On Friday, I was asked if I wanted to do the annual lo-pay but hi-fun trawl of London pubs for contributions to the Time Out pubs & bars guide; I was asked to do about 45 locations, but in a gesture of moderation I handed back all of the ones in Chelsea, because I visited all of them last year and there’s only so much braying, guffawing and gravity-defying 80s Sloane hairdos that one man can cope with. So I got Tooting, Putney, Fulham, Parsons Green and Earls Court, which makes such a pleasanty sweeping arc across West London that it’s tempting to try and do all 22 in one night in a William Hague-style display of misguided manliness. I didn’t, though. I went up to a packed bar in Tooting Bec, sat down with a 1/2 of Guinness and was immediately asked by the proprietor why I was taking notes, and was everything OK? I just laughed nervously, which, amazingly, he seemed to think was a decent excuse. I should try that more often, perhaps in court.

On Saturday I gave up waiting for the shoes I won on eBay to arrive, sent an email demanding a refund, and went to the Camper store north of Piccadilly where they were having a sale: shoes slashed from horribly expensive to merely expensive. En route I saw a car made out of wire, which was terribly impressive:

But it didn’t take the sting out of shelling out £80 for a pair of shoes, and when I got home I put a Paypal “donate” button on this journal and on my website, and put all three Free French albums up for download at $9.99 each, in an attempt to do something about clawing the money back. Not that I expect readers and listeners to keep me shod, but you know, if imomus can have a bloody Paypal “donate” button, then so can I.

On Saturday I went to a housewarming party in a flat in Hackney Downs. “Yeah, we’ve moved into a one-bedroom flat”, said Tim. “That’s weird,” I thought, “He’s got a 3 bedroom flat at the moment. Why?” When we arrived, it was easy to see why – the place was ludicrously palatial, a colossal space with a mezzanine and a sweeping staircase that made you feel like Clark Gable when you walked down it. Hanging from the curtain rail were some 26-foot curtains to cover the windows. “Quite some curtains you’ve got there,” I said to Tim. “Yeah, but look, it’s annoying, they’re actually 3 inches too short.” That must be galling, buying a place like that, and then having to sew a 3-inch hem on some 26-foot curtains. People featuring on TV programmes like “Assemble Your Spanish Property Portfolio For Fun & Profit” on Discovery Home & Leisure would probably have rejected the whole place because of that one small detail. “And the skirting board is slightly too rounded, John, we can’t possibly take it.”