Sunday Night

Listening to the late play on Radio 3, which is probably the best thing about Sunday - most people don't even know anything about it - but there have been some corkers over the last couple of years - tonights is about the Victorian Seance community.

Anyway. To my astonishment - I made about £80 selling old clothes through the Vintage Apparel Pop Up Shop in the Old Town, and it was all the really crap stuff that sold... They do say that if you don't wear something for a year - get rid... I've just done the same with stuff I've not worn for... well... 10 years.

Worked all day, very hard - but as it's actually Sunday, the work seemed to come really slowly. Still have a bit more to do, and working in Brighton tomorrow. I get paid on Friday and I have a stack of bills that need paying, I also need to procure £50 on Tuesday to buy a bike from one of my students - it's just that little bit bigger than mine and far more suitable for my height - and I can flog the one I have, which is Claude Butler and worth quite a lot. I'll be a lot happier on a bigger bike. Loads of money due now - quite a few invoices out and they will pay off all my bills and a big chunk of the revenue bill - at least half.

I've been avoiding the news and the papers all weekend, too bloody grim. The web is full of people eulogising Winehouse and pictures of fools who think it's appropriate to leave bottles of vodka outside her house as a tribute... I wonder if they leave them outside the houses of kids killed by drunk drivers. I used to have a real bee in my bonnet about street tributes in Liverpool, you know the sort of thing, giant fake floral tributes on lamposts to commemorate the spot here some fuck-wit drove a stolen car into a wall at 90mph with 2 teenage girls in the back, or similar. They were always either in Red or Blue - and if there were 2 on the same street ( not unusual ) - the relatives would get into absurd tit-for-tat competitions to make the tributes bigger and more absurd than ever. They would usually carry this on to the grave and create absurd and garish mountains of tributes - and then complain to the local papers when the council ask for them to be removed.

In town ( which was packed with revelers enjoying the late afternoon sun ) I overhead a bloke say "so, the prostitutes in Poland are that much more expensive"? Later, while walking the dogs, I was rounded on and attacked by 5 or 6 seagulls - more aggressive and angry than I've ever seen them - came right down to within a couple of feet - even Alfie Greyhound was a bit unnerved by their boldness. Might have to get a hard hat for Clive Vale.