You have never been in love,Until you've seen the sunlight thrown over smashed human bones

Last night I was lethargic and dipped out of the Nitzer Ebb gig in Sheffield. I had a snooze and then managed to fuck around on the internet for a disgraceful period of time. I have new hard-ware lust, half a terabyte of FA Porsche designed external hard-drive. My downloading music OCD has per-chance got a bit out-of-hand at 200GBs per 8 weeks.

Today I hung out with someone I'm potentially in love with. However, the 'potentially' just refers to my freshly constructed denial.

We ate sorbet, attempted to drive to York but instead got way-laid by my fave chazzer shop in Headingley wherein I spent the tumultous sum of £2 on 4 books, then trapped my left forearm in the car-door (in very uncool manner) as I was too busy wondering if the parking police would try and book me for nearly parking on the remnants of a pavement on an unmade/unadopted private road, then back home for Tuna-steaks-chilli-soy-garlic-stir-fry-thing and watched the typically Pedrovian 'The Labyrinth Of Passion'(re: Dir. Pedro Almodovar). Which was the fabulously gaudy and offensive nypho/incestuous/druggy/gay/muslim terrorist feast that one comes to expects from Peddy boy. Jolly good it was too.

Between activities the potential love denial creature talked about getting back on the dating scene at some length, I had to leave the room, to 'go to the loo', which was infact a dangerously shallow cover, cos I was infact leaving the room to stifle my tears. So as my heart silently shattered I (belatedly) started considering my needs, and maybe that I need to bin this friend off - he is a friend-acting-as-love-interest-imposter, it a beguiling disguise (but really I'm more convinced than ever that all he wants is sex). Which is a thing not to be sniffed at(*snigger*), but I can't pretend that I can do 'casual sex' , I am a Grade A failure at shallow liasons of the night(or day). I even question my interpretation of love. Ok, move on Helen.

To cheer myself up after he left I watched Inside The Smiths(of which I was pleasantly suprised to learn my acquaintance Jeff had done some filming and in further revelations a bloggy mates husband is a friend of Andy Rourkes dad SHOCKER! - Get me and my somewhat protracted claims to fame), this has had the suprising affect of leading me to believe Mike Joyce and Andy Rourke are pretty nice guys and are not the source of all evil as God(who put the o in God) just possibly might lead us to believe. Then, I sang some dreadful kareoke renditions of God/Mozza's 'the first of the gang to die', a variety bag of ABBA tracks and the Articulated Monkies 'I bet that you look good on the dancefloor' alone in my living room. I don't think the neighbours could take Song 2.

well I lie and I'm easy, all of the time, but I'm never sure when I need you...

I have no plans for tomorrow, which is how I'm starting to enjoy life, off work, sick. Damn though not only tomorrow do I have no plans, but until the 13th when I see Jackie Leven and Michael Weston-King, the 14th for my pre-op assessment at the Royal Hallamshire for gallbladder removal and haematology hoo-hars and the 15th for Skinny Puppy in Manchester.

I've just heard that "Actor and voice artiste Peter Tuddenham has died at the age of 88 after a short illness.His vocal talents were used in Doctor Who for The Ark in Space, The Masque of Mandragora and Time and the Rani, but he will also be well-known to cult TV fans for providing the voices of Zen, Orac and Slave in Blake's 7, which was created by Terry Nation.In addition, Tuddenham was in the Kaldor City audio spin-offs Occam's Razor and Death's Head, which were Doctor Who/Blake's 7 crossovers produced by Magic Bullet."A full obituary can be found at Media Guardian.