2004-05-06..4:50 p.m.

FRANZ FERDINAND!!!!! I�ve actually gone with the wearing a proper skirt with tights and everything just in case a Ferdinand happens to gaze across the floor, meet me in the eye, and pull me on stage a la Dancing in the Dark. Except with better moves on my part. And schmancy shoes too. Though no make up. I thought about wearing the make up, but that would have involved procuring the make up and applying the make up and then having to sweat the make up off and look like a bedraggled and rather overzealous admirer of raccoon. Fortunately I�ve got better things to do with my time and money, like read and buy food, and I might admire the raccoon and its tribal doppelgangers, but not that much. So no make up. But schmancy shoes.

No interview just yet, we�re in negotiations� so fucking nervous though. I�ve never done a phone interview! Roar had some suggestions, but they�re all pretty common sensical� No, this is one conundrum that has not been sorted at all..

You know, any normal mild neurotic would be up all night thinking about this. Not me. Instead I�ve been keeping myself up with the Adventures of Spiderman. I�m a twelve year old boy. I�ve not made it to sleep before about half two for the past four nights. I�m one step away from searchlights outside my window, and some scaryass American policeman shouting through a megaphone, Step Away from the Comic Book. Ma�am, Turn Out the Lights and Put the Comic Book Down, Or We�re Coming In. Actually.. That�s just grounds for some seriously fucked up fantasies.. Never mind. Forget I said anything.

During my lunch hour I actually attempted to return some of the said comic books back to the library, whereupon I was told I couldn�t because I was in the wrong borough (Islington, not Haringey), so I took a wander to see what I might take home with me and found Down and Out in Paris and London (Orwell), The House of Mirth (Wharton) and Goodbye Mr. Chips (James someone, or someone James, can never remember), and went to take them out, whereupon I was told I couldn�t because I didn�t have my library card, whereupon I left a bit huffily because for fuck�s sake I�ve only got an hour, people, and how hard would it have been to confirm my existence on the system?

I was much less than impressed with fatass library checkout guy. I�d have been even more fucked off with the situation had he not been so very much like Comic Shop Guy in the Simpsons. Same rolling eyes and lank ponytail and self-satisfied smug-though-he�ll-never-get-laid-and-if-he-does-i-will-enter-a-convent sneer. It was uncanny.

Anyway, lunch was not lost for then I discovered Bumblebees, the sweetest little organic and natural food stuffs shop on the Holloway/Camden border where I was allowed to make my own trail mix using BULK BINS! They don�t DO that over here! Bulk bins, how I love you so. I�ve been nibbling on dried papaya and brazil nuts all afternoon and am nearing being unpleasantly full, but I continue because of the bulk bin memories and the bulk bin joy.

FRANZ FERDINAND!!!!

****meep