I am awaiting payday now with all the patience of a kid waiting outside a bookstore for the release of The Deathly Hallows. Days it has been out now, mocking me with its shiny revelations and secrets within. But no, I must wait unitl Friday. I was in a bookstore in central London yesterday and the urge to turn to the last page was almost irresistable. In fact, I did read the last line of the book. I’m a very bad man. It didn’t really hold any special secrets for me though thnakfully, so the surprise remains intact for now. Anyone who dares to tell me anything in the meantime faces a certain and grizzly death.

I went to Essex this weekend for my Dad’s 60th, which was a jolly old rip-roaring time. However, funds dictated I take the whole journey by coach, so I had two hours of layover in London, which was enough time for me to establish both a nostalgic tinge for my hometown, and a definite resolution never to live there again. For whilst it is pretty and sunny, and full of places like Buckingham Palace, where I saw the changing of the guard yesterday, it is also full of the most rude, insolent people on the planet, which can be split into two groups; The horrible swathes of European tourists clogging the streets, and of course, Londoners. I hate them, all apart from me.