Love In The Time Of Bird Flu

Well, that was a rather splendid Stay Beautiful, I thought. A real party atmosphere to it, our two rare visitors from the Celtic fringe, the 'SB's Greatest Hits' playlist which was almost too much (in the manner of Club Popular for Manics fans, pretty much). And, of course, Paul St Paul & the Apostles. Now I'm not sure they're something I'd listen to at home (I have a deep ambivalence towards disco, it's a long and not particularly interesting story but suffice to say, this is one of the rare cases where I accept that it's just a disconnect between me and a style, not any fault in the style itself) but they really know how to put on a show. And I do mean show; I didn't catch all the details but they give the impression that they're starring in the stage musical version of their own career, which is clearly ace. An ideal get-the-party-started band, too. So it's just a shame that for some reason I was too tired to get the best out of all this and had to leave before the end. Still, I slept the sleep of a dead, just log once I got home.

I don't think it was the Tube Walk earlier which had tired me, since it wasn't a particularly long one (fnarr fnarr) and even by our standards it was a leisurely (some might say shambolic) progress. Still, I suppose we did inadvertently sneak in the back of the National Blood Service, find an ace abandoned asylum complex and then pass the Centre For Infection (which would be sinister enough even if it couldn't also be fairly called the Great Pyramid of Colindale), so who knows what exotic lurgies my system is currently fighting off? Burnt Oak/Colindale/Edgware is a desolate, deflated sort of place, combining aspects of suburbia and the poorer London high streets; I don't think I'll be going back there in a hurry. Well, except maybe for the abandoned asylum.

Grenada, I salute you.