On New Year's Eve
This year, London mayor Ken Linvingston tried to put off Londoners from revelling drunkenly like every other year on Trafalgar Square. People might get trampled, you see. Or get hurt by the fireworks, who knows. I don't care, I spent it at home with some foie gras and a bottle of Vendanges Tardives. For those of you philistines, it's just about the best fucking wine in the whole wide world. It's made with the last white grapes of the season, it's very much a hit and miss process which, when succesful, produces nothing less than the Gods' nectar. Really. Down with eggnog - it's slimy and it's got raw eggs in it - haven't those people heard of salmonella? And a happy new year to me.

On the Cheeky Girls - no, but really.
Earlier I was overwhelmed by the rare urge to turn on the television; lo and behold, the cheeky girls were on! I put on my glasses for three minutes or so of pure idiocy. For those of you unfamiliar by that gifted duo, here's the deal: scantily clad twins of dubious but probably eastern European origin, seemingly bullied by an overweight, over made up and over ambitious manager. Oh, and that pimp/manager happens to be their mother.The song lyrics go a little bit like this: smile/don't be shy/touch my bum/this is life.I kid you knot. What a philosophy! I think the only way they can not slip into deep depression is the fact that they have absolutely no idea what they're singing. They don't know what 'cheeky' means, or what 'bum' is, or, I'd bet, 'girl'. They can't. Oh , and, yeah, they're not too be confused with T.A.T.U. Those were the lesbian ones - although, that is doubtful- has anyone taken a look at their long nails?

I think I need to get out more.