Cake or death
I forgot to say, I'm all crushed out on Eddie Izzard. Executive transvestite. Endorphin dealer. Lesbian trapped in a man's body. I would go out on a dinner date with him tomorrow. I'd let him borrow my clothes. The girly ones. Shame he mainly fancies blonde, bosomy women.
At this rate, we're going to run out of cake.

I was sitting in King's Cross station last night; it's at best entertaining, at worst hazardous to sit there, what with the drug pushers and bums in various stages of decay and their skinny flea ridden dogs and teenage prostitutes who have made it their home. I don't sit in King's Cross Station for fun, it just happens that some of my friends take trains and sometimes when I'm feeling warm and fluffy inside I go and meet them. I listened into two old crones' (I love that word, it's just so.. so.. Middle earth) conversation about a couple of bums' dogs that were trying to chew each other's head off nearby. It would appear that the surest way to stop dogs from fighting is to.. .spit on your middle finger and swiftly put into the arsehole of one of the dogs. Breaks a fight in no time. Stations are wondrous places. Remember Heathrow's terminal 3? I don't know what I like best. I just can't decide.

Later on I went to look at the lesbians in my favourite café. Nice place. They serve good food, you can hear each other talk and there are also pretty boys to gawk at. 90% of the lesbians in London are über trendy. They share the one haircute, loosely nicked from David Beckham. They wear cool shoes and the right jeanstudded belts loosely worn on the hips and skinny tshirts. They drink a lot and snort a lot. I met up with two of my trendy lesbian friends; we gaped at the lesbians together and drank latte. Then they started fighting, because their relationship is not a happy one. Have you ever sat at a table with a couple having a domestic? It's not even entertaining, cos they'd like you to take sides. It's uncomfortable. And I was thinking,that, maybe, if I spat on my middle finger..

Today I went to see Noi Albinoi. The eponymous Noi is not even an albino, but the title sounds good. It's Icelandic, it's ever so slow-paced, it's filled with quirky scenes. I can safely say I picked up no Icelandic from watching this film, although I did revel in its slightly surreal, absurd humour. And I really really don't want to go to Iceland, no matter how cool they are.

I' m off to watch the Izzard.