Been home since Tuesday with some kind of horribly lurgy. My voice went completely on Monday night, which tends to indicate a coming cold for me. I wouldn't have been too bothered about seeking medical attention but I'm still quite new in my job and I felt awkward about being off, even though you can't do guidance work if you can't talk. I was patronised to the extreme at the doctors. Just because I can't speak doesn't mean I have learning difficulties and even if I did you don't have to talk to me like I'm a naughty four year old. I'm not pretending to be ill and it's not my choice or my fault that my voice has gone! They did a swab for the lab anyway. Didn't tell me what for, but as this has never happened before I'm guessing they're testing for H1N1.

Voice came back enough today for me to phone work, but nose and eyes streaming and sinuses ache. I'm on strict orders from my boss to stay at home until at least Monday, which is reassuring, but a bit pissed off at missing a visit to City University tomorrow. Visits are always interesting and a bit of a jolly - you normally get a nice lunch.

I've found it very hard to concentrate on anything, but I read the whole of Bryan Talbot's Alice in Sunderland yesterday and it was fantastic. Good if you like psychogeography, as was the Align talk recommended on Badwitchblog, which took place on Tuesday evening, just before I started to feel really rough. Three hours long, including intervals, but a wonderful mad gallop through ley lines, tumuli, churches, urban decay, crop circles, Australia, fairies and all manner of other Forteana. It's on again this coming Tuesday at The George inn on Borough High Street. If you can, you should go.

Among the Apes on Channel Five tonight graphically illustrated why everyone should avoid buying products containing palm oil. In order to reach orangutan territory Charlotte Uhlenbroek drove through miles of oil palm plantations, all of which had until recently been forest. Orangs have been driven out of China and other parts of the Far East and now live in small pockets of forest on Sumatra and Borneo. Apparently, when the loggers come the orangs sit in trees and cover their faces, possibly because they believe that if they can't see the loggers then the loggers can't see them. Many orangs are shot by hunters and the babies, if they are lucky, end up in rehabilitation units. Despite the best intentions of their keepers, few are ever able to return to the wild. Without learning how to forage from their mothers they would starve to death if not provided with food by humans.

And all of this happens because palm oil is a cheap fat for food and soap production. It's hard to avoid - many companies, for example Cadburys, list it on their products as vegetable fat. And it turns up in organic health foods just as much as in high street products. It would be helpful if companies were more open about where they sourced their palm oil. Some oil palms grow in Africa and the Canaries and have a far smaller environmental impact while providing a good source of income for the countries. Until this information is available I'm trying to avoid palm oil. I don't want to be part of orangutan extinction.

The Pudding v Dessert question last week reminded me of a rather posh woman I met at the retreat centre earlier this year. The tables had been laid with spoons with which to eat fruit tart and she hastily dispatched her husband to the cutlery drawer to get them both forks. She said her teacher at boarding school insisted it was "fork and spoon or just a fork, but NEVER just a spoon" and she couldn't bear the thought of eating pudding with a spoon to this day.

So, today's question is How Do You Eat Yours? I'm OK with just a spoon.

To all men in London -

I know it's hot, but please could you keep your shirts on in public places unless you've had at least three people tell you - in writing - that you look fabulous naked. My half-hour in the park is the highlight of my working day and I have no wish to be put off my lunch.

Apologies for any sexism that may be inferred from this message. Thank you for your attention.

Wednesday will be my first gig this year. It's a nostalgia trip time for retired 80s rock chicks, with Eddie Spaghetti and Ricky Warwick (less hair these days, boo!) at the Underworld, where I spent more time than I probably should have as a student.
But I have a tooth infection, so no cider. It won't be quite 1988 revisited, then.

From Steve:

Fifteen books you've read that will always stick with you. First fifteen you can recall in no more than 15 minutes.

1. Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
2. Our Noise - Jeff Gomez
3. The Books of Blood (can they count as one?)- Clive Barker
4. Europe's Inner Demons - Norman Cohn
5. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
6. Albion - Jennifer Westwood
7. A Bear Called Paddington - Michael Bond
8. Ludo and the Starhorse - Mary Stewart
9. The Magic Faraway Tree - Enid Blyton
10. Riders - Jilly Cooper
11. Promethea - Alan Moore
12. Hammer of the Gods - Stephen Davis
13. Collected Poetry - WB Yeats
14. Strange Angel - George Pendle
15. The Complete Book of Tarot - Juliet Sharman-Burke

On a training course today. Had lunch with two very pleasant women from British Columbia who were on a part-working, part-holiday trip to London. One of them turned to me and said "May I ask a silly question? Why do the English call dessert "pudding"? " I drew upon my exhaustive reading of Jilly Cooper to reply that, strictly speaking, dessert was fruit served as part of a meal, after the main course. Someone across the table opined that pudding was anything you ate with custard.

I wonder if whether you call it pudding or dessert is related to social class. The Headmaster of a posh independent school I used to work in always called it pudding. In my working class family it was called "afters" or pudding. At school it was afters, too. Perhaps "dessert" belongs to the middle classes, especially those who've spent time in the US, or see it as a more modern term?

I throw this one open to comment. Are you "pudding" or "dessert"?

In other news, I celebrated payday with an Indian Head Massage. It was lovely, and I will go back. Feeling very relaxed at the moment.

Any Supersuckers fans or anyone that remembers The Al-fuckin'-Mighty may want to know that Ricky Warwick and Eddie Spaghetti are playing a gig at The Underworld on 1st July. Not sure if they're doing a set each or something jointly, but could be fun.

You get two new cards, Moat and Duck House, and there's a new rule that you can get the other players to pay for them.

Cute! Shame there's no film.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/cornwall/8108878.stm

As I was a bit early for SELFS tonight I went for a walk around SE1 and visited the Crossbones Cemetary. Arriving at the same time were a troop of scouts with their lady scout leader. The kids demanded to know what the place was, so Akala read out the plaque on the fence saying that it had been an old burial ground for prostitutes and paupers. They didn't know what a pauper was.

When I was waiting for a bus on The Strand this afternoon a purple cow went past on one of those cycle rickshaws. She was a passenger, not the driver. I hadn't been drinking (that was later) and Steve saw her too, so I'm not hallucinating.

Sign outside a cafe in Kings Cross:

Today's Special - Cheese Sandwich

Exciting!

Nicked from dmwcarol. Very silly.

Graham, I hate it when you're right.

Still, as Steve pointed out, at least Diversity can't bring out a record.

After watching the final of Britain's Got Talent I suddenly felt the urge to listen to Free and Thunder. Anyone else think Shaun's got that Paul Rogers / Danny Bowes vibe going on? Actually, does anyone else remember Danny Bowes?

Too tired to post now, but we had a really good night at Treadwells tonight as Dan Harms talked about the origins of the Necronomicon. Steve will probably post more. And not a plush shoggoth in sight, thank goodness.

"So my friend, Clint. He said he could get me onto his ship 'cos I wanted to see foreign parts."

"He took you down below then, did he?"

Saw Stop Messing About at the Leicester Square Theatre tonight. Pun followed double entendre as the cast recreated a couple of Kenneth Williams radio shows from the early 70s. Silly, rude and very funny. Steve particularly enjoyed the sound effect of the hippopotamus high-diving into a vat of flaming junket (kind of eeeeowww - splat). And the semi-naked Nazi cowboy with a rifle who was the Facist Gun in the Vest.

Spent a happy hour or so last night catching up on the new series of Californication. Utterly filthy, but so funny and David Duchovny is gorgeous. Why is this not being shown on terrestrial? And why does Fiver keep going green and orange?

New job started today. So far, so good. Everyone seems nice and I have an office with a window and a computer that works properly. And a boss who insists his team take proper lunchbreaks. No desk-dining allowed!