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2002-02-04 - 3:45 p.m.

�So you wanted�to take a break�slow it down some and have some space��

I don�t know why I ever let myself get talked into going out in the shit-spewing epicentre of the corpulent, overpriced arse of the West End that is Covent Garden. Suffice to say, at midnight on Friday I was having to auction off internal organs just to afford another pint of flat beer that contained a larger percentage of water than the bottled water did. As I walked in to order my first pint, I assumed I�d mistakenly asked to become a major shareholder in the brewery, but apparently some places have no embarrassment about charging prices on a par with fuel budgets for remedial space exploration. The soundtrack to this possible nadir of my existence was provided by an otherwise good looking covers band who, for some reason (perhaps as a living sacrifice to the gods of snow-washed denim) had a repulsive, fat old knacker in, um, snow washed denim, as a lead singer. His motivational technique for getting people to dance to his ridiculous rockstar posturing was to shout the phrase �Get off your arse!� whilst pointing frenziedly, like he was going to authorise security to release the hounds if you didn�t get up and move immediately. He did point at me whilst hoarsely bellowing �A Design for Life� by the Manics with, might I add, no hint of irony, but I feigned being a foreign national and kept my head down.

At one point (a U2 cover, I�m pretty sure) he started to stand on his monitor and reach out, Messiah-like, to allow female members of the audience a chance to touch his clammy, badly-tattooed, slab-like hands. Astonishingly, some of them did - I can only assume that they were paid to endure this public humiliation beforehand by the management. The alternative is too scary to contemplate.

�I wish I hadn�t bought you dinner�right before you dumped me on your front porch��

I should have made my escape, of course, possibly pausing only to instigate a major incident of arson, but it was with workmates. And they�re all perfectly nice, normal people and you want to show them that you�re normal too and not some sullen temp who just nobs off at the first sign of having to socialise. But I should have spoken up and said let�s not go because afterwards we�ll all feel that we�ve just been with a scarily unaffordable prostitute who in the end just beat the crap out of us and took all our money and spent it on having the really good time that we could have had.

Yesterday I watched �The Remains of the Day� AND �Gosford Park�, so by the evening I was butlered and footmaided half to death. ROTD is a classic, of course. I love when Emma Thompson is in tearful, passionate hysterics and emotionally crippled Anthony Hopkins comes in and says something about one of the marble alcoves needing to be dusted. GP was also very tasty, with the ensemble cast of the year, except for Kelly �famous for getting my tits out in Trainspotting but should really stick to deodorant commercials� MacDonald. She has the Paltrow range of facial expressions � �blank� or �whimper�. One thing is abundantly clear though � I must have serving staff with all due haste.

�Well fuck you too! Give me my money back! Give me my money back and don�t forget and don�t forget��

whatever and ever

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