See that? That's a flyer. For a night. What it is, is I shall do a PA, which means rapping a few songs minus The Women, and DJing. i AM PRETTY CRAP AT djING, BUT i PLAY ACE RECORDS. Over the top of my DJing, some of my rap-ist friends will, um, rap. Yes son!

More on this subject later.

So, happy July, as a hot pink thing noted the other night. I have been on holiday, in Greenwich, which I am told is in London, but feels rather like a cross between the gay bit of the Lower east side of Manhattan and Ghent in Belgium. Ask me not why. I am rather taken with with the place - today the hot pink thing took me to its park (it had a bandstand in it! With a band in it! A Proper band like wot Sinatra had! Zing!) AND its Cutty Sark, which is the actual Cutty Sark built without the aid of power drills back in the 1800s, and yes, it is very big, and yes, I want one. Modern boats suck ass.

So, I got back to Stoke Newington, which was in itself eventful - I witnessed a bald red headed Englisher fresh back from the world cup befriending a German student, forsooth:

"Fackin expensive, tragedy really, fackin Rooney, but you lot were amazing 'osts, fackin amazing, we've got our istory, but fack it, water under the bridge. We lost, but I ad a brilliant time thanks to you lot. You love your sausages! Fackin crazy fackers. Fackin sausages as big as my arm, and the bread as big as a baby's! Yes, I lav you my friend. Fackin expensive though, fack!"

And so on. Anyway, I got back, and it seemed as though it were not a Sunday in sleepy Stokey at all, for the streets were awash with noisy jubilance! The nice Turkish man with the sad eyes in my corner shop (and yes, it is on a corner) informed me there had been a festival in Stoke Newington today, and the revelers had cleaned him out of beer and soft drinks. Fortunately, there were still plenty of 1.5 litre bottles of that 50p water I like so well. BOETH YN FAMA!

I would like to take this opportunity to welcome a new Whewell into the world. I believe her to be 13 hours and a few minutes old now. This is quite amazing to me, this birth business, even though it is as old as humanity itself, and I don't care whether you think it was the chicken, or the egg that did it. All I know is there is wet pink sack of blood and bones and raw humanity somewhere in Brighton, and it could probably do just about anything at all.

Which is fucking NUTS, spa.


PPS - It is so boeth in my flat that Zef and I just witnessed a little bit of of cotton floating about on top of all the air. It is currently an inch off the ceiling. BOETH!