I haven't written anything for a while because I've been up to my eyeballs, plus, well, yes, I did want to leave the last entry at the top for a couple of days out of some sort of mischievous thrill. Well, to be honest, I'd had an appalling row with a very arrogant bloke at work. "Don't try to tell me my job, Cait". Well, sweetheart, if you were doing your job as well as you should, I wouldn't have to remind you of the bits of it you weren't doing, would I.
Fuck it, it's only work.

Actually got paid at fucking last. My god, it took them long enough. To celebrate I went to the Megastore. Sparklehorse album, very good. Also, retro hour - Pulp from the early nineties with a revelatory piece of information that the singles of "My Legendary girlfriend", Countdown" and "Razzmatazz" are rare and should be treasured. So, who was the woman who phoned Gina and told her to hear "My Legendary Girlfriend" because it was so superb? Well, me obviously, but to keep on crowing about something nearly ten years ago is pretty tedious. But of course, I will though.

Met up with Del La Grace Volcano, previously known as Della Grace for lunch. Another one of those people who you find yourself kicking your own ankles about to say "He" instead of "She". When Brett had his operation, and became Tracey, man - that was a real head fuck, not because of what she did, but just remembering to call 'him' her. My Mum had a real problem with the whole thing and it was very messy, but my stance was always - life throws you things, you deal with them if you feel that person is worthy of your dealing with them. If Tracey is happier, more fulfilled, more comfortable with herself than she was when he was Brett, then we should applaud Tracey and be there for her in the way we would do any member of our family. Del sees his body as part of his art. I still have problems thinking if him as a 'him', with this low, smokey, womanly, purring voice. Ha. Still, that's my problem I guess. I think I feel confused about the need for actual definition and stamping with a name "I am a *this* and definitely not a *that*". Well, whatever. I don't know what the hell I am. I love feeling that, it's so un-confusing, confusingly. Genuinely don't know. I know I'm in a girl body, which is cool - I like my body, it is warm and round and firm and soft, and has breasts and curves and everything, so I wouldn't want that to change. That's the only "for sure" bit.

Stef put me up for Haddock, the sweetie. I beat Danny, haha...! The important thing here is though now at least I'll be able to work out what half my friends are bloody doing half the time.

Two other things: "Dots and Queries" and oh joy to the world, got tickets for The Divine Comedy, and, fantastic - also The Afghan Whigs, surely one of the most UNDERRATED BANDS IN AMERICA. Can I make that any clearer? Their last album… bloody hell, it was fantastic.

I'm off to Edinburgh for a week - will attempt to update, but will probably fail through being too busy and trying to find a decent Web Caff. It'll be Cyberia, I know it.

One of V/Net's free web space users put up a 'Readers' Wives' style home video of a woman having sex with a dog. I saw a clip yesterday (needless to say, it ain't there any more). It was… more bizarre to watch it than any other reaction, to be frank. Hilariously, one of the first things I thought while I watched was "This is really good quality video". Fascinating to see it though. Of course, by any normal definition it was 'disgusting', but I wasn't disgusted, more curious and amazed I was actually viewing something so taboo. How long did it take to train the dog? Which one of the couple actually thought of the idea? Why put it up on the web - out of a sense of educational awareness? And if she's fine with having sex with a dog (which is one hell of a moral boundary to cross) where would she feel comfortable stopping those feats of moral endurance? Perhaps she feels free; liberated from puny society's pathetic constraints. Next stop : horses.
Very, very peculiar.

Played Starship Titanic at last. Couldn't really work out whether the library with the bomb in was actually where my bedroom is or what the hell. I mean, that is the elevator, right? And if the chevron pattern thingy saying my room is my room, then why is it there if you can't shortcut straight to it? Or is there… I haven't played one of those thinking games. Since - wow, this is going back. Stephen's black Amstrad that used tapes. He had an aliens-ish game that involved a dome, I remember, and truly bad graphics, because of course, the screen was only black, white or green. Or was it. God, I can't remember now, you know. I wonder what happened to all of that stuff? It would be fantastic if it all just turned up somewhere. It had ecological overtones, as I recall, this game - and had the usual mix of iron Age style settlements, amazing alien technology and stupid mysticism, but it was one of those straight down the line puzzle solving games.

Busy and tired. The usual rubbish. Nice things to report - nice party at Yoz's at the weekend, nice that my Dad is visiting Owen in Canada, nice that I'm getting to write a handful of good film reviews every week at work (NFT stylee films, rather than Godzilla type nonsense). Today, I be writing the preview/review of "Gasbags". I like doing that. ("Fried fish is good for you? More English lies!"). that was nice. Er - what else - "Five Dolls for an August Moon" (Bava, Italian horror supremo); "Full Tilt Boogie" (indulgence for the tedious personally however great he is creatively, Quentin Tarantino); "I Confess", (Hitchcock set in Quebec, kind of alrightish); "Bleak Moments" (early mike Leigh funded by the BFI) "Pull my Daisy" (beat poets get to ponse about for the camera); "No President" (Jack Smith, sixties sexual self expression and excess acid type geezer does political satire); "Dreams that money can Buy" (an absolutely amazing sounding film put together by Hans Richter, but with Max Ernst, Fernand Léger, Man Ray, Marcel Duchamp, and Alexander Calder as collaborators. The word is: blimey)…

Also, BAFTA. But I'll tell you about that properly when I know more. It's nice though.

Also, Kai's b/d tomorrow - no present as yet - no cash. Eek. I could give him his nice Star Trek Chronicles or whatever the hell they're called, but then they haven't actually finished publishing them yet so… uh, maybe not…

23.12, still at work. Not for long though. Hello Nasty is fantastic. Particularly my favourite track, Song For The Man.

So the whole flat thing is a shambles - but to be honest with you, work has been more of a shambles. It was confirmed today, Ivan is indeed, not staying. It's all a bit sudden - the actual event of it, although it has been on the cards for what seems like a year or so. I've been trying my best to make sure that people on the world of Editorial know that people in the world of ISP tech feel more than a little hurt and fed up. You never know, it might help.

If Money Mark doesn't put "Maybe I'm Dead" out as a single, he's bonkers. It's a fantastic tune.

I'm putting on weight so fast it's insane. I've got to get my bloody bike mended.

Too much… too much to deal with in one week.

The landlord has just given us two month's notice. He was too offended by our complaints about our living conditions.

I………………………… can't articulate this misery. Anger. ANGER.

My eyes are itchy and tired. I think I've got a heavy hay fever day but I don't see why, it's rainy and murky outside.

No more fall out that I can see at work, only a lot of bemused, amazed looking folk. I would explain but it's so unutterably tedious I can't be bothered. In the meantime I have the unenviable task of having to keep on everyone's good side, whilst sitting in the middle of a bunch of people most of whom seem to really not want me there. Great! Frankly, that veers so far toward the feeling-nauseated-with-myself dollar that it's no wonder it's making me feel flaky.

However. Stephen quit his job and is now a contractor, which is just beautiful. I'm pleased for him, he came in to work and proudly announced it. He also said "Keep in touch you idiot" which was very sweet indeed. I was touched. Hey, someone thinks about me and not only that, actually says so too.

The "First time" site was *possibly* registered by a porn organisation. It's a bit: well, how surprising is that. They were in every paper this morning, so they must have had some whacking dosh behind them. Plus, the two people in the photos look like a pair of bimbos, so the whole thing sounds terribly dreary really. Why would they be fucking for eighteen days? Surely they'd do it for one night, and if they *did* do it for just one night, the whole thing would fall over anyway. Cobblers, that's what I say. The usual crap swallowed by the usual people, spat out after a few seconds by another entirely predictable bunch, some of whom then obviously exacerbate the whole shindig by relinking to it whilst discussing it. Not being one to buck a trend, you know...