The performance at Duckie on Saturday night was by Pat Butcher (no, not that Pat Butcher). One member of the Pat Butcher troupe is real-life ugly person (and Bobby Gillespie look-a-like) Philip Normal. They had painted faces and wore childrens-entertainer type clothes and danced badly to Kates Wuthering Heights on the tiny stage. They were shit and most of the crowd let them know this. I didn’t get bagels on the way home but I did rent The Cockettes DVD the night before and loved it. I haven’t shaved since Thursday last week and now I look like Kenny Rogers. Which is OK because here’s a picture of Darren with my Dad (that's Dad on the right). Sunday was strangely sunny so we sat in the garden drinking tea then went to Pizza Express for cheesecake. Then I went back to bed. Other things what we did over the weekend were watching ‘Anita And Me’ and ‘The Birthday Girl’ (both great), cruising at Tesco Extra, eating curry and picking poop up from the lawn. It’s pissing down again and I’ve got chores to do. Need a haircut, need to collect train ticket for tomorrow evenings journey to Le Pool Noir, bathe Edward (don’t want train strokers sniffing their hands and thinking us mucky) and catalogue and burn Color Filter and Nigo downloads so that I can listen to them on the new Virgin Pendolino and pretend I’m on the Bullet Train to Osaka.