Sometimes it hardly seems worth forming an opinion on some things in the news- so much of what you hear is literally someone "making an issue of something", where none existed before. When you question someone's motives for raising something is that cynical ("what's he really saying ?")or naive ("do we really need to bring this up ?").

I do seem to have a knack for rubbing up sound enginers the wrong way. I've never regarded them and musicians as natural enemies (a la doctors and surgeons, builders and architects etc), but as soon as I open my mouth on the subject I seem to end up implying either "your gear is crap" or "you just twiddle knobs really, don't you ?".
Anyway, if he's prepared to speak to me again, then my mate Roger should be mastering my next CD for me, and who knows, maybe I'll even get round to opening a myspace account with some of the tracks from it.

So, I'm walking down the road to the co-op, when two guys cycle by, carrying pints of lager. Actual pint glasses. Well, that's illegal and stupid , think I. One catches my eye-

"WOT ? WOT ? WOT YOU FACKIN STARIN AT YOU CAHNT ??!"

I'm tempted to give him the finger, but that reaction in a similar encounter nearly led to me getting my face stoved in.

My other recent brushes with the nicer side of the English populace include- some charmer knocking my bike down from the lamp-post it was chained to and crushing the front wheel; another bozo suddenly running out of nowhere across the exit I was pulling out of, and screaming at me to watch myself. When I dare to respond-

"WOT'S YOR BEEF, EH ? WOT'S YOUR BEEF ? ISSA PAAF, INNIT ? ISSA BLOODY PAFF AN I CAN CROSS IT !" (No, actually, it's a path which is bissected by a road, meaning you have to stop and do your Green Cross Code, you southern ingrate).

I don't know if it's just a sign of the times, or just that I haven't been near a Scottish housing estate in a while, but it had me googling the words "Edinburgh Language School vacancy". Behold, there are a few more schools in Edinburgh now, a couple with vacancies, but I'm unlikely to do anything about it. The grief of buying this place is still too recent to move so soon. In the meantime, might I just say fuck Wayne Rooney, I love Ronaldhino and if you're some moron who's born into the comfort of England in the early 21st century, but still think you're living in an Ice Cube video, then you're a sad piece of pathetic scum and I look forward to the day your diet of burgers and Bensons ends your comtemptible life.

The news is depressingly predictable, or predictably depressing, that I can't stand to listen to it in the morning. I've taken to listening to Radio 3 instead. I can't pretend that I understand or enjoy all of it, but I've made a few discoveries.

There's a sequel to the film "Clerks" in the cinema now. The original film was taken, among a few other things, as indicative of the mentality of "Generation X". People like me- in their 20s in the early 90s, a bit arty, a bit lefty, University educated but mouldering away in service sector jobs through a mixture of economic recession and personal inertia.

I didn't see the original til about 5 years later, by which time my card was marked as an EFL teacher. As it is mostly a fairly scatalogical comedy involving, variously, rooftop hockey games, tobacco-inspired rioting, the finer points of hardcore porn and the revelation that your girlfriend has fellated 32 other men, it shouldn't be treated as too profound. There was one thing that made me wish I'd seen it at the time though. At the finale, the main character's best friend loses patience with his constant "over-compensation". He reacts in an absurdly defensive manner to everything- probably the defining characteristic of adolescence, as you might also see in Catherine Tate's "Am I bovvered ?" If I'd seen it then, that revalation might have genned me a little quicker into growing up. Or maybe not.

I doubt if I'll go and see the sequel. Apparently all that's changed is that the characters work in a corporate franchise rather than the local 7/11. I've left that behind, thank God. Hopefully I've done the same thing with a few attitudes.

After 14 years of faithful service, my vinyl copy of Miles Davis' "Kind of Blue" finally acquired a scratch recently. This may not sound like a big deal, but to imagine the effect it has on that particular track, imagine if a microsecond were stolen from your orgasm. The first thing that strikes you about the CD is that it's a fraction slower and thus about a quarter-tone lower. Apparently that's the way it was done originally- not that it diminishes the beauty of the music in the slightest. Nor does the remastering.

Even if you aren't a jazz fan, the £5 this album will cost you will be amly repaid over the years. Or burn it off your spoddy jazz-fan mate. Every solo will be as recognisable as an old friend, and yet still elude prediction. It is simply beautiful.

Time for an experiment in phonetic spelling-

One weekend, the Jones of Deptford, proud working-class Londoners to the core, received a visit from Aunt Julia. Though no less proletarian in background than themselves, Aunt Julia had married well and had acquired a few airs and graces. One evening, while perusing that month's "Tatler", Aunt Julia was interrupted by young Frank, who required assistance with his homework.........

Frank- Ar d'yer spell "orse" ?

Aunt Julia- Ey beg yower pahdon, Frarncis ?

Frank- Ar d'yer spell "orse" ?

Aunt J- Do yew bay any charnce mean, "horse" ?

Frank- Yer.

Aunt Julia- Well, please pronince it in thee corrict feshion, Frarncis. Then ey shell inform yew of thee corrict spelling.

Young Frank falls silent, until a few minutes later.

Frank (insistently)- Ar d'yer spell "orse" ??

Aunt J- Frarncis, ey hev orlready teyold yew, it is "horse".

Frank (screaming)- AR D'YER SPELL ORSE, AUNTIE JULIA ?!

Aunt J (sternly)- Frarncis, ey shell not till yew again, it is "horse".

Frank- I'VE ALREADY GOT THE BLEEDIN' "H" !!

Boom boom.