Liadnan

My father gave me many pieces of advice, some of which I followed. One of the more idiosyncratic was "never wear clothes with writing on". His particular loathing was for carrying an advert around on his clothes: he considered that if he was going to do that, even for a product he liked (the usual scapegoat was Guinness) he ought to be paid for it.

While it isn't the most important thing he ever told me, it's something I have actually observed, by and large. I own almost no clothing with writing or indeed logos or pictures, not only not adverts for Guinness but also nothing advertising the clothing manufacturer itself (this is of course a Snare and an Abomination in the Eyes of the Lord in any event, or if not that at least naff), nothing with external labels except my jeans, no band t-shirts or sweat shirts, and nothing with some terribly witty slogan. I think I do have have a couple of ancient t-shirts from shows I was in at university and also, I think, one Glastonbury 94 t-shirt and a Proms 95 t-shirt. None of which ever see the light of day. A pair of college trackie-bottoms, which I wear in bed when I'm cold, and a sweatshirt for some society or other. Oh, and some ancient school ties and a college tie count I suppose. And a scarf. And that's the lot.

All of which is no doubt terribly pretentious and I'm not particularly suggesting that anyone else should follow this line. But I was trying to work out why, precisely, those bloody charity wrist bands irritate me so much.

Have just been either busy or bored. Given that my current choice is between writing a livejournal entry or joining others in the pub, you ain't going to get much now either.

Still, news that A South African man has been found guilty of killing an interior designer after she criticised his curtains (courtesy of Maccers) always bears repeating.

I spent most of Sunday afternoon becoming really quite drunk while standing outside the White Hart at Barnes Bridge. And then we lost, arse.

Loads of stewdents around, and Steph and I observed three things about them: (1) they were all ridiculously young, they're letting mere children in these days, hmm hmmm; (2) they all seem to have far more money than I did; (3) they were all actually wearing university-blazoned fleeces and the like, which I always thought were the height of naff and meant for tourists only.

Mind you, they also all seemed to be from Balliol.

In other news, I actually vacuumed the flat, by way of "working from home" this morning, for the first time in about six months. Never let it be said that I am slovenly.

Not feeling particularly well, actually, and have loads to do, so I shall have to leave reading everyone else until some other time.