Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner, That I love London so...Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner, That I think of her wherever I go...

Who's got the rockin-est girlfriend in town? ME, that's who! Staci bought a Wii on the wiikend (heh heh, console joke), and what was the first game she bought? Only Guitar Hero 3! Oh that's right...we rocked...extensively. And not only that, but when Rock Band comes out on Wii in the next couple of months it'll have extra songs including 'Little Sister' by Queens of the Stoneage. So I'll be thinking of Grant and Jimbo while I'm rocking out...but not when I'm doing it with my groupie (then I'll be thinking about their mommas!)

On the weekend we went to a BBQ at the home of one of the senior doodz at Staci's work. I made my super sexy summer salad which never fails to impress, and I even kicked it up a notch by combining the figs with a triumverate of tomatoes (red, orange and yellow) which totally blew everyone's minds. Which is just as well given the calibre of the digs. I've never in my life seen a house as fancy-schmancy as this place was, let alone been inside it with the owners' permission. I'm not saying it was big but let me just say that it had 13 bathrooms. That's right, 13 BATHrooms...not bedrooms or toilets...bathrooms. I don't know how many bedrooms there were because, frankly, I was a bit drunk and lost count when it got into double digits, and nearly fell into the indoor pool. But each bedroom had its own bathroom plus a whole bunch of other bathrooms scattered about the place for good measure just in case all those foie grois smoothies mess with your impulse control and you really couldn't be arsed leaving the room to poop. The place was frickin' enormous! It was part of a gated community in St George's Hill near Surrey comprising 400 other equally massive mansions, most of which are owned by rich Russians. Suppposedly Putin's daughter lives there, Elton John once lived there as did Ringo Starr and George Harrison. You can almost smell the money...mainly because there's blue-collar eastern European dudes raking it up into huge piles on the lawns to be burnt. You know you're rich when you have a fusball table that no one is allowed to use...especially not the drunken Australian dude whose name no one remembers and is constantly mistaken for the maid's husband.

I went for my first proper ride on Sweaty Betty through the marshlands up north of Clapton. Don't be fooled by the name, there was nothing particularly marshy about the lands and most of the paths were paved and well-trod. But that was cool as the sun was shining and I made it all the way to Cheshunt (about 12 miles) before the bruising to my gooch reached the point where I could no longer sit down. Unfortunately by that point my legs were so tired that I couldn't stand up either so I crouched down whilst drinking coffee and reading my book in the sun. My second ride was through the streets of London to Staci's place, which was both exhilarating and terrifying. It's remarkably easy to get around London on a bike if you've got nothing to live for. I learned an important lesson which is that you have to be a complete psycho-list to ride a bike on London streets, particularly along Oxford Street and Knightsbridge. Taxis and buses have little enough regard for pedestrian life as it is, let alone pedestrians on bikes. I think the manslaughter law only applies if you run over someone whose feet are touching the ground at the point of impact. But she's a sweet ride and despite the fact my gooch has been tenderised into veal I'm looking forward to taking her over some sweet jumps out in the wilderness. I'm heading out to Milton Keynes with Dr Phil 'Chuck Slavakia' Well'Ard on Saturday for a 25 mile ride through the mud which will be slightly more radical than rad but slightly less radical than super rad. Plus, if the weather is as crap as it promises to be, it will be another chance to indulge in some Holmes' Pun Wisdom. Oh, I do say!

Did you know there's no naturally-occurring blue food? (I know what you're thinking and neither blueberries nor blue smarties count...I looked it up). As a result of this, human vision evolved to see red and green much better than blue. In the eye there are 3 types of cones which perceive each of the 3 primary colours: red, green and blue. 32% of the cones detect red, 64% detect green but only 2% detect blue. Apparently, as seeing the colour blue didn't help cavemen find food (and smarties hadn't yet been invented) evolution focussed more on red and green. Imagine the damage you could wreak if you went back in time and gave cavemen blue smarties...they'd lose their friggin minds! You'd be all like, "Hey, Flintstone! Check this shit out!" And he'd be all like, "What? I can't see nuttin." Then you'd laugh derisively and have sex with his hot cartoon wife while he wept in the corner like the fat working-class cuckold he is.

Add another chapter to The Book of Things That Are Sightly Different Over Here, and title it Father's Day. For some bizarre reason they have it in June, which means I now miss out on Father's Day twice each year. Maybe they'll let me have two birthdays as well so I can UH! Double-Up UH! UH! the disappointment. Siiiigh...

On Sunday Staci and I got up before noon (I know!) and took a guided walk through Central London to listen to some med school drop out prattle on about London's medical history. It wasn't as nearly as gruesome as I'd hoped but interesting nonetheless. The closest we got to true nausea was the of Samuel Pepys drunk on brandy and tied to his dining room table, having his bladder stone removed with blacksmith's tongs via his perforated gooch. Oooh, thinks that make you go WINCE!