My hour for tea is half-past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody.

 After one of the worst working weeks of my life, and I was so proud of myself for keeping it together until the very end, but alas, pride goes before a fall and I found myself unequal to some truly spectacular sit.

So I went and saw Artic Monkeys, because they’re a fave. It was a perfect concert. Absolutely perfect. The lights, the lively performance, the note perfect songs. Flawless. I even got up ad danced for Are You Mine, and never have I understood the phrase going through the motions like I do now. I’m so burnt out I just couldn’t enjoy myself. Appreciate that I was watching something special, yes, but feel it, no. They have destroyed me. I would have been sad, but I can’t feel that, either.

So, seeing favourite band live reduced to just another chore. If I could be upset, I would be.

Also, accidentally locked cat in laundry. Again.

So I saw Christopher Robin, because I wanted to see some Ewan (help me Obi Wan, etc.,). Basically, Pooh is here for your horrible boss issues, and I am down with that. Would that I could have Eeyore (my sprit animal) stare down a lazy, witless monster on my behalf. So, yes, got the message, alas, too late.

Finally saw Ladies in Black, too. It was sweet, with definite They’re A weird Mob riffs. Nothing earth shattering, just a gentle tale of golden hued life in the 50s. It did remind me of being taken under the wing of sophisticated Eastern European sophisticates. They must have oved that, finding some gormless skip and finally her head full of books, wine and salami. Still, I look back on those days fondly, and I miss being put onto Bulgakov with a sort of sly shiftiness, like it was a secret thing.

Also watched the latest version of Vanity Fair, at least until I broke the headphones. Everyone is so pretty in this version, but I don’t mind it. It’s an interesting take over the last version I saw, which heightened the venal and grotesque (really, in Vanity Fair?).

So I’m sitting here in a room, looking out over a urbanised scene that could be anywhere, and there’s even a Nandos menu close to hand. Very exotic.

At least the chap I was meeting looked like Shane Jacobson kitted out as Steve Irwin, with the most ridiculous cod accent. I appreciated the theatre of it.

Ok, that’s it for now. Too tired to care, but hey, there’s always Nandos.