If Mika be the food of love

Washing Up, by Jacky Fleming - my favourite feminist cartoonist
You can buy her books and everything - and you should.

I spent last night at Phil's birthday party at the Wine Vaults, Phil is my oldest friend Heather's fiancee and everyone there consumed much, much alcohol, creating an atmosphere of laughter, surprise and even tears. Kit Kat came with me, but we hardly saw anything of each other as we mingled happily with the other guests. I had some strange conversations: on astrology and the power of an ascendant, on the nature of young people and teaching, on conservation and electric cars, and on love, boyfriends, and the power of the break up.

I had a great evening and I was glad that I managed to haul my usually highly unreliable self (as Ben, who definitely won the best-dressed male award, so quickly and keenly reminded me) there. The evening reminded me of how enjoyable some conversations can be, and more than once, how reliably incestuous and small this tiny town can be.

When Kate and I got home, a little gin-sozzled, but wide awake, we opened a bottle of pinot grigio and began to slur the world to rights. We discussed the gendered puzzle of relationships, and whether there is any such thing as the 'perfect one,' and made each laugh with our committed cynicism. An article that I read in The Onion (if you're not familiar with this American satirical newpaper, then check it out) this afternoon summarises the spirit of our late night musings:

Couple Brought Together Through Mutual Desperation

FYI, xylophagia is "a condition involving the excessive consumption of wood."

This morning we were feeling a little hazy and somewhat worse for wear, so after heading tentatively into Southsea for lunch, we returned to a safe haven underneath the couch duvet and watched Relative Values - well, I did, while Kate slept like a rather hungover log. It has taken me a further hour to rouse myself from the couch since Kate's departure, in order to update The Daily, but the movement has disturbed the drunken haze here in the Heights, so at least there's a chance I'll eat this evening. I have gammon steaks in the oven even as we speak. I dig the pig.

If you're not a regular on the BBC's own online and interactive culture magazine, The Collective, and if you're interested in new bands and new music (in new music we trust), then you have to check out their playlists. Last week, it featured The View, The Klaxons, and The Maccabees - what more do you want?

Well, actually I can think of something. I'm developing the most futile crush on the absolutely divine Mika, who you can see here singing live at Ronnie Scott's. I need this man, I mean, I need this man's album. Obviously. Look at his trousers. No, not in a pervy way. You're disgusting.

I intend to spend this evening in front of my pc, catching up on blogs and hitting my favourite music sites for a catch up, before retiring for an early night with a new book that I've been looking forward to reading all week. The Do Not Disturb sign is on the door and no one is getting past it. Except maybe Mika, of course.