Don't start me off

I went to see venerable art-punks Wire play the Scala. Although their most recent album has been criticized for erring too close to pop, they thrashed out songs new and old with the punky vigour of their early days. They were enjoying themselves. Once upon a time they took pleasure in confounding expectations, refusing to play the hits (not that there were any), and staging arty diversions in the 'singer attacks gas stove' vein. Now they take pleasure in confounding the expectations of those who are expecting them to confound expectations. So convincing was their impression of a younger band that by the time they'd got to the third encore the lead singer said they'd run out of songs, and would have to play the first one again. I thought he was joking - they've been around, off and on, since the late 70's. Perhaps he was; but if so it was the kind of joke that did actually involve them playing the first song again.

Esme, former Waterstones employee, was there with her Dad. It is not generally recommended that young people 'dig' their parents' music, but when your Dad has such great taste, what choice do you have?

On the way home, at Seven Kings, we saw a notice advertising 'FREE CAT NEUTERING', a service presumably offered by someone who simply hates cats.

Work continues to feel like it is falling apart, with boxes piling up out the back, blocking the fire exit. Well it's all flammable. The fire, at least, will have no trouble getting to the exit. My response to any difficult question directed at me now goes: 'I'm leaving.'