First one to scarper's an atomic ponce!

They were actually checking tickets at Finny P station this morning; it slowed things down so badly that I initially assumed the station was closed. Oh, and while we're on the topic, the ruddy peons have gone and closed the Wells Terrace cash machines! I am not best impressed.

Let's be frank, I only went to the Abigail Hopkins show because she has ksta on cello. But I did rather enjoy it. Initially, I felt the voice (not unlike that of Jefferson Airplane's Grace Slick) was better than the material, and she's be great if only Nick Cave would write something for her. But the last two songs, once she stopped doing love and got on to rarer topics like bees and sailors, they were a lot better. And it wasn't until after that I found out why there were so many photographers for a small gig - she's only bloody Sir Anthony Hopkins' daughter, isn't she?
The act after her caused hospitalsoup and I to turn to each other and simultaneously say "Stereophonics!", and we felt that a quiet pub would be a better venue to continue with the evening's main attraction - merciless mockery of poor souls who really didn't deserve it, and of beingjdc who blatantly does.

If you've ever felt that an increasing proportion of the UK's population are b@st@rds, it has now been proven by Science.

I know almost nothing of the work of Buster Keaton; if I were to start with one of Three Ages, College and Steamboat Bill Jr, which should it be?

Have I mentioned recently that I really want a direwolf? Well, I really want a direwolf.