I went to see Jamie Cullum with Tor last night. He is a young jazz muzo careful not to abominate Frank. Jamie is good, talented, but he's not Frank, and he knows it. We had a really good time. I got pissed on the poison lager from the bar at Hammersmith Apollo, and had one too many cans of Grolsch. The underground is closed because the lazy good for nothing bastards are on strike. We had to cab it back home. I'm £14 poorer. I think the whole of London should claim the money back for the day lost, expenses incurred and general compensation for being inconvenienced.

I'm suffering a mild hangover and had to wake up at 06:30 this morning to guarantee a seat on the bus this morning. No doubt everyone is late, most probably won't come in today. I could well have stayed in, for a sleep and a feed and the opportunity to lay about, read my book and watch a few movies.

I'm reading Human Punk by John King at the moment. It's really good, I like his style.

I managed to refresh myself in Devon by wearing myself out walking, eating and getting some quality sleep. I have just about managed to undo all the good I did by getting out of London and getting some fresh air. I feel like shit, Deja vu.