Amazing, sitting in Bubble Kitschen on the North Laine on a Sunday morning (Ben Folds on the stereo) I can choose between six – yeah six – different free wifi providers. Compare that with walking frustratedly around Leeds for hours last autumn trying to find a café that did wifi at all. Outside the window lots of familiar scenesters stumble past, dark glasses on. The ones I know give me a pained smile as they hobble by. The nice weather is bringing the seaside back to life early this year, after only a month’s hibernation, a bit like everyone’s tortoises that have woken up early.
Wifi is one of many reasons to stick with independent shops and cafés – nowadays the chains are almost always hooking up with horrid credit card / subscriber wifi providors like BT Openzone (those a-holes still owe me money for their rubbish service last time!).
Like, I was just reading a wiki about the Euston Manifesto. It’s a strange short document signed by a bunch of soft left semi-intellectuals and journos, some of whom I admire (Wheen), some of whom I think are pricks (Cohen). Of this document, more later, I’ve downloaded it to read this afternoon. But one key thing undermined them immediately in my opinion: the twits chose an O’Neills chain pub on the Euston Road to gather than collect their thoughts. For fuck’s sake, couldn’t they even find an indie pub to drink in / support, while planning their attack?
I’m trying to get fitter, so I’ve been doing a lot more exercise than usual and I’m off the booze. Nothing crazy like actually going into a gym (yet…) but I’m doing sit-ups and brisk walking up a hill every day, which has already begun to make me feel better after all the American over-eating – but it’s also been having an effect on my muscles, which feel all sensitive.
Anyway, at the end of last week, I sneezed and I reckon a rib cracked! I was in an odd position, balancing on something and I guess my muscles were out of place, so the sneeze kicked my arse. It really fucking hurts, days later! And every time I think I’m going to sneeze (which happens a fair old whack because of various stupid dust allergy shit) it gets dead scary. Wonder if going on the aeroplane will be a problem!?
I’m very scared to go to the doctor though, because he’ll inevitably tell me I’ve got the AIDs or cancer or heart disease. You know the feeling. Funnily enough, loads of people around me have had real injuries and illnesses far worse than my imagined ones. But, you know, a blog should be an honest thing, so there’s no point pretending to be brave.