February 12th, 2004



Fetcher seems to be having a challenging time of late. He signed up for an internet dating service and, after a certain amount of online chatting, met with a Russian woman living in London. I met her a couple of weeks back. She was standing in the kitchen in the morning glugging back a bottle of vanilla Stoli. I kind of like this Russian devil-take-you-sir fatalism, or alcoholism as people generally call it, but I wasn't at all sure about the choice of flavouring. There was an unflavoured bottle on offer after all.

She collapsed not long after this, leaving Fetch to try and piece together his frayed nerves. Well, it seems those nerves are still a little frayed. I met with him yesterday to look over a book he's written, but this current relationship seemed as much on his mind. Turns out she's married with a kid and a whole host of other complications to boot. I came back to Stamford Hill and was in Safeways when the mobile rang. "Err, L___ would like a word with you." said Fetch. Sure, I shrugged. "So, what do you want to know?" I said. Silence. That's pretty much how the conversation went for five minutes. I did manage to find out she studied English lit at Emm-Ge-Ooo as they probably don't call it. The situation seems a dangerous one to me and F., a yoga teacher by profession, overly frazzled. I muttered about fucked-up post-Soviet elitny types, devoid of soul, leech dollar sucking vermin na khuy... But it's partly supermarkets that put me in that frame of mind. They're not entirely responsible for the state they're in. Russians, that is, not Safeways. The Patriarchate has some work on its hands. Fetcher is an easygoing and generous type and I fear for him at the moment.

What is it with Koreans? First there's none and then thousands turn up at once. There seem to be more Koreans around then, say, five years ago. I'm all for it. I predict Korean boyfriends will be the must-have accessory in some London areas this season and everyone will be munching on bibimbap and pulgogi [p or is it b?] and disdaining bland copycat sushi bars. Eventually history will come full circle and the Mongols will return. Bring it on!

Of course, not long after I put the phone down yesterday, I came across the following it-can't-fail Hollywood summer blockbuster. The film cost more than it would to buy Ingushetia in its entirety! As for the cast, Capt. Franky Cook may well be the best thing it has going. Which might be saying something. Or not. I shall say no more for fear that Gwyneth Paltrow will start some annoying IM flame war. One superstar is quite enough at any one time. I don't understand why anyone would want to create a fake Jolie journal. Ridiculous.


I'm not a completely gaga Mac user. The product is overpriced for sure. But the system is a lot more stable and you can laugh with impunity everytime Microsoft release some new patch for yet another hole. Nevertheless, after some nine hours of intense revising and working on a 10,000 word essay, the application crashed. Do you want to revert to the saved version? Yes? No? Now, is that version that's been autosaving or the original saved version first opened this morning? 50-50. Wrong decision. Some cursing, a few strangled tears. What an insufficiently explicit message. So, it will be an early rise tomorrow to try and rewrite all that stuff. Chances are it will come out better. I suspect that use of the phrase 'canonical prudence' may also have had the computer thinking I should take a rest. There are two lessons here:

1. Don't trust in the autosave feature. Save regularly. (I knew that one, I just got too relaxed)

2. If you use Word, even on a Mac, you still get to have the joy of cursing Microsoft. (Just not so often)