It's Friday, the sun is out and they say we'll have a fine weekend with the temperature being somewhere round the 20 mark. I have just teased a crusty brown bacon roll down my throat, and a good strong coffee makes me feel complete. It's all gone mildly pear-shaped here - the systems are misbehaving, they have a mind of their own, and with my newly adopted Seasonal Affectedness Disorder, which, according to the experts only descends upon us in the winter months (I prefer winter, so as much as I enjoy the sun, I dread a summer heatwave), I lack the energy to delve deep inside the workings of all the scripts and schedules, pieces of code and hundreds of threads of dependencies to find the problem. These machines have a mind of their own - as the acronym PFM (as pertaining to Microsoft Products that often fail to reproduce a consistent error) - Pure Fucking Magic; problems that solve themselves, as if created by the same entity in the first place.

Specialist Pugilists was if anything entertaining. It was live, minimal, low budget, surface fringe that was short and fast with no message, which was comforting - feeling perplexed after so-called cultural events often disturbs me when I lean towards 'I'm not the only one who that was crap, am I?'

The weekend is upon us.