was shown a picture of Josh and I in the US. “This is San Antonio,” was the explanation.

“That’s nice,” she replied, “Which one’s San and which one’s Tonio?”

Josh was Tonio. Clearly has some Mexican in him.

My weekend appears to be migrating. Possibly it’s still jetlagged. The first weekend after we got back was terribly staid and traditional: an enthusiastic Saturday and then a flat-bound, liquor-soaked ‘game’ of Trivial Pursuit on Sunday. The weekend before last was dangerously bohemian, involving both Friday and Saturday nights on the lash. This weekend completely took leave of its senses and upped sticks to Wednesday and Thursday, leaving me gasping for breath, booze and motivation come the real weekend.

Fortunately a TM practice in the positively luxurious Berkeley 2 rehearsal studios was booked to arrest the slide. We rocked in a three-piece way, with only an absence of dynamic range haunting us because of our depleted guitar section. Mart’s voice is getting stronger as well, and with a bit of luck we’ll be back on stage sometime soon. Ish.

We discussed new band names (music to some ears, I’ll bet, even if our actual music occasionally isn’t) and how to acquire an elfin, indie female lead guitarist (solution: we can’t. Also, I say ‘we’ when I mean in fact ‘me’) over tapas and beer, and then I caught the train home.

[Apologies for a pointless post: the week was utterly run-of-the-mill. The only potentially interesting event - a game of dodgeball, no less - fell through and led to a yawning Sunday of apathy. Ah well.]