lunch = a sandwich with egg in it.

Listening to Blur's “Think Tank”. It's not all that, I feel. But as an old git who fondly remembers them being called Seymour and rocking the Bull & Gate while Damon played honky-tonk piano, I'm unlikely to embrace them as wholeheartedly as I did in 1989.

Yesterday I found myself at The Daily Telegraph House And Garden exhibition at Kensington Olympia. There was a good reason for this, I promise. It was an exhaustive display of anything the 55 year old woman could wish for in and around her home. Lots of stands with lots of linen. One company exhibiting was called simply “Grange”. Just “Grange”. It exuded pure middle class. While enjoying the Thatcherite furniture I was handed a complimentary beverage by a woman on the Martini stand. It was warm Martini with ultra-heat-treated soapy orange juice. Surely there are better ways to showcase the product. I mean, I don't pretend to be an expert on vermouth, but I thought olives should be involved….

Had a long and depressing haul on bus and tube afterwards. LU couldn't shift a train out of Warren Street for 25 minutes, with 2 trains full of people waiting in the tunnel behind. I imagined tribal scenes of cannibalism in the carriages when the trains finally made it to the platform. Sadly I didn't get to find out as we were advised to use alternative methods to continue our journey. I chose a weary trudge.

I hate people recounting their dreams, but here is what I dreamt last night:

I was writing for Private Eye and had done an expose of the pork industry. Heads of Pork Multinationals were threatening me. I managed to get to a safe house, but a piglet suddenly appeared through the back door, clearly delivered by the Pork Mafia to let me know that I was being watched. I managed to trap the piglet under the duvet, and then I woke up to the sound of Danny Baker on London Live.