As if I wasn't depressed enough! We didn't get the result we wanted from Darrens employers. He gets to keep his job and the redundancy carrot was snatched away at the last minute. I was looking forward to resigning from my job, selling up and leaving London but it's not to be, so, there you go. Don't let the bastards grind you down, as Arthur Seaton (that's him above) said in Saturday Night Sunday Morning (free DVD with yesterday's TorygraphTelegraph, first time we've bought it, honest, though I quite enjoyed it).
On Friday I was so upset by the whole business so I had my haircut. Then we walked to Clerkenwell where I had a consultation with Alex Binnie. He's a legendary tattooist who rarely takes on work and, best of all, is married to Leigh Bowery's widow (long time readers will know I have a fascination with Leigh which stems from a terrifying encounter in Brixton in 1989). I once saw Alex take a shit on a plate of chips and call it art. He's going to mark me with his ink and make me remember this traumatic period. I'm going to buy a big motorbike too and cut my commuting time to work. Talk about midlife crisis. I'm off to Blackpool tomorrow for some sea air and greasy food and to see The Strokes. If I haven't jumped off the end of the pier I'll be back on Wednesday.