All Gone A Bit Pete Tong

Friday's plan was simple. Record 'Rattle', then get used to using the portable 8-track.

What actually happend was I got a call from Simon M, asking me to come over straight away and sort out his paypal account. On the grounds that he's won three ebay auctions, but hasn't finished setting things up with paypal so he can pay for what he's bought.

As it turned out, paypal were having technical difficulties. But eventually they sorted things out at their end, so I could finish the account set up at our end. Which only leaves 7 to 9 days wait till the money moves from Simon's bank account to his virtual account.

He and his brother Jeremy have identified a dozen drawings and paintings which have been cluttering up their house for decades, but which could be sold on ebay to upper middle class types who want edwardian knick-knacks to decorate their homes.

I offered to help out with photographing the items and setting up the auctions. For the former I needed my old digital camera/camcorder, a room with good light, and the camera tripod which was at Paul T's house.

I cycled home, and as I was putting the bike away, my sandals fell apart. I stuck them back together the epoxy glue and that worked, for a while.

Upstairs, I dug out my camcorder, and found that it could no longer take stills. Specifically, the interface with the memory sticks didn't work. Which rather buggers up my promise to the M brothers.

I bought some disposable razors. And proceeded to cut my scalp shaving.

In the late evening, I tried to cycle over to Paul's house to get the tripod. Except my bike had disappeared.

Exactly how someone could steal a bike from behind a locked 8-foot wooden gate I'm not sure. I mean, how could they know it was there? How did they climb over? How did they climb back with the bike? However, someone seems to have managed it.

So, I rode my rickety old spare bicycle. It's about as old as I am, built like a rattly battleship, has no lights, no locks, bad brakes, gears with a habit of slipping, and a chain the comes off at random intervals. Actually, it's bits of three bicycles patched together in a moment of wild engineering by my father.

Arriving at Paul's house, I found the band had just finished an argumentative and sullen three hour practice session. All about misunderstandings and imagined slights and bruised feelings. It's good when bandmates repair their relationships over tea, but I wish emotions didn't take so much discussion to express and put right.

Finally, I left. Then realised I'd forgotten the tripod and went back. Paul insisted on finding some bungee cord to tie the tripod in place, then when he couldn't he insisted on finding some string instead, then insisted on showing me how clever the knots were, then insisted on demonstrating a fascinating little device he'd discovered for untying knots.

My sandals fell apart again. And the gears on the bike failed in the middle of a busy road.

I consoled myself with fried chicken and chips at two in the morning in the park.

So, saturday's plan is quite simple. Get a new bike (£100), plus lights (£25) and lock (£15). Then use it to cycle to the shops for some new sandals (£10). See what I can do about the camera. Record 'Rattle' and become familliar with the 8-track.