Days like today make me want Out. I’m a city kid, but today, I want nothing more than to drive down country lanes with summer music playing very loud, stop to buy cold drinks and picnic food in a village in the middle of nowhere, and watch the sun set from the top of a hill with a summer breeze in my hair. I need to get away from humans, and just relax away from anything that means anything. Just forget all those little, trivial things, and remind myself of what’s really important.

The best I can do is go and eat ice-cream down by the Thames in Putney. Whatever it was I did in my former life, I’m sorry.

Before the new toy, though, the weekend.

Fucking brilliant is almost close, I suppose. Finished off a column that I’m actually pretty pleased with, one that’s spitting bile and hate, even by my standards. Look for it on Friday at Ninth Art. Then Saturday evening, it was off to Uptight. I don’t know if I’ve ever enjoyed a club as much. I used to love The Mission in Edinburgh, but even that wasn’t quite the right music for me. I certainly spent as much (total) time on the dancefloor as I have at any club I’ve ever been to, barring one night at Rock Raider, when I was 17 and had much, much more energy than I do today. Given how hard it is to get me on the dancefloor, this is a serious achievement. They didn’t play every act I’d been looking forward to on the playlist, but that’s just an excuse to go again, in my book.

Sunday I spent mooching about Richmond with Andrew and Andrea. A lovely, relaxed day with fine food, excellent views and good company, although between all the exercise yesterday and the dancing on Saturday, I am now in several kinds of agony. More reasons to get in shape, right there.

Apparently, my friends think I’m a miserable bastard. In a good way, presumably, because these people are my friends. But I remain confused by this. I’ve been confused by it for years, although it’s been some time since I was accused of it. Perhaps people have just given up telling me I’m a miserable bastard. I doesn’t really bother me, although it used to. I just find it amusing that one group of people can ask me if I ever stop smiling (not often, apparently), while another can accuse me of a miserable bastard.

Because, y’know, I think I’m generally quite cheerful. I laugh at the world. It’s a ridiculous and lunatic place, and I love it as much as I hate it.

Like I say, I’m just amused that people think me a miserable bastard. Unpleasant and cynical, I could buy. Slightly neurotic lately, true. But miserable always leaves me faintly confused.

I swear, I will never understand you humans.

Apparently, I am “disgustingly lucid” this morning, according to my co-workers. Mind you, this may have something to do with the fact they they were out on the town last night, while I only had two drinks, a lot of water, and a rather nice dinner last night. Yeah, I’m feeling chirpy. This is quite unnatural for me.