- I was captured and interrogated by Sir Norman Foster vis a vis my unrelenting quest to get to the truth;
- Adam moved out, taking his wireless router with him. Following this Becky (short haired girl...hails from Torquay...lives in Clapham...hangs around London Fields...cons unsuspecting French youths out of £300...if you know her, know that her name is now mud) didn't move in and my evenings have been one long replacement finding hassle, interspersed with escapes to the pub to avoid the dreaded housemate interviews which don't even affect me as I'm moving out soon anyway.
So I have generally been trying to stay clear of the internet.
But now I'm back (but you'll be glad to hear I'm nearing the end of Catch-22 and am spoilt for choice for what to read next).
Here are a couple of photos I took yesterday whilst wandering around Broadgate Tower and waiting for Emily to arrive so we could watch Half Nelson at Rich Mix and marvel at their mix and match animal wallpaper (probably the first wallpaper I've ever noticed since running my fingers up and down Nain's rough 'n' drab when I was little (and also ignoring the wallpaper on an external wall I noticed on Saturday whilst playing pool at the Elbow Rooms)).
The happiness guaranteed poster has accidentally been put up using non-transparent paste and that's why it looks like it's covered in semen. At least, I presume that's why it is. It does, now I think of it, compell the passer-by to 'love us'.
By the way if, like me, you use picassa on your PC but flickr online, you'll like this little utility.