More Beatles, IKEA and stunning ladies.

Right. Yet again I was roped in to watching my mates in their band. This might well be the last time, since one of them's off to do it for a living (potentially) and the others don't seem to be arsed enough to continue. Fair enough, say I. The gig was actually quite entertaining. A good time appeared to be had by all. One of my mates brought some friends from uni down to watch, but more about that later.

IKEA. Yes that Swedish place that churns out furniture at an alarming rate, and must have singlehandedly deforested most of Scandinavia by now. I have one thing to say of this place. Don't go! It's the most maddening experience you're likely to have in your entire life. For those like me who abhor supermarkets and all forms of mass-shopping, this place is hell with pine furniture. If people drove the way they shopped we'd have no one left on our roads; everybody would be in hospital in groaning, pulpy lumps. If I had a penny for every halfwit I felt like bitch-slapping, well, Bill Gates would be cleaning my car. In summary, don't go.

As to the final part of this morning's little jaunt through my psyche, at the gig on Saturday I was pleased to make the reacquaintance of several of my mate Julia's uni buddies. This would be all well and good if one of them wasn't of the "Hubba hubba...ding ding ding.... ...AwOOOooooo!!!" persuasion. I have to admit to having been gobsmacked. In ordinary circumstances this would be a fabulous turn of events, worthy of a little flirting and general merriment, however, being me the result was a certain amount of gibbering, followed by the abject self-loathing known only to the truly romantically incompetent. I should probably write a book on how to be utterly crap at everything ever. It wouldn't sell terribly well, but that would really defeat the point. One of these days I'll sort my life out, but something tells me it won't be for a long time yet. :(

Bah.