Getting colder

They seem to be unaccountably excited about Robbie Williams here. I suppose this could be explained by the fact that there are certain similarities between the whingeing show-off and the Hoff, also extremely popular in these parts and the man who famously sang the wall down.

I live in a church. At least I live in a flat built into part of a church building, and my bedroom has a mini flight of stairs in the corner which now lead to a blank wall, but once led to a door into the church that came out right behind the alter. Was woken this morning at 9.45 by the sound of organ music drifting through the wall. Strangely, it didn’t inspire in me any great feelings of piety or devotion.

Harold Pinter won the Nobel Prize for literature. In a job I had years ago I once answered the phone to him, and when he said ‘it’s Harold here’ I replied ‘Howard who?’ Even all these years later, I still wish that I hadn’t.

Ill lit streets are not a good thing. The German habit of letting their dogs shit everywhere is also not a good thing. Put the two together, and add in autumnal carpets of leaves, and you've got a recipe for disaster. If you get through a week without stepping in the evil ordure you’re very lucky indeed.

I have a bad leg, and it’s not getting better. At times I find myself walking like a gimp. If all else fails I suppose I can get a job checking tickets on the U-Bahn, with all the other misshapen people.