It is often the case that a person's desire to be naked in public is inversely proportional to the public's desire to see them so. And as World Naked Bike Ride flashed past me along Piccadilly yesterday I found myself mentally dressing most of the participants.
But, in these CCTV'd and ASBO'd times it is heartening to see that quite such a mad protest can still take place on the streets of London.
It's good to see the church speak out on social issues.
Not for Cardinal O'Brien the pick and mix apostasy of those Christians who think they can keep the faith, but ignore the unpalatable verses - like being a member of the BNP and claiming you're not a racist. No, the Cardinal prays to a vengeful god. He's a woman hating, homophobic bigot, and proud of it.
The equally charming Cardinal Cormac Murphy-O'Connor has suggested that Catholic MPs who vote the 'wrong' way could be denied communion. With Catholic groups planning to 'out' MPs who vote for abortion.
I certainly think religious affiliation should form part of the declaration of members interests. I like to know which parliamentarians are putting cant before their constituencies.
Donations to the National Secular Society can be made here
£20 of your British pounds gets you 8 stages, great bands, good organisation, and no queues
Foals - Bloc Party gone gay disco. I'd bet good money on one of them being called Hugo, and I'd very much like them to fuck off back to whichever minor public school they came from.
The Whip - Peter Hook called, he wants his bassline back.
Blood Red Shoes - ahhh shouty girls with guitars. Shambolic, but lovely.
Pull Tiger Tail - along with New Young Pony Club in the acceptable face of New Rave category
Pete and the Pirates - twee'er than a Man From Delmonte b-side. Shy bespectacled indie boys, apart from the drummer, who's clearly in the wrong band. I think he's fey for pay.
Maps - the band that ended my brief A&R career. When I put it to my record label, in no uncertain terms, that if they were too fuckwitted to sign them, then they clearly hated music and we had no future together.
Is was, as billed, a fairly crappy week. Up at stupid o'clock for 3 days, to get the train North - neatly interspaced so they had to be return trips. And the budget numbers are not yet resolved quite to my satisfaction.
Which is why I was particularly looking forward to some serious 'me' time on Friday - meeting with suppliers in the morning, and the rest of the day to myself.
And things were going fine, with the meeting largely consisting of: them stroking my ego, interspaced with a bit of mutual congratulation on how much money we seem to be making.
So I take my leave after lunch; and I'm just dropping my pass at reception; and I would have gotten away with it too - if it hadn't been for their pesky Client Services Director. With his "I'm just on my way out, I've booked a taxi, I can drop you back at the office...."
Back? At the office?? With Kay Saatchi's gallery opening, and the RCA sculpture show on???? I think not...
And we're inching through the afternoon traffic. Away from where I want to be. Towards where I definitely do not. And the clock's ticking, so.......so...... I have a vital walnut bread errand I need to run.
I bail out a couple of blocks away; wave them round the corner, and jump the nearest tube. For the couple of changes and half dozen stops to get me back where I started....
But it was worth it because, I'm head over heels in love. And yes, it's purely physical, and yes we've got no prospect of a future together. But, when the object of your desires is perfection, such obstacles are trifles. Because truly, there is no greater love than that between a man and half tonne block of steel.
Maybe GMTV can explain to the next Aliyah Ismail why they're just not photogenic enough for anyone to give a damn about.
And those MPs, with their little yellow ribbons, will no doubt be the same ones who voted to keep 15 and 16 year olds in adult prisons; cut the benefits of refugees, exclude their babies from the protection of the Children's Act; and continue the assault on single mothers.
And the public, with mawkish sentimentality as their new god. No longer parading their virtue in the Sunday pews, they demonstrate the depth of their inner goodness, by forwarding emails. And feeling sad.
To be touched, however vicariously, by the distress of others, quite clearly shows you to be a better person. The veneer of piety without all that bothersome psalm singing and self denial - no wonder it's so popular.
I am up North. For quite the most pointless meeting. There's a dozen of us round the table (at quite a substantial combined hourly rate) watching a PowerPoint presentation on some proposed project milestones. And it's animated......it's got dissolves and flashing boxes and everything. And our annoyance at being dragged up to something which could have been handled by an email is dissolving (without the flashing boxes) into squirming embarrassment at the catastrophic tweeness of it all.
However, long train journeys are ideal for thinking - about how I can extract myself from the current problem
Option 1 is bluster - to declare my outrage at Finance for providing me with the wrong numbers for the last few months. But that won't fly - I imagine myself on the other side of the argument, eviscerating my feeble protest - I signed off on the plan; and if I'd been paying attention I should have seen the figures were wrong.
So, option 2 - gloss over the error, but get the numbers reforecast for H2. And it's not a bad plan, I've got some plausible reasons for why there should be a reduction. But, frankly it's beneath me. I'll take a few points off just to win the argument, but the rest of it, I'm inclined to swallow.
I may come to my senses tomorrow. But at the moment, I seriously considering.....actually doing some work
