Le geek, c’est chic

The British Library, my spiritual home. The only club in London that will have me as a member.

A place where I am surrounded by people who understand the absolute necessity of having the same locker (410) and the same seat (3226) each day in order to concentrate.

Where they have gauged the tastes of their clientele so well that the cafe provides both organic tofu sandwiches and spotted dick with custard.

Where the noticeboard contains messages such as the one that I saw today:
“Call for assistance: Seeking a publisher for a non-fiction memoir based on my 18-years’ experience of cat-sitting.”

Farewell until 2007, when, as the clock strikes 9.30 am on the 8th of January I shall be waiting outside, poised for the doors to open and claim my locker.

Epater les bourgeois

My new favourite Christmas game: traverse the streets of middle class London, carving the anthem 'tots, tits & tannenbaum' across frozen windshields, playing Russian roulette with the alarms.

I sashay along, playing 'light up my life', a fine new game that I invented a few months ago, in which Regina and Cerys accompany me (in my dreams and on my ipod) on a Primrose Hill roadtrip, jumping just far enough onto other people's property to make the welcoming/security lights flash on and illuminate my passing as brightly as if I were a brightly shining star. Of David. No?

Homage of the week...

… goes to my friend Lyndsey Cockwell, fresh from her extended Berlin sojourn, performing on Friday in the Arts Theatre Club in Soho.

Those of you who knew me in the early 1990s will remember my trials and tribulations as Lyndsey’s boss (never employ a lesbian dominatrix as an assistant - they won't follow orders). Luckily those days are long gone and Lyndsey has found her spiritual home, on stage walloping the hell out of a bass guitar and beating the crowd into submission with each swoop of her false eyelashes.

Described by Whyer Magazine as “Vita Sackville-West meets Lydia Lunch in cyberspace”, Lyndsey enterrrrrrtained us marvellously with six of the best of what she likes to call her “chick-lick rock-songs”, leaving not a dry, err, eye in the house. Cockers, I salute you!

Lyndsey's website
Lyndsey on Myspace