Sale away with me honey...

We went to town where almost every shop displayed prominent Sale signs. It was, perhaps unsurprisingly, quiet - let's face it, we're all skint, the cards are maxed out and there's a lot of post-flood associated dismay round these parts. If only it were a conscious spurning of the shopping mall of consumerism in favour of a simple life uncluttered by material wealth rather than an inability to lay our hands on a bit more credit, eh? HMV was a tad hectic but otherwise, it was almost a pleasure to wander around with the boy Finn attached to me via his swanky baby carrier. There were other men who, like me, were attempting to display the modern face of masculinity, with their offspring attached to their chests via complex sling arrangements. "Look at me," we scream to the public, who are complicit in this game with their saccharine smiles of acknowledgment, "I've made this tiny living breathing thing and I'm going to carry it around, even if it means being a bit edgy when I'm getting on and off escalators". I made eye contact with another male sling wearer. What went unsaid went along the lines of "ain't we just the best fathers? Can you believe there are people that don't carry their babies around like this? Is your lumber support working, cos my back's f**king killing me?".

I swapped the chore of dibbing in and out of Ronnie Wood's shoddily composed autobiography Ronnie for the wonders of Russell Brand's My Booky Wook, which is like a very rude, saucy version of James Frey's lambasted (but still brilliant, in my opinion) A Million Little Pieces. I do feel as if I know too much about Brand and his trouser parts now, having just turned the final page on the debauched cross-addicted life he led, but I'd certainly recommend My Booky Wook if you're looking for an excuse to wallow in a nice mix of filth, comedy and pathos. I used to note what I was reading and listening to on this very blog at the foot of the posts but I got out of that habit. Perhaps I shall resolve to do it again in 2008. Or maybe I won't. Is anyone interested? Maybe I'll just do it to satisfy my own selfish ends.

Reading: Will Self and Ralf Steadman - Psychogeography Listening: Josh Rouse & Kurt Wagner - Chester.