Just bought (and am now using) a shiny new desktop PC. It’s the first time in half a decade that I’ve owned one, I suddenly realise. My last one shat itself and died shortly after I moved back from Edinburgh – since then my desktop PC use has been either at the office or other people’s computers, while I’ve had a laptop and a Mac.

I’ve decided to stop using a Mac as my home computer because I bought it with intent to use OS X and learn to do all sorts of sexy unix type things, which I haven’t done. No failing on the part of the Mac, I just find a PC more useful for my daily geekwork. Mind you, I may need to turn in my geek card – I’m using XP on this box. (Mostly because I’ve never used it, and want to learn to, just to keep current on all windows versions.)

Am acquiantance of mine recommended Flogging Molly. I’m listening to MP3s now, and have just ordered their CDs from Amazon (finally got my wishlist linked up again – buy me shiny things, go on). Weird blend of The Pogues and The Levellers, and absolutely ace.

So, I’m sitting here in room lit only by candles, listening to an invocation of the demon regent Asmodeus, when suddenly this roaring noise that’s not on the CD starts up. It sounds like some of the sound effects they layered behind Regan’s voice in in the exorcist – a dreadful, bass screaming, spiking to weird whining sounds…

It lasts exactly as long as the invocation, and it was a singularly weird experience. It took me a minute or two to realise that what it actually was – my upstairs neighbour drilling something. But he wasn’t drilling before, and hasn’t drilled since…

A walk in Streatham Cemetary. Yes, I know. Shut up.

There’s no-one famous buried there, which endears it to me all the more. Sure, Blake’s in Bunhill, and Marx is in Highgate, and there are famous dead people all over London, but their graves don’t mean anything much to me. But to walk in an anonymous cemetary, and see a husband and wife buried together, though they died nearly fifty years apart, that’s moving. A line of graves, all firefighters from the same unit, dead within two weeks of one another. A mother buried with her three week old son. These things get to me. These things need to be seen, just so someone knows that they happened. There’s no such thing as the unremarkable dead.

Dunno why I’m writing it here, to be honest. Just to say it in public, I guess – force myself to live up to it. So, this weekend, I have to:

1) Fix Ninth Art. (Trivial job, once I can actually do what I need to. It’s top of my list because I’ve got to do it ASAP.)

2) Finish the 2 BEATS SIDEWAYS pitch.

3) Write a few hundred words for the inside back cover of SIX STRINGS.

4) Work on the martial arts and sci-fi things.

5) Finish my next column for Ninth Art.

6) Watch Audition.

7) Watch Harry Potter.

Oh, and I’ve got a yoga class in there, too. Thank fuck I’m not doing anything this weekend.

I’ve given up trying to be clever with the titles for these. Here it is. As usual, I’m more interested in the magic than in the comics…

Which is a shame, because I’m really tempted by the Cafepress store here, selling Very Secret Diaries merchandise. Especially the “How I detest this life of vile servitude” and “Lawn Ornament” t-shirts.

One of the best things about our new office is the sandwich shop two minutes away that also makes fresh juices. I’m currently enjoying an apple, grapefruit and ginger drink, which is not only good for me, but tastes ace, too.

I’m just testing something.

That’s just unreal. Instead of the quiet night I had planned, I wound up doing a ritual of sorts. I try to do them when my flatmates are out anyway, just in case something seriously weird happens, as it has a few times. But tonight’s was just fantastic. Despite my comments a few weeks back about satori being hard to tell apart from mad bollocks, I really feel like I’ve come out of this with some serious insights, and by god, it feels unfeasibly good. Possibly life-changingly good. I’ll know better after I’ve had a few days to digest the events.