Mr Sex Raps.

Once again there is no hot water in my so-called house. I went out last night, but at least I didn't smoke a bunch of cigarettes, so I am not too unfresh. I dropped by Rotters Golf Club yesterday to drop Keef Tenniswood some song parts, and him and that Andy Weatheral were making a psychobilly electronic BASS tune and it was sweet. Dunno where Keef's dog had got to, I meant to ask.

Luke took us to see Liars after that, who were very god good, but too quiet, and were followed by Queens Of Noise, who in turn played their records at ear slitting volume, with far too much treble, so we all had to flee the venue like plague rats in the sun, and Luke and Holly leaped aboard a bus and left me and R Money and co to investigate Rakehells', which I like, because everybody is nice and gives me drinks, and Cibelle plays lovely musics from the fourties and I dance a bit. I left my headphones there though, I am really bad at that.

Vague arf.

Ace record shop busted. I bought some of those things! I am glad I did! They bought me pleasure! Hip-hop continues to eat the world. HBO are taking Sly's Biggie biopic.

Riko.

We got the Games. Am I being too cynical about this? Is it wrong that it angers me that only fucking competitive sports will get the government to put any money into Hackney? Is this going to be another Dome situation? Can't we just buy our kids some fucking school books that aren't out of date?

Still, you know, the example, of sport, is good, right? I am fucking unfit you know. I feel like shit just sitting here.