Yesterday moved in. The highlight of this was carrying a gigantic TV up the stairs, which weighed as much as an overweight teenage boy and whose base seemed to be a massive collection of sharp edges. But after safely getting it into the flat there was still several boxes of broken musical equipment to shift. Pouring with sweat, and I made umpteen treks up and down the stairs, while outside, sitting on the garden wall, a chubby couple in their mid twenties attempted to split up, alternately crying while the other looked away into the middle distance. They didn't seem perturbed that they had an audience, but it was doing 's head in. “I wish they'd f*ck off, they're doing me head in,” he said.

While all this was happening Jenny was embarking on a mammoth clean-up effort after 4 months of neglect. Ice was hacked out of the freezer, filth was scraped off surfaces, toasters, ceramic containers and other sentimentally-significant items were flung in the bin, and now the kitchen looks so pleasant I'm tempted not to get a new kitchen after all.

I haven't mentioned my toe. Yesterday morning I hit my toe on the edge of the bath while getting into (brace yourselves) the bath, and it hurt. Oh yes, it hurt. Since then it has adopted such a wide range of exotic colours that it's beginning to resemble a very small, fleshy lava lamp.

Last night I bumped into the ex-drummer. But I'm going out now, and he needs a gigantic LiveJournal entry entirely dedicated to him.