Weird semi-flirting experience at lunchtime

So I'm walking down the street trying to find a cashpoint in order to buy my lunch. The charity people are out in force trying to get people to sign up for donations. One of them collars me and the following, rather bizarre, conversation ensues (as best as I can recall, anyhow):

Her: I'd like to talk to you.

Me: I'm sure you would.

Her: Do you like my puppy? [points to small stuffed Rottweiler in her hand]

Me: Not really.

Her: Why not?

Me: He looks evil.

Her: How can you say that?

Me: He just does.

Her: Would you be interested in donating to International Cancer Research? They conduct research into all different types of cancers all over the world.

Me: Not really.

Her: Why not? It's a good cause.

Me: It certainly is. Tell me, do they do any of their research on dogs like that? [pointing at her puppy]

Her: How can you say that? I'm upset now. You've broken my heart.

Me: I'm sorry. These things happen.

Her: Do you enjoy breaking girls' hearts? Do you do it often?

Me: It's necessary from time to time I suppose. It's the way of the world. Yin and yang. Bye.

Her: Bye.

So I walk off to buy a sandwich. Now what the fuck was that all about eh?

Nationalism, infrastructure and insomnia

The latent catalyst behind my frustration at the world in which I live - for the moment anyway - is insomnia. Not the proper, full-on type, but bad enough to knock me off my stride and leave me feeling drained and tetchy all day. It's a phase, it'll pass. But while it's here, a few things need straightening out.

The rise in nationalism we're currently experiencing in the UK will be debated by finer minds than mine for many years to come. I just want to get a few thoughts down. Immigration never used to be a major political issue when I was a kid. But there have always been sections of society demonised as the root of all our ills for one reason or another. Back in the eighties and nineties it was dole scroungers and single mothers. Then they realised that these people were actually their constituency - they could sell more papers by turning the enemy into someone outside the country. And so we have the immigration thing, the flag-waving "I'm not a racist I'm just proud of my country" thing, which is getting bigger, louder, more violent and more irrational with every passing day, as the traditional political parties lumber around like oil tankers in a minefield trying to preserve their fantasy vision of the world in which they grew up.

What really bothers me though, in my current sleep-deprived state, is exactly what I'm supposed to be proud of? This country is broken. This country doesn't work. The English are a lazy, belligerent, insecure, inflexible and shallow nation and the country bears all the signs of that. Public services are expensive, slow and unreliable; those with the power to change them - the government, management and unions and us, the voters, the workers, the taxpayers - don't have the will to do so. We expect bad service - we expect to treat each other badly. We need the immigrants to remind us what hard work is, what can be achieved with enough will, to remind us that life can be more than a dull humourless slog, more than a wretched wage slavery and a sullen journey into the banal, unfeeling, soulless world of house prices, public service league tables and the endless self-serving monologue of property owners paralysed by fear of change.

The Weekend

It wasn't exactly a lost weekend but boy did it go quick... hangovers, football, more hangovers, sweet milky tea by the bucketload and sitting around in boxers scratching me balls... the modern bachelor searches for meaning with his staring face lit by the diffused glow of an empty fridge. I exaggerate; there was half a pint of milk and some wholegrain mustard.

• Achievement of the weekend: Managing to change my sheets before the old ones became rancid enough to keep me awake at night.
• Failure of the weekend: Still couldn't bother my arse enough to take the rubbish out. It's practically become a phobia.

Making a start

The most important thing, I suppose, is to make a start. So that’s what we’ll do.