Not so much with the things to say.

Do you ever wake up in the morning and find that something was inexplicably and mysteriously painful? Like your foot?

I do. And did. This very morning, in fact. I think it might be broken. I mean, I can still walk on it, it's not swollen, and it only hurts a bit, but still. I pay my taxes, and I want an ambulance. What if it falls off? And I wouldn't know because I'm wearing boots, and the boots would keep the foot in, until I took them off when I got home and SHAZAM!* out tumbles a foot.

*I'm not entirely convinced that SHAZAM! is the right word for when your foot falls off. But I'm not sure what that would be. BEDUNK! perhaps? MAKUMP! is another possibility. Have a think.

Anyway.

I had a bit of a mental weekend. I'm not going to go into it because it's not my shit to go into, but suffice to say I've Given Up On Love now, for good. I've seen too much. No interest. Although if you send me some sellotape to fix my foot with I might reconsider this and marry you. Staples would be even better.

I had a meeting about my gig. We are doing jazz funk covers of songs. Including Black Hole Sun by Sound Garden and In Bloom by Nirvana.

Holy crap I do set myself challenges.

Nothing else to impart, except I would like to tell you that I had an amazing cookie yesterday from Ben's Cookies on High Street Kensington and it was chocolate melty drippy squidge-y but in a nice cookie way lovely. Then I felt a bit sick but it was generally agreed to have been worth it.

That's all.

Apart from that it seems to be very warm in London today. With sun and everything. We'll pay for that later, you mark my words.