I've moved to London, which is nice. I'm here for five weeks whilst I do an internship at Ninja Tunes (a vaguely-fashionable-but-really-not-really record label.) The office, Ninja HQ, is as glamorous as I dared to dream. It's like the set of Nathan Barley on dress-down Friday. All barefoot scenesters, apple macs and turntables. I know because I was accidentally sent up there when I arrived an embarassing hour-and-a-half early on my first day and I pressed my grubby face against the window and felt the warmth in my cheeks. Since then I've been on my own downstairs in the windowless basement warehouse, stuffing envelopes and asking myself "If I was being paid for this, would it be worth it?"
I'm living with my wonderful girlfriend, Charlotte, which is wonderful. It's just like a luxuriously long date, or a luxuriously short marriage. The only trouble with it really is that I'm still too self-conscious to really relax into taking big long (I mean in chronological length) and loud shits, since I always assume she is in the next room, listening intently. Thus far I've either had to set a quiet alarm for the middle of the night, or else when we're just about to leave the house together, announce that I've left my watch in the bathroom and bound in there only to emerge a quarter of an hour later seven pounds lighter. And still watchless.
Our house is very nice (well, it's her house really), but for all the modern conveniences: an ice-maker in the fridge, drawers that shut themselves, lots of tightly packed neat little staircases like an Escher picture, there is no internet. Hence I'll be updating this less and less.
But if you are looking for a fix of some rambling and some doodling, then I recommend Greg's brand spanking new blog. He's like my older, taller, more talented and better looking brother.