'Pol-axed

Interpol were slick, professional and tight but never at any point threatened to spontaneously combust or do anything else spontaneous. There was no interaction with the crowd apart from a couple of thanks yous and one "thanks for coming out tonight". So I was underwhelmed. I could have sat at home and listened to their CDs.

Butter ran 15 miles today, her longest distance yet, and has retired to the boudoir to rest her legs. She smeared peppermint lotion on her feet which meant the rats kept trying to lick them. Aah, sweet. Not so sweet when they nip.

We played a fun game at work the other day - you had to guess the previous jobs other people in the office have done. Things like underwear model and handy person for the Adult Channel, whatever that involves. Not fluffing, I'm told. I've had some awful jobs in the past: child support officer was the worst; complaints handler for Connex a close second. But I've also been a broad bean picker, a cornflake checker (picking out the brown cornflakes on the conveyor belt), a Kleeeneze salesman (going door to door flogging buckets and cleaning liquids), a pickle maker, a pizza chef, a washer-up, a tyre stacker, a greengrocer and a jelly baby packer. I've suffered, man. And it wasn't even for my art.