September 28 (Tuesday): Oh my, Sara is fucking arsey on MSN this morning. Leave it you cow. At least there is no talk about getting gangsters to beat me up this morning. Small blessings.

I actually take last nights MSN argument into work and print it off and show it around, Stevo especially eats/laps it up.

At work I am doing the best job I have touched in weeks, it is tidy and therefore easy, a real breeze and pleasure to be working on.

At lunchtime I wander around town on a budget. I bump into Chris’ mum in WH Smith who keeps me updated on Chris in Catford, his latest London uni adventure. She catches me as I am wandering around the shop with Stevo looking for books on dogs. Stevo suddenly wants to buy a dog, which personally I think would be a good move because I genuinely believe dog owners make leaders of men, not least because you learn how to handle/use authority whilst being loved back. Stevo goes the whole hog and properly buys a dog owners book (this is all currently brought on of course by Emma just purchasing a puppy).

The afternoon is a real breeze and beyond work, in the evening I head home to my olds to watch The Sopranos on E4.

When I arrive home, already up is a For Sale sign out front of the house, the lucky estate agents being Castles. The things mum gets our family into.

I get in and Dad is having trouble with his feet, which appears to be his latest health scare but bad feet are often linked to diabetes, which he has in spades so it could be serious. He’s seeing the doctor about it anyways. As per fucking par for the course of the moment, Sextons are giving him shit, refusing to pay him a redundancy packet for making him redundant it seems. It’s a fucked up situation.

I find myself sloping off into the front room to kind of get away from it all and I wind up watching Behind The Music on Vh-1 about Guns N’ Roses. It is a really fantastic show/documentary; they were actually a really good band it has to be admitted.

My enjoyment however is cut short when dad comes in wanting me to put Man Utd in the Champions League on the TV, not least as it is Wayne Rooney’s debut for Man Utd tonight. I watch some of the match and see Rooney score his first two goals for Man Utd (and later completely his hat-trick during their rout).

For the second I go on their computer and talk to Sara on MSN, asking her “what the fuck was up last night?�. She complains some more about her mother’s side of the family but tells me to basically “leave it�. It seems she is working through the roof at work at the moment, being the busiest she has ever been in her life and apparently this is making her lose her patience it seems. Is that any excuse? We wind up having a little emo in our exchange but not much. Whilst online with Sara, I am also speaking with half arsed effort to/with Bella. That turns out to be just as excruciating and much more laboured.

While I am sat on the computer, dad sits on the sofa in the front room and when my phone beeps, he is actually sitting on it. The text turns out to be a text message from Phoebe (a rarity these days) and it is a picture of one of her paintings. The painting is actually mindblowingly good, I am really really impressed, and it is not just because I fancy her, she appears to be genuinely really really talented.

Ten o’clock comes around and Dad pretty much watches The Sopranos with me this week. Unfortunately however it is one of the more “transitional� (ie dull) episodes of season five and I really don’t think I am able to sell it on him (it is the episode Marco Polo where Carmela has a birthday party for her father and nearly doesn’t invite Tony).

When the excruciating episode is over, I head home in the darkness, listening to Mark Raddcliffe on Radio 2 as is now my new Tuesday night ritual. Tonight is extra special as he has Charlotte Hatherly in the studio with him and she sounds fantastic as has been usual recently. Good times.

When I get in, there is a Bill Murray on BBC1, The Man Who Wasn’t There (or something). It is dross and sends me to sleep but still it is Bill Murray, so there can be no complaint.

np: Kelis - Millionaire