The Roquefort Files

and all of it was top. I surfed a wave of social strata over the past week, starting off with dinner round at Devon’s on Sunday evening. She and Vanessa had prepared a load of sushi, miso soup and associated Japanese food and it was rather good. Jez had another mini dinner party thing on [...]

I went to see the tsunami relief gig at the SECC last night, officially with Kate and accidentally with Dom and Alice. We turned up too late to see Deacon Blue, but we did see, in roughly chronological order: Colin MacIntyre (of Mull Historical Society): all I have to say is it’s haircut time for [...]

You are Jeff. You answer the phone. You sign off with “Bye, babe”. Who were you talking to? Your gran A German chap named Moritz Your girlfriend You are me. You park the car outside the flat on Sunday afternoon and forget about it for three days. You decide to take it to work so [...]

expanded to cover all available free time last week. Not that that’s a bad thing, mind you. On Wednesday we ate a shitload of curry and drank too much beer; on Friday Josh and Devon hosted a murder mystery party at which I spoke in an Irish “accent” and drank too much wine, and yesterday [...]

of writing about this week, apart from vegetate in front of films and spout bad chat afterwards. And look for flats, but trust me: writing here about that would turn the RF from merely dull to so boring that you’d hunt me down just to make the torrent of asinine, self-referential tedium stop. This is [...]