I was going to arrange to go see Dude! Zombie Pirates! tonight with Thomas, but I left my phone at home. What a doofus. I don’t know how the world managed without mobiles, I feel quite useless. I may end up going to the cinema on my own, which is ridiculous when you have friends, but that’s how it goes. I really, really want to see this movie. I got all excited when the WBDG was wondering about cinema times the other day, but she actually wanted to see Goodbye! Lenin, which has no pirates at all. Stupid no-pirates film.

Blip. Back on. Sorry about that. I think I interrupted Blogger doing something clever.

Apparently, I miss the point of weblogs on a regular basis. I was not aware of this.

Can anyone recommend a comments script which I don’t have to have an advanced degree in being a geek to run? Also that I don’t have to translate from the English from the German? That would be nice. All I want is some interaction!

Jesus, the amount of people doing these things, anyone would think that the everyday running of a weblog would be easy. I don’t get php, okay? I don’t speak computer. Computers are not objects of fear for me, they’re just.. arcane. Like plumbing. I can get on with them quite happily, unblock the metaphorical plugholes and probably work out where that clang noise comes from at exactly 1.09 am every day, but I can’t replace the goddamn pipes or fix the boiler. And people think I’m a geek. They really do. The fools. I know nothing.

Well. Anyway. Back to the weather. The air itself was hot, the actual breeze through the window of a car going at 75 was hot, like being in front of a hairdryer or a very tired dragon. And I got the short trousers (my calves are saucily exposed as I type) and sandals, though they’re a size too big for my tiny feet. Never mind, though, they’re only sandals. I’d probably go on about other things now, if I could remember. Like, ooh, getting ready to start writing again, and wanting to see Dude! Zombie pirates! so badly it’s almost physically painful. Almost. Okay, so those geek threats might be a bit true. But not very.

You see, my point is that I’d like it to be worth your while coming to this site. You know? Further news: hotter again. Am northern-european pallid type, not built for this. May have to buy short trousers and sandals, then kill me.

Woo! It’s hot! But you knew that, unless you’re not in the UK, in which case: woo! It’s hot! So hot, I had a shower with an ice-cube made of shower gel this morning. It doesn’t get much hotter than that. As a final word: pimpmobile.

Have you missed me? I’m wondering what to do with this thing. I mean, what is the purpose of a weblog, anyway? Who cares about my shit? I mean, that doesn’t already know? So perhaps I should modify what I’m doing here. I was thinking maybe a weekly update not necessarily a diary, just writing, but who gives a rat’s ass about what I write? This engenders a real crisis of intent.. Why do this at all? No-one cares. Having said that, no-one cared before, so why not do what the hell I like and fuck perception? Hmm. More later.

Well, I saw Rob Zombie’s directorial debut, House of a Thousand Corpses. It’s a sort of not-very postmodern mish-mash of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and Herschell Gordon Lewis, and if you don’t know what i mean, lucky you. It does what it does with style and is very effective, but what it’s doing is by definition naff, it’s not brilliant. Doctor Satan is also an out of place stab at a franchise monster stuffed into the last reel. This jars badly and rather spoils the gory joie de vivre of what’s gone before. And they got the name of one of the characters wrong on the promotional cocktail. D’oh.

It would appear that escalator bannisters move slightly faster than the stairs. This means your hand gets to the top before the rest of you.

Signal failure at Finchley Road means I’m stuck just after Kilburn. My Wonderful But Demanding Girlfriend is here with me… Say hello, WBDG.. “Hello minions!” Well. Yes, that was about right. Like a chirpy Darth Vader. Only less leather. Leathery. Apparently. God, I have an editor.