(no subject)

Proof, if proof were needed, of great literature's improving effect: A Fairly Honourable Defeat's treatment of muddle and mess as a species of moral defect inspired me to a bit of a tidy. I'm not sure if going through six months' worth of receipts is a depressing experience for everyone, though it's undoubtedly a bore, but it is for me. Bread milk cheese comics bread milk cheese red wine bread milk cheese red wine teabags bread milk cheese red wine shampoo comics. I fear I'm rather too much a creature of habit.

As background for this tiresome experience, I had the television. Good lord but there's some right rubbish on there. A programme about Golden Wonder's battle with Walkers which had me all ready to scream "I am not jamesward, I am a free man". If, which seemed to have had its original Addressing The Issues remit tarnished by too much eagerness to emulate Orson Welles' Martian scare. And then a particularly depressing Newsnight on which I learned that India has a problem with Maoist guerillas. Maoists? In the 21st century? Even *China* isn't Maoist anymore! A Maoist reconstruction group I could understand, though it would be in slightly poor taste, but for real? What's worse, they're called Naxalites. Meaning that one of the few Asian Dub Foundation songs I still liked turns out to be an act of political naivete worthy of Primal Scream. I suppose I really should have guessed.

(no subject)

I have just had my first drink since Saturday night.

This is very possibly the longest I've been without alcohol since I moved to London.