We're going to see Interpol tonight at Brixton Academy. I can barely be bothered to go. I'm sure they'll be good but I'd rather sit on the sofa and watch Doctor Who. What's happening to me? Am I finally old and dull? Still, it is good to get out and away from the continuous nauseating coverage of the Pope's funeral. Am I alone in not caring? There'll be another Pope along soon. He too will be homophobic, misogynistic and propagate the myth that condoms are little rubbery passports to hell, thus causing thousands more deaths in Africa. The whole thing makes me sick. But Polly Toynbee puts it a lot better than I can in The Guardian.

Talking of things that make me sick, there's a royal wedding today. Now, I have nothing againt Camilla, apart from the hunting, and it irritates me that so many people stand in judgement against her because they thought the adulterous, attention-seeking Diana was such a bloody saint, but that "I wish I was your tampon" thing was pretty gross, wasn't it? It's also the Grand National today - like the Royal Family, another out-dated institution that should be consigned to the knacker's yard of history, just like the poor horses who will fall and break their legs in the name of entertainment this afternoon. I have an affinity with creatures that break their legs, but at least no-one was calling for me to be put down after my fall. At least, I hope not.

Okay, that's my spleen vented for today. Perhaps I should have called this new blog 'Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells'.