Saturday, May 03, 2003

Houston? No problem.

Having stared into the face of doom in Sars-ridden Toronto and lived to tell the tale - or rather, for me to tell the tale on her behalf - Butter's travels continue. She's now been sent to Houston, Texas, to continue her training. I'm a little bit worried that she might run off with an oil millionaire called Hank. I'm even more worried that she might find it a tad difficult to find veggie burgers in the Lone Star Steak, sorry, State. I will, of course, keep y'all posted.


With my girlfriend jetting around the world, I thought it was about time for me to get out of the house. I spent a night out in London and stayed in Camberwell with my friend Andrew. Had lashings of beer and vodka. This morning, we went to the National Portrait Gallery to soak up our hangovers with some culture. We visited the Self Portrait UK exhibition, featuring lots of photos, films, paintings and, er, Sainsbury's receipts, representing the inner souls of the Great British public. One of the artists was actually there, in the flesh: a 10-year-old boy in a hoodie being loudly congratulated by his mum. As brushes with celebrity go, it was hardly up there with the time I sold Neil Tennant from the Pet Shop Boys a bag of Brussels sprouts. And have I ever told you that I went to school with Stella McCartney? Funny how the one famous person from my school happens to be the daughter of a Beatle. But I'm digressing wildly. The exhibition was cool, although I was finding it a little hard to concentrate because my sister kept texting me with updates on the Man U - Charlton match.

Channel 4 are repeating the run-down of the 100 Greatest Adverts of All Time. There's no way that the Guinness ad with the horses should have won. My vote goes to the 'Ian Rush drinks milk' commercial. Accrington Stanley? Who are they? Ex-zackly.