I haven't quite decided yet whether I'm just a sad case or if it is the most natural thing in the world, but I have spent the last few Saturday evenings watching the National Lottery's Come and Have a Go without any lottery ticket and without actually playing the game. Why? Because I'm such a Julian Clary fan that I desperately needed to watch the last few programmes he was in in this series. He's such fun and it turned out that his assistant Emily what's-her-face, whom we're much more used to seeing as our local news anchorwoman, has got a wicked sense of humour as well. All in all it has been a terrific series and I may be a sad case indeed.

The weather's nice today - going up into the mid twenties, I heard - and we're planning on paying Covent Garden a little visit. I quite like it around that area, as long as I end up finding a quaint little café after a round with the massive amount of tourists who seem to just apparate from thin air and stay and multiply forever. I need my coffee then.

We still haven't got through unpacking half of our stuff yet, so we're battling cardboard boxes wherever we turn. We've also got the old fridge - the replacement that we got and that didn't work - in the middle of the kitchen, so we've got that to climb as well just to get to the cereal. Wednesday will bring us harsh weather, I heard, so hopefully we will be able to unpack a lot during the mid-week. We seriously need to. It's cramped but I can't afford paying a million pounds just to put half of my things in storage either. My MasterCards are starting to bleed.

I hope you're having a lovely time, wherever you are!

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I was going to post all that yesterday, but then we went to the pub instead because I needed to be somewhere a bit more quiet, in case my phone rang. The pub was quiet, until the resident drunk Kate rediscovered the jukebox and found a few songs she wanted played at max. By then we'd already sat there for about two hours and it was time for us to leave anyway. At least Kate didn't sing a long.

The phone did ring while I was at the pub; it was my estate agent telling me there had been some activity on the sale of my flat lately and that I had had some offers earlier in the day. We exchanged a few conversations during the next two hours, bid flew everywhere and then she said "we've had an offer of this much, it's a thousand pounds below the asking price, will you take it? The bidder said he was sure the flat would go for this sum because you can't afford another round." This made me really cross and I went into Vengeance Mode (TM). "No, thanks, he'll have to come up with the asking price (the little bugger), or I'm prepared to wait another week." (I wasn't.) "OK, I'll tell him that." The phone didn't ring for two hours after that and I thought "shit." There was a lot of money at stake and it was all mine and not part of some computer game where you can just start over if you lose everything. But when the phone finally rang, my agent told me one of the other bidders had taken up on my request and bid the asking price. Hah, the little bugger couldn't afford it after all. Tough shit. I know for a fact (because he was stupid enough to tell my agent - note the expression: My agent) that he'd been looking for a small flat for weeks and couldn't find anything else and he had to have it by the beginning of July. Good luck, you miser. You do not fuck with me and my money. (Pardon my French; I am inspired by the local vernacular.)

OK, so today we will be going to Covent Garden, then. There's going to be rain and thunderstorms starting tomorrow, so we'd better go today. That way we can unpack and go to the cinema tomorrow (the local cinema shows Kung Fu Hustle, which I'm eager to show to my flatmate). We watched The Eye again last night; this time we were in the same room as opposed to the last time when we watched it separately and ended up giving ourselves the creeps. I would recommend this gem of a film to everyone who likes a good horror flick. But it has to be seen in a dark room and preferably on your own for maximum effect.

Before we watched The Eye, we spent hours on the sofa looking through several Have I Got News for You videos that I own, as well as one of my Julian Clary shows (as the Joan Collins Fan Club - don't ask). I love HIGNFY and I've been kind of a fan of Angus Deayton since having seen KYTV during the very early nineties. A few weeks ago we saw Paul Merton's name (which is "Paul Merton", in case you were wondering) on the bill for the Comedy Store and I thought "hey! We should go and see! He's funny!" - but then I remembered it's Paul Merton, after all. Increasingly irritating throughout the evening and ends up saying something he would have regretted had he been a bit more down-to-earth. He's got a quick wit and a sharp tongue which crack me up frequently, but sometimes he crosses that line where he should have said "sorry, I didn't mean that" and then surges forward. The childish hassling of Angus after his tremendously stupid romp with a prostitute and some drugs proved too much for me and I haven't liked him since. Not that he cares, I'm sure.

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Labels: comedy, film, julian clary, personal, TV