knowing doesn't mean so much when placed against the feeling, the heat inside

What a strange, tiring week it's been. All the stranger for having the shower broken again and thus being obliged to take baths - something I don't think I've done with any regularity for a decade, or at all in about five years. I used to swim loads, but now the mere feeling of being immersed in water seems alien again. Or seemed, for the first couple of times. What adaptable creatures we are - hence our domination of the planet, and hence the crap we'll put up with. Hence the fact that people live near Elverson Road, which is where our last Tubewalk ended, in a proper Local Pub For Local People called The Graduate, (in such an area, one friend suggested, you'd pick such a name in much the same spirit as you might call a pub The Phoenix or The Red Dragon), where the computerised jukebox helpfully informs you that its most-played track is 'Duelling Banjos'. An odd area, Deptford - the beautiful streets and the desolation mixed in with an even smaller grain than is London standard. A little too insistent in its naming, too - Friendly Place and
Friendly Gardens? The latter being perhaps the only time I've ever seen a 'no horses' rule so flagrantly flouted in a small park.
What else? A porthole-warming for curiousbadger, a birthday for hoshuteki and a reflex attempt to give the Noble an LJ tag because it is one of our best friends these days. And Self Non Self, suicideally and chris_damage's new night, where they play all those great songs which clubs tend mysteriously to overlook, like Shellac's 'Prayer To God' and Fad Gadget's 'Collapsing New People' and The Cure once they started making whole worlds with sound instead of pop songs, and all that stuff like the Mary Chain and MBV which I wouldn't really listen to at home but makes for the sort of background noise which tells you you're in the right place.

I was just reading a transcript of a radio show about London's decline, about all the inappropriate housing developments replacing old buildings, and gentrification killing the spirit of the cafes and pubs, and the overcrowding and the decline of the buses. It was a John Betjeman talk from 1939, before the war (though he knew it was coming) which gave London even more to worry about. And yet since then London has had what, four, five more great ages? Sometimes I worry too much about this city; I should remember she can take it.

I know full well that Scarlet's Well made four albums before they started recruiting people I know to the live experience, and Dickon's exit from performing duties was long enough ago for me to acclimatise, but no Kate or Martin? Really?
I still love Scarlet's Well, obviously, because few bands have ever chimed so perfectly with my own little obsessions, but Bid really does need to stop drawing attention to his own minor mistakes when performing. The audience hasn't noticed until you say something, man!