Last night was uneventful. There was less than nothing to watch on the telly, bringing new meaning to the phrase idiot box. Instead I prepared myself for a trip to Wales this weekend to help Andrew build a new system. I have hardware lying around, components that could make up a system that would require you to strap yourself down.

I had to shave this morning, which I resented. The facial hair gene should be removed from the model, it's of no use. All it serves to do is render a man untrustworthy. A sweet, elderly waitress called Babs once told me 'Never trust a man with a beard, never trust a man with a middle-parting and never trust a man who doesn't drink.'

I can never get the shaving thing right. I've never had the amount of facial hair that you might expect a Bulgarian or a Greek to have, or like the moustachoed Portuguese fella's at school who had daily shaving rituals and five 'o clock shadow, when they were 12. I've never had a steady enough brush of stubble to become accustomed to the art of shaving. The marketing aspect behind the razor is also something that tends to piss me off. Since when did a dual blade razor become insufficient thereby flooding the market with tri-blade razors. The world is now expecting the arrival of the Schick quad-blade razor and it doesn't stop there. The new Gillette razor is battery operated. Just in case your tri-blade razor is not enough to deal with the hair on your face, this razor emits small electronic pulses that are supposed to create a force of attraction between the hair and the blades, resulting in a closer shave. Stubble by nature grows up, it's hair for fuck sake not hemp growing out of your face, hair. Ladies wax it, we need double edged, deadly sharp quad-blade electronic impulse, ergonomic, titanium, tungsten-tipped, rubber winged and gel-oozing razors to shave our faces.

I should grow a beard in protest. I won't though, not because it would render me untrustworthy, the main reason being, I don't have a sufficient amount of hair on my face and I would only end up with a beard that resembled the Swedish Archipelago that Stockholm is built on.

I had a relatively crowd-free ride to work on the tube. There are pockets of chaos and lulls quiet, the underground breaths, I got to work while it exhaled. There were no Metro newspapers available so I read my book America by Joe Queenan. He rants and moans about the hideousness of America and the culture. It has inspired me to boil my blood and spill the blood of others. I need to refocus my blog, change the washer on the steam valve and let rip.

So after a period of quiet on the blog, I think I have stewed enough to build up a wee repository of rage to release here.