Sunday, July 04, 2004
My post-football funk has lasted quite a long time. But don't worry, gentle readers - I'm back back back! With a double-length dose of MarkCity news.

Last Friday, I went to the Groucho again, hoping for more star-spotting action. I think they must know when I'm coming because there wasn't a single celeb in sight. Not even any former Big Brother contestants. The nearest to a celeb was the bloke who writes the TV reviews for the Evening Standard. Pathetic.

Saturday was a sad day because we had to say a fond farewell to our friend Lisa, the world's only Texan vegetarian. Or should that be Texas's only vegetarian? Whatever. She's leaving Blighty, partly because the men here are so rubbish and I'm already taken (joke), and going back to the US. So we now have another place to stay in my favourite country, and with cousin Martin moving to Florida, America could be seeing a lot more of us. But back to Tunbridge Wells: as part of Lisa's sayonara party, we went to what must be among the challengers for the worst nightclub ever, Da Vinci's. It's crapness isn't only down to the no-trainers policy - a sure sign of a provincial naffhouse - or it's cretinous clientele. It's mainly about the music. I shudder to recall how they played - deep breath - The Proclaimers. And 'Hi Ho Silver Lining'. And Vanilla Ice. It was like being at a wedding disco in hell. Da Vinci's is about as cutting edge as it gets in Tunbridge Wells. The ridiculous thing was that this cheese was blasted at a volume that made the music even more painful. I've already f**ked up my ears by going to too many gigs over the years, and after Saturday night I had tinnitus for about 4 days. I genuinely thought that was it. And if I'd lost my hearing the the frigging Proclaimers I'd have bee seriously peed off. To avoid further aural scarring I've ordered some special earplugs from the States for the next gigs I attend.

Sunday night we went to the theatre. My long-term readers will realise that theatre isn't really my thing and that I am a total philistine when it comes to Shakespeare and such things. However, my boss has written a play which was being previewed at the Old Vic. He's a bit of a genius, my boss. Butter came because she was hoping to spy Kevin Spacey, but he wasn't there. Again, he must have known I was coming.