Went to Bedrock on Friday by accident.

That filthy dingy hole below Oxford Street’s dingy filthy pavements.

Turtle & I sat in the bar all night, shed tears of pure whisky and said things like – “Yeah but I really like fucking lovesh you (hic), it’sh a well amazing miracle that we met ooh the white shtripes are on (hic) let’s go dance and fall over and pinch people’s upper arms.”

Leo pulled a Croatian illegal immigrant with a remote control watch whilst Carlsy publicly berated the guy she’d picked up for being The Duchess of Cornwall’s cousin.

Just an average night then really.

Other important news of the weekend is that we have the blessing of Turtle mum and Turtle dad for our wedding in September. Phewph.

Also the beast of number 37 died a slow death in the garden on Friday and was duly buried complete with wooden cross in Mile End cemetery on Saturday.

Went to see the Mighty Boosh live on Saturday night. It’s the funniest thing I have ever seen and I have a stonking great crush on Noel Fielding, Julian Barrett, and perhaps most worryingly, Old Gregg with his mangina. Thank God for British comedy.

Rabble Rabble, ramble ramble....random rabble.

Bored.

Had that recurring nightmare last night where I get to the desert and I realise I've forgotten all my stuff. The Burner's answer to the classic anxiety dream.

Rabble, rabble....