Lamer

I can barely walk. The major events of the day were walking for an hour to fix Craig C's computer of a virus, managing to fix everything except the virus, and walking for an hour back.

The day was unpleasantly hot and moist, so in addition to baggy teeshirt, baggy football shorts, battered baseball cap and no socks, I found a hideous pair of old sandals, which after ten minutes decided to pinch and poke my feet at every opportunity. The result of two hours walking like this in the sun without enough sunblock is that I'm sunburned and it hurts like hell to walk because of all the blisters.

Seeing him with completely sober and undrugged eyes, Craig is just as lovely as before. Seeing me with equally clear eyes, all traces of sexual ambiguity have gone and he likes women. Hah. Not that I expected anything different.

Oh, I spent another hour listening to Paul T, who is no longer planning to leave music, but will probably still leave oranised politics and maybe the western hemisphere. Upon hearing that I'm playing at Roxanne's birthday, he started to phone her to ask to play too - tactless enough to start doing it, but sensible enough to stop.

The party is on the 20th, and the venue still to be arranged. So I have ten days to come up with backing for a 20 minute set. After the friday gig, someone has come up with an alternative moniker for Kapitano, based on my rapping, paunch and, erm, reputation for sexual openness. Notorius F.A.G. I probably shouldn't like it, but I do.

Tomorrow I need to walk to the shops to buy some sandals that won't knacker my feet. Except I can't, because my feet are knackered.