This weekend I drank herb tea, went to see Matthew Bourne's reworking of Dorian Gray (amazing), made nut roast to an original 70s recipe. I listened to Radio 4 and read the Observer. I went for a stroll in Dulwich Woods and ate pancakes with ricotta and figs for breakfast. I liked it. It was calm and I did a lot of thinking and spent precious time with the lovely Boo. I now feel good this morning. Centred and contented and healthy.

But fucking hell! I am well and truly a member of that despised and loathed race: the middle class bastards. As a result I now make myself feel uncomfortable and ever so slightly angry. What happened to giro day, smoking fags in front of the telly, drinking Stella Artois? Eating crap? Playing pool? Watching roaches climb the wall? Renting a flat above a shop, cutting my hair and getting a job? Actually following X-Factor? Getting pissed and fighting on a Saturday night? Choosing not to choose life?

I should never have gone to University. I have chosen life. This is a class based identity disaster and there's no fighting it. It's too late for me. Inevitable next stage: montessori schools, recycled nappies, baby yoga, TV rationing, wearing of designer, sustainably produced fucking hemp garments, frutarianism, consumption of fucking Spelt cakes and the inevitable anaemia. *ugh*