Sunday

The papers are beyond dull, indescribably dull and trivial.  Even the celebrity stories are people I've never heard of doing things I couldn't care less about, I'm not even motivated to smirk.

The arrest of the next door neighbour in the dead architect case will hopefully allow that one to fade away for a while. The Coulson crisis might rumble on, and a succession of faceless political personalities will just babble on mindlessly as usual. Apparently, according to several papers - things are really grim, which explains why satire is becoming more successful, but then - one of the same papers said that 'rel' stories are destroying fiction - by that - they mean that films like 127 Hours and The Social Newtork are 'bad'... and presumably "Little Fockers - Meet the Parents" is 'good'.

One thing I did read was an article by Rosie Millard - how to save money when 'doing up' you million pound South London house - apparently, one thing she did was have a 'cushion amnesty' - arranging an event in her local pub where everyone brought their 'out of season' cushions and swapped them..... Jesus wept - I don't think I live in the real world any more.

I had an 'off' day yesterday. I was really tired so I did nothing. I even had a sleep in the afternoon - I needed it. Last night I had a very odd dream about sharing a flat with a couple of people I don't know but getting involved with the design of a TV drama set in the 1980's - making sure all the details are accurate. We kept having arguments about exactly what Boy George was wearing on Wogan.