding the birds and squirrels. With the weather turning colder, hopefully the cats will not be too angry about having to stay in for a bit. We just couldn't get a big enough house with a garden. They are so thin on the ground here that landlords can be very fussy and usually say "no pets".

It's been an anxious time and I've been thinking about getting on medication again, but last time I was on SSRIs for ages I put on weight, and towards the end they weren't doing much for me anyway. I'm sure there are lots of new types to try nowadays, but I would have to do a bit of research. I have given up on counselling at the Sandyford, because the sessions are so hard to come by and there have been so many admin problems - I turned up for the last appointment I booked and the counsellor said she hadn't known I was coming, even though I'd booked it with the help of a manager after my previous complaint and bookings and a letter going missing. I think I've just got to draw on my inner resources and faith at this point. I am grateful to have good physical health anyway. I had a blood test with the GP recently and it turned out I make an "abnormal" amount of an androgen called androstenedione, but it's only slightly above normal. They didn't seem to think it was serious and said I could have a couple more tests if I want at some point, but it's not urgent.

We had a lovely time at my friends' wedding reception in the Forest of Dean. It reminds me a bit of Devon, but more heavily forested and less full of tourists. We stayed in a small town called Coleford, which turned out to be hosting a music festival! We saw a brass band and a rock group playing covers of noughties alternative rock. Both were kind of unavoidable as our flat was so close to the stages. The atmosphere was pleasant though. At the wedding we met up with lots of old London pals and enjoyed very tasty food. The next day there was an "open house" at the bride's parents' home, with a vast vegetarian buffet that seemed to be constantly replenished all day long, and a seemingly unending supply of prosecco. I met their lovely, tiny new cat and had a sleep in their garden hammock.

On the way back we went via Wales and visited Monmouth, a nice little town where I bought hand cream and a bumblebee bag from a bee-themed shop that supported bee conservation efforts. We've certainly done our bit for bumblebees, because a vast colony of them have settled in a lawnmower in our shed. We've left them to it. We did take the mower out and left it on the lawn overnight, but they wouldn't leave. Jack went to buy a new mower from a woman on Gumtree, and oddly enough, her home turned out to be in the same building that we later found a flat in.

We also stopped at a Lidl in Oswestry, which turned out to be right next to a lovely graveyard that was inhabited by many rabbits, with views of green fields. We sat there for a bit and ate our baked goods. It helped me to relax and put things into perspective. I find being in graveyards very relaxing, not in a morbid goth way, I just enjoy the vibes.

I was surprised, but not unpleasantly, by the outcome of the EU membership referendum. Unlike literally everyone that I know and like, as far as I'm aware, I voted to Leave. Not gladly, but I had lost hope of the EU seriously entertaining any hope of reform or consideration of the UK's specific needs, after Cameron's failed negotiation attempt. I thought the UK was likely to fall in line at the last minute, like Scotland did, but apparently the majority of people here are just too disgruntled to put up with it any more. Fair enough. I'm not even at the hard end of globalisation - I have a university degree (first class, from the School of European Studies at the left-leaning University of Sussex), I have been able to support myself financially so far, I am not waiting for a council flat or unskilled job - but I could empathise with those who were. I've been poor in the past. I don't mean poor as in, not being able to afford to go on a bender at the end of the month and having to ask parents for money. I mean poor as in, parents actually having no money to start with, scrabbling about to gather up spare change to buy fruit, driving a beaten up car, not being able to afford to leave in a home with central heating, despite working hard. It's rubbish.

Had Remain won, I like to think I wouldn't have thrown my toys out of the pram, and would have accepted the outcome of a democratic process. After all, there are advantages to being in the EU, I'm not going to pretend it's been unalloyed awfulness, especially for someone like me who likes travelling, does business with French  companies literally every day of my working life, and sees a lot to like about continental Europe. So I was a bit disappointed at the histrionic response of the disappointed Remainders. In the run-up to the vote, the Remain campaign had some good arguments, which I considered carefully. But following the result, all their claims of embodying 'compassion' and 'hope' seem like a façade. Now they didn't get the result they wanted, their true colours are revealed. It's open season on the old, the working class, the white poor, the English outside London. I've seriously seen people argue that old people shouldn't be allowed to vote. They don't care to hear our arguments, they would rather label us all racist or stupid.

There's a saying, 'Scratch a liberal, find a totalitarian underneath'. It's normally repeated by the sort of people who make unsavoury comments on Breitbart News articles and vote UKIP, so I haven't paid much heed to it until now. But now I think there may well be some truth in it. We've seen the expression of a desire to ignore the results of the referendum by people like David Lammy, MP for my former home of Tottenham, where babies changed hands for money down the road from where I lived, and everyday I walked past piles of rubbish taller than me (OK, that's still not very tall, but still...). If you can't guarantee regular rubbish collections for your local area, it's a bit rich to try and pervert the course of democracy for a whole nation. Or Scottish nationalists implying it would be wrong for the UK to take Scotland to take out of the EU, but it would be fine for Scotland to force the UK to stay in the EU against the will of the majority. Eh? Joined-up thinking, anyone? No... No? OK, fine. Just keep hitting Twitter, if you keep posting the same Huffington Post article again and again it may eventually be true.

Being 'individual' and 'unique' is glamorised but actually it's really awkward in real life. Staying true to your convictions makes you feel weird and left out. But the alternative - to follow those around you when you simply don't agree with them, in your heart of hearts - feels worse. A lot of the political establishment seems to have mobilised against the referendum result, so it's hard to know where it will all end up. (Although, credit to Corbyn for standing firm in the face of elements of the party trying to oust him after about 5 minutes leading the party - very childish.) In all events, I am glad I voted the way I did. I voted according to my conscience, and to the best of my knowledge. Let's hope that when the dust settles, both sides can agree a positive way forward and maintain civil relations with the rest of Europe while honouring the people's choice. Although I'm aware that is a bit of a tall order.

In the early 2000s, I visited Cologne with my mother. It was one of the nicest places I have been in Germany. I have fond memories of the chocolate museum and the great zoo that offered much better conditions for animals that anywhere I have ever been. I loved the architecture and Mrs Lyle loved the beer. The only bad thing that happened was an angry cyclist shouting "Dumme Frau!" at Mrs Lyle for inadvertently walking in a cycle lane (they take those very seriously). I once thought Germany was nice and envisaged maybe living there one day.

So I was particularly disturbed by the mass violence against women that surfaced at the start of this year in Cologne, and as it has transpired despite the attempted cover-up, all over western Germany as well as Finland, Austria, Sweden and Switzerland. (Not to mention ongoing violence in my former country of residence, France, where the horror has reached the level of murder rather than "just" sexual assault and rape.) It has made me seriously rethink large portions of my personal politics. I am musing about it here because I don't think kneejerk Facebook/Twitter reactions are helpful, but I would still like an outlet in written form. If what I say offends anyone, well, that's too bad, don't read me anymore. I am not driven by hate but by dismay at what Europe is coming to. I know I'm not a bigot - it's hard to be one when you've lived in such a diverse city as London and got to know many people from different ethnic and cultural backgrounds, all different and all individual. So if anyone thinks I am one, I actually don't care because they are wrong. I just think Germany's "open door" policy - admitting anyone claiming to be Syrian, with no background checks - in response to the tragedy in Syria was a terrible decision that has had an awful impact on the whole of Western Europe. I am not against the idea of admitting refugees per se - it's hard not to feel sorry for anyone in that situation - but they have gone about it in a very dangerous way, which seems more about injecting large volumes of working-age men into the labour market than helping the weakest.

The people that I used to align myself with ideologically - feminists, liberals, the Left - have utterly disgusted me in their response to the attacks. Expecting them to condemn a mass assault on innocent women in a straightforward manner, without further political posturing and virtue signalling, was clearly asking too much. I've read a lot of articles about the event in the Guardian, Independent and feminist web pages where the authors clearly feel unable to simply acknowledge that women have suffered and extend compassion. As women have suffered in the Middle East, so now are they suffering here. Yet the online feminist commentators make feeble gestures at condemning generalised "male violence" that must be instantly followed up with assertions that it happens everywhere. Many of the women who day in, day out condemn "rape culture" in the West are strangely silent. Today the Everyday Sexism page on Facebook has a feature about...sexism in Star Wars. Columnists like Penny and Hinscliff make me not want to be a liberal or a feminist any more. I wouldn't call myself right-wing and have never even voted Tory, but I simply cannot align myself with these people now.

It's true, rape happens everywhere (a fact so self-evident, post-Savile, that it's amazing that anyone feels compelled to state it). But 1,000 men setting on women in impunity in a public place in Europe as the police look on powerlessly, then try and pretend it never happened, is new to me. The mayoress of Cologne tells women to remain "at arm's length" from men, and to avoid looking too cheerful, and the Viennese police chief warns women not to go out on their own. Chancellor Merkel says now it's time to get tough; immigrant men must be deported if they offend "time and again". Yet no-one has yet been convicted and it's hard to pin an offence on any one man in this kind of mass attack. Some of those women may find it hard to have a "Happy New Year" again, as they may always remember that night in 2015. But who cares? We've got to protect Schengen, right?

At times like this, I am actually slightly glad I am transgender because I don't know how I would cope as a female-bodied person if I were trying to just live life as an ordinary woman. A century of feminism seems to have achieved nothing when it comes to the crunch. Liberal politicians pay lip service to women's rights as long as they don't contradict the rights of another group. Yet as soon as they do, we see that women are still at the bottom of the pile in society. Literally everyone comes before them. It is fine to sacrifice them on the altar of a borderless Europe, in pursuit of the multicultural dream. They are just meat to our globalist leaders in Western Europe. They are an absence, a hole, not even real people. I'd suspected it previously and now my fears have been confirmed.

I had been thinking about visiting Leipzig this year for a holiday as Jack is keen to go to the Gothic Pogo festival. But now I'm not so sure. I think I'd rather go somewhere nice. It's not that I would personally feel unsafe, but I don't want to encourage the country down the route it's going and there are plenty of less rich countries that could do with the tourism money.

I've done a side-project, Marcel Wave! Going solo this time. Synthesizers, vocals and bassoon all by me, with a bit of guest sax on one of the tracks by Jack.

I've only put four tracks up but have an album's worth. I might try and get a vinyl release at some point so I haven't put all the music online yet.

Less than two weeks until we move out of House of Fail! I'm so glad to be moving out of Walthamstow. I don't like to slag it off too much on The Other Place as I know people who are stuck there, but I will be pleased not to live there any more. It's not as rough as a lot of places I've lived, but it's pretty inconvenient and not really that nice. It does have some features that are popular with people who would like to live in Stoke Newington but can't afford to, however they're not really things I'm interested in - the park gives me hayfever and I'm not that into "gentrified" fambly pubs that charge £4.50 for a pint of cider. The old Edwardian worker housing looks quaint but is pretty much unliveable unless you are actually an Edwardian factory worker.

Will Leyton be better? Well, it'll be closer to Stratford Westfield, and it'll be a whole house with its own garden, so that's something. It's also cheap and very near the tube station, as well as in cycling distance of the places we want to go (Walthamstow is just that bit too far from everything if you are a person-about-town).

We had such a nice time in the North this weekend though. We went to scummoth's fun party, which had a Louis XIV/Joan Crawford theme. Many alarming aspics were served, as well as more appealing foods including a Special Brew cake with Bailey's icing. There was also a party game, a version of pin the tail on the donkey involving a drawing of Louis XIV and some sores. I did all right but did not win. I did not incur any of the terrible penalties either, although Jack got an orange jam tart crushed into him for allegedly cheating. In fact I was confused by the orange jam tarts, as surely that is just a marmalade tart? Anyway, fun times abounded.

We found our room at the Holiday Inn on the comically named Blonk Street to be very comfortable, in a businesslike way. It overlooked the river and had a choice of pillows, soft and firm, which were tied together in pairs with denim belts like fat little men. The shower was lovely and forceful, and the bed was very comfy.

The following day we went to the Peak District and sat on a hill admiring the rocks and sheep, before consuming a picnic. Jack was very impressed at how quickly you can get to the countryside from the city centre, and said he wouldn't mind living somewhere like that at some point. On the drive back, we went through Derbyshire, and found the scenery in Matlock especially beautiful, with soot-blackened stone houses and a huge, wooded cliff face towering over the whole town.

Last night saw some entertainment I never expected to witness - a Visage concert at a small-ish venue called Hoxton Bar and Kitchen! Even in the 80s they didn't really play as a live band, and all those years ago when I listened repeatedly to "Fade to Grey" on a compilation cassette I bought from a second-hand book and record shop in Montpellier, I never thought they would reform, let alone that I would see them in action. The line-up has changed rather - Rusty Egan is no longer involved, and in fact there is acrimony between him and Steve Strange over the reformation. However, the drummer who replaced him was extremely able. There is also a new synth player, a relatively young man called Logan Skye, who in fact used to be in a really good band called Riviera F that were produced by Nick Rhodes.

They played many old favourites - the best was The Anvil - and material from the new album. I appreciated the visuals that were projected behind the band, including new and old studio pics of Steve trowelled in make-up, as well as video clips from his fabulous 80s heyday. The new songs are pretty good, better than I had hoped for really. They still sound like Visage, and haven't just tried to jump on any recent musical bandwagons. It's better than the Human League or Duran's latest offerings, in my opinion. The musicians all performed really well, as did Lauren Duvall, a Welsh lady who was providing extra vocals alongside Steve. Steve was a bit shaky but was a good entertainer, engaging the audience with some slightly shambolic chat between the numbers. Halfway through, the two singers went off-stage to get changed (just as well as they were initially wearing army camouflage, no idea why), and returned in more formal wear for the final numbers. During the interval, the musicians remained on stage and played The Dancer, a song they had been expressly forbidden from playing by Rusty, or "Crusty Rusty" as Steve called him in retaliation for Rusty's negative comments on the interweb. It's a shame they can't all get on but it was still a good night. I wonder what Ronny thinks about it all!

Funnily enough, today my band received a glowing review on a French blog comparing us to Visage! Or rather, they said we showed the traces of bands like Visage, but added enough originality to be appealing rather than just sounding "80s". I think this is the nicest review we have had, and it gets extra points for using one of my favourite French turns of phrase, "sombrer dans les poncifs" ("descending into clichés" - which it said we DON'T do, by the way! *loll*). It didn't lump us in with coldwave/minimal wave/goth lot, which I appreciated - although I do like some of those bands, we are not really like them. The article is here if anyone cares to read it, although it is in French. Plus it picked up on the whole poncing-about-in-the-face-of-the-crisis thing, which is quite a big part of the A Terrible Splendour approach, and pop culture in general in fact.

It's been nice to get out of Walthamstow for the last couple of weekends. The weekend before last was a long one, as we went to the house of our friend Gemma's parents in the New Forest. The parents were on holiday so we their large country home was available for us to enjoy, along with its two pleasingly stuffy British shorthair cats (one blue and one blue and cream), velvety red Rex rabbit, and a number of hens. Zara and her boyfriend Steven came too.

It was not an area that I had ever visited (Lydney near Gloucester) but I thought it was quite nice. On the first day we visited Over Farm, where we saw pigs, small horses and ostriches. The farm shop was amazing, with about ten types of Scotch egg, a wide range of fudge and other delicacies. We then visited Gloucester, with highlights including a Beatrix Potter shop-cum-museum. She was a local person and much is still made of the story the Tailor of Gloucester (a story in which an overworked tailor's work is done at night by mice). It was the subject of a coin-operated display at the shop, and there is also a clock in the shopping centre which comes alive with cat and mouse figures on the hour, every hour. I bought a tin containing a mug decorated with scenes from my favourite Beatrix Potter book, Tom Kitten, and a window sticker showing the iconic image of the rotund feline bursting out of his ill-fitting suit.

The cathedral was nice too, very ornate and Gothic-looking, with beautiful stained glass windows. The garden had curious art installations on the theme of prehistory, including a huge trilobite-type creature all made of wool.

The following day we went to Puzzlewood Farm and saw a huge Gloucester Old Spot pig called Lulu, pygmy goats and various fowl. We walked around its forest maze for a while (it wasn't a very hard maze). Then we crossed the border with Wales into a place called Penallt, and went to a nice pub called the Boat Inn. We had a drink from their bewildering array of ciders, although Zara was disappointed in her quest to get one that was sweet and 'like Kopparberg'. I had one called Welsh warrior that was quite mellow but pretty strong. We then went for a walk along the River Wye, before returning to the pub and eating some extremely satisfying pub food, which consisted largely of oven-baked cheese in various permutations. I was sat on by the pub cat, a friendly tabby called Mig, which was 20 years old yet looked like it had barely emerged from kittenhood. It was good to finally see Wales as I have many forefathers from there but never got round to going.

Last weekend was Delaney and Gemma's wedding (a different Gemma - also, neither are anything to do with my old flatmate Gemma, confusingly). Del is Jack's friend and former bandmate from Savage Furs. It took place at a mansion called Rushton Hall, near Kettering in Northamptonshire. The venue was lovely, huge and sumptuously decorated. It also has guest rooms so we stayed overnight there in a lovely room that used to be part of a cottage attached to the hall. Apparently the cottage is so old, it featured in the Domesday book and was built circa 1000! Yet it had all mod cons and was nicely decorated and very comfortable. I would have liked to have stayed longer.

The wedding had a kind of 80s Miami Vice theme (their honeymoon destination is Miami in fact). There were various neon lights and flamingo statues about the place, and music from Miami Vice was played during the ceremony. Relatives of the happy couple recited lyrics from Somebody by Depeche Mode and Heartbeat by Psychedelic Furs! I have never met anyone so committed to upholding the 80s aesthetic as Del, and I include myself in that, which is saying something.

They both seemed to really radiate happiness. It was actually slightly weird seeing people that happy. The reception afterwards was very well catered for. Each place setting had a pair of sunglasses customised with the logo 'LOVE IS COOL!' in a jagged 80s font on the arms, and there were exotic flowers and neon signs saying 'Love' on every table. The food throughout the day was delicious, but I sadly ate too much and ended up being quite sick that night. I didn't even eat huge quantities but I think I have become unaccustomed to eating quite so much meat.

At night there was a disco set up in the hall's cellars, with copious amounts of 80s tunes and screens around the walls playing a montage of Del's favourite 80's films. Del and Gemma had their first dance to Purple Rain by Prince, and then there was lots of prancing about. The couple's family and friends all seemed nice although none of them were like Del and Gemma at all, just seemingly normal Kettering folk.

The next day we explored Kettering a bit and it was better than everyone said. It was pleasingly quiet, with few people on the streets, and the shops were not bad. There was one shop called QS which was like a sort of latter-day Woolworths. I bought lots of kitty treats and black and red collars with bells and bows on, made of PVC (?!!) for very little money. I also got two pairs of stripy trousers for £30 from a local shop called Internacionale, which we don't have in London. There was in interesting-looking shop called Retro Shack that had loads of 80s stuff in the window, including a Tron annual, but sadly it was shut.

The only downside was getting home and seeing the usual vile and unsolicited photos of myself put up on Facebook by relative strangers. I hate this phenomenon so much I have deactivated my Facebook for a bit, at least until the whole MY UNFLATTERING PHOTOS LET ME SHOWZ YOU THEM post-wedding frenzy blows over. People don't understand but I am genuinely driven to thoughts of plastic surgery when I see bad pictures of myself. I have even approached a few clinics recently. Most people like being photographed and are flattered by the attention, but I hate it so much I always flinch from the camera, try to turn my head away. And that makes my face look even worse as I always get caught at some weird angle.

I think I could tolerate my face better if I wasn't continually presented with evidence of it from terrible angles. But people seem to have an insatiable appetite for bad photos of themselves and others, and a need to smear them over the internet. It feels like it almost doesn't matter what I look like in real life, for in the virtual world where people spend so much time, the bad digital photo has replaced life. I am some ideological reservations about plastic surgery, not to mention the cost and risks involved, but it has gotten so bad now that I can't enjoy a night out at a club, friend's house or even a country walk without someone busting out their hand-held twit machine (© Dan Ashcroft) and producing, then circulating, a picture that makes me want to hurt myself. I spend a lot of time at social gatherings worrying about it and trying to avoid the cameras.

I really don't mind if people ask me first, and let me see the photo before uploading it - I think that's basic courtesy and most people who are genuine mates (which includes everyone reading this post by the way) understand that and are fine with it. It's nice to have a photo memory of a good night, if it's a half-way decent picture. But the bad pics make me not want to go out in public again.

At least my tailor-made suit turned out all right. It is light yet warm, being made of wool cloth, and has all the pockets and gentlemanly details (button hole, buttons for braces etc.) I specified. It is very structured yet quite comfy. I think I will be able to wear it for many occasions.

I found time to squeeze a video for A Terrible Splendour into my tight schedule of complaining, eating Euro chocolate and crouching in corners hissing. It is inspired by the film 'Victim' starring Dirk Bogarde. Hope you like.

MES LASERS, LAISSEZ-MOI SHOW U THEM.

Look through the photo gallery using the left and right arrow buttons and the bottom of the screen, and you will see why I now quite want to go and live in Cergy-Pontoise.

I had a largely good weekend, during which I received a visit from Jack, who was keen to escape the drilling and dizzying paint fumes in his office in London for a few days. On Friday we went on the train to Topsham, to do a circular walk from that station down into the town, along the waterfront and round past the bird hide. The weather was drizzly but not too cold, and it turned out to be quite a lovely day in other ways. We went to a charity shop where I scored Wild Boy, Andy Taylor's autobiography, for just £1.50. Then we went to a big antiques centre on the quay. It was three storeys tall and full of interesting items, many of which were not too dear. I couldn't resist buying a large white stuffed cat with a grave expression, which I saw sitting in a little wooden toy cart. He is 17 years old and oddly lifelike. I have called him Hilary.

I was keen to show Jack the wigeons and other waterfowl I had spotted the other day with Mrs Lyle. Upon entering the bird hide, we were surprised to find the BBC Autumnwatch crew inside! They were filming the arrival of avocets from Holland. They were all very nice and let us look through their telescopes, which was awesome as I was able to see not only the smart black and white avocets, but also lapwings, curlews, wigeons and egrets up really close! Apparently the programme is airing on BBC2 this Thursday so I will have a look at that.

After all that excitement we needed a drink, so we went to the Lighter Inn by the quay and enjoyed some sandwiches, crisps, cider and ale. By the time we got back it was dark and throwing it down with rain, so we had a cosy evening in watching films. No attempts were made during the weekend to sample Exeter's nightlife, as I couldn't see anything going on (except for an 80s new wave night at the Cavern that I didn't see until it was too late).

On Saturday Mrs Lyle was enlisted to take us to Budleigh beach, where we went round the charity shops and bought quite a few items, including some small shot glasses and a sake set. We then walked along the windswept beach and had a cream tea at a place called Tea and Tittle Tattle that felt like a middle-aged lady's front room. The scones were clearly home-made and were delicious, with a crumbly, cakey texture. There was also plenty of cream, which isn't always the case in these places.

On Sunday we went on the train to Dawlish, where we harrassed for bits of pasty by the most aggressive seagulls I have ever met. I threw bread for the black swans and even fed some lovely Muscovy ducks by hand. Jack stood and watched at a safe distance. What nice birds they are, the way they amble along looking stately and slightly disapproving with their bright red wattles is quite engaging. The walk along the pier was quite exhilarating, dodging the waves crashing over the sea wall. I'd have liked to have stayed longer but the weather was just so cold, and it was nice to go home and eat Quorn cottage pie and then apple pie and cream (2 pies in one meal! Score!).

Today Jack went back to London and I worked on a translation all about tea and project management. I do not like the project management jargon but the descriptions of tea are nice.

The weekend saw me undertake some largely pointless flat viewings. On Friday night I went to look at a room in Brockley only to find the guy was the father of a two-year-old child whose girlfriend was in the process of leaving him, hence his need to rent her room out. The next place I looked at was OK, on the Saturday. It was in a nice modern private block in Dalston, an area that isn't that pleasant in all honesty but is very convenient and near a lot of people I know. The room was a bit small and opened directly onto the living room though.

On Sunday I went to Brockley again but the room in one place was too small, and the other place overlooked a main road and roundabout and, what's more, the flatmate I was said she had pretty already found someone and was waiting for the other flatmate to meet that person to see if she liked her. So that was kind of a waste of time, and I lost my favourite brooch during my fruitless wanderings. It must have fallen off my jacket at some point.

I've decided to concentrate only on North or East London now because it would be easier to get to clubs and back from those places. And it's easier to get there for viewings too! This week I have three lined up. One of the places apparently has a cat and two kittens in residence, so if it's decent and the flatmates are OK, that could swing it! I'm hoping that the places won't have gone by the time I get to see them on Thursday - I can't see them before because I have band practice on Tuesday and Wednesday.

Which brings me to news of A Terrible Splendour's upcoming gig at Dark Mills. I am not expecting it to be well attended as we are opening the band stage at the early time of 11.20 am. The festival goes on for two days over the weekend of 4th and 5th, and although quite a lot of the bands aren't to my liking, it does seem to have some interesting highlights, such as screenings of David Bowie's first ever film, and Alien. Apparently there will be talks too, including the guy who did the special effects on Hellraiser, and Barbie Wilde who worked with Tik and Tok and was also a Cenobite in that film (bit of a theme emerging here). If any of you could rouse yourselves out of bed to make me look popular, I'd be most grateful.

At least the weekend also involved a nice dinner at Martin and Anna's - a lovely cheese and onion tart washed down with an obscure French artisan cola called 'Rième Cola' and Wray and Nephew's 63% proof rum from an elderly Jamaican patient of Martin's - and a bit of disco dancing at Bedsitland. I also watched some DVDs including Beat Street, a grittier and in some ways better version of Breakdance featuring Rock Steady Crew, Melle Mel, Afrika Bambataa and a host of less well-known 80s electro/hip-hop types. The dancing and costumes were amazing, better than Breakdance. Jack also gave me homemade Quorn mince chilli and corn bread, and a nice vegetable curry. Sam-Tom, he must eat well, or he will be in a foul temper.