On Friday I went to the Royal Institute Of British Architects. I didn’t realise that Regent’s Park Station is closed until June 2007, and this meant that I had to get off at Oxford Circus and walk back, because the event I was attending ended at 7pm on 15th September 2006. It would have been bad form to turn up at some point in June 2007 and try and explain that I was late because Regent’s Park Station was shut. “Why didn’t you go to Oxford Circus?” they’d ask, and I’d reply “Oh yeah, sorry, I’ve missed the free sandwiches, haven’t I, dammit.”

This particular show, or exhibition – or symposium, even – was showcasing various kinds of “smart materials”, which I was going to write about in the newspaper but it now turns out that I’m probably not going to after all. The exhibits included a dress which changes colour when you shake your bottom. It’s an interesting concept for a party, looking dowdy and grey while sitting in the corner, and like a firework display while you’re strutting your stuff. If anything, it should be the other way around – attracting potential partners with glamorous clothing while slumped at the bar, then drawing minimum attention to yourself while frugging away arhythmically to Big Country. Still, I’m no inventor, am I, that’s pretty obvious, so I’ll leave those kind of decisions to the experts.

Another interesting material was a pliable orange plastic which feels like very soft plasticene in the hand, but when you twat it with a hammer, it absorbs the impact and maintains its shape. They’ve been using this stuff in sports clothing and hats; the inventor demonstrated its astounding properties by putting on one of said hats and then smacking himself on the bonce with a mallet. After having sat through a series of tedious “product to marketplace” type speeches, this display of bravery proved to be a hit with the audience, and we carried him from the building shoulder high to a chariot on Portland Place which proceeded to smash into him at 40mph but caused him no apparent injury. I ordered 7 full body suits in case I ever have to play the part of Evel Knievel in a local amateur dramatic production of, er, “Evel Knievel”.

Back at home, Jenny had – in a rare moment of boredom – arranged the books on my bookcase into chromatic order, i.e. according to the colour of the spine. It’s not particularly useful reference-wise, and I’d be shocked and upset if Waterstones adopted it, but it looks pretty good. It seems to extend the length of the shelves somehow, although I can’t fit any more books on it.

Last night someone who I was at school with in Dunstable approached me and said “hello”. For the last four weeks I’ve been averaging one ex-school-acquaintance a week, and now of course I’m wondering who on earth it’s going to be next week, and secretly hoping it’s won’t be Michael Ramsdale or Mrs Romaniszyn.

In brief

Look, a stunning new video from one of my favourite bands.

Look, a marvellously named online store, courtesy of webofevil.

And look here, there’s still not enough people reading wardatyork, is there.