After a quick twenty five quid tyre change up the road, and a good amount of Saturday morning  ar and ar, shit was sorted and I set on the 6 and the 1 headed for London wondering how fucked up your day would have been if you'd made half the tyre marks you see on the motorway . Claire had picked me up Blonde On Blonde and Blood On The Tracks from the shop so Bob Dylan kept me company for most of the journey. It nearly always  seems to stop raining as you leave the concrete and the factories of the Midlands in your rear view. 

In the time it took for the door to be answered I'd ended up with beers in my hand. Caught up with Zo and got some films to watch via the Daniel Defoe. 

Went to look at an Exhibition at Slam and all I got was this lousy T-Shirt.

Walked from Neals Yard to Soho Square and drank one pound beers in the park instead of four pound beers anywhere else.