The Long Dark Thing Of The Whatever

Oh look, 2am, a time when all decent people should be tucked up in bed asleep. Not me. I am tormented by feelings of nausea occasioned by yet another surfeit of Sainsbury's "Taste The Difference" Luxury Mash. Tewkesbury mustard-flavoured this time, mash fans.

Do they really make mustard in Tewkesbury? Where *is* Tewkesbury anyway, and what makes its mustard any more luxurious than mustard from, say, Bourton on the Water? This is just a sample of the myriad pointless thoughts keeping me awake this evening. Not a very representative sample, but still. The world in a grain of sand, etc.

Mashed potato-related woe aside, today was A Good Day. Well actually, it was fucking awful, but in a good way. A splendid lunch was had (many thanks once again to cello for organising) with some Very Important People, including the nation's foremost grammar pedants and comedy writers.

Being such a highbrow convocation and all, not only were the salient issues of the day thrashed out, but the phrase "icy, rocambolesque pop-socks" also received its first - and probably only - outing. I'm not sure the world is ready for that kind of literature yet. Although they do sound like something a frost-covered robot angel might wear if it was trying on shoes in Clarks.

And finally, music-wise, it's time for a change of direction. If I hear one more crushingly beautiful sad song, I'll probably throw myself under the wheels of the E3 as it ploughs towards Greenford. So, any recommendations for happy, life-affirming stuff that will fill me with uncontrollable, soaring joy (not asking for too much here, am I?) will be received with heartfelt gratitude and appreciation. Thank you and good night.