So, here I am. Riding first class back home after a week in London. The beauty of first class is free tea, coffee and wifi. Plus, no one sits next to you. It's brilliant. even if the old lady in front of me smells of fish and they have run out of pasta lunches.

Mostly London was just meetings and rubbish take away curries in my hotel room to be honest. A very real look at the boring hollow existence of corporate travel. But it did have some highlights.

Met up with old college friend blobel and wrangled him into a illustration exhibition where we possibly got him a job, got v drunk, and met john howe of lotr fame whose illustrated beowulf is outstanding.

Also saw Glengarry/Glenross with Jonathan Pryce in the west end, and one should always see Mamet on your own in an akward vintage theatre. It totally helps.

Plus, watching crap late night tv, caught the life-changing 'the girls guide to 21st century sex' which was far more graphic and weird than you can possibly imagine. Not only including porn star re-enactments, she had an internernal camera inplanted so we could witness all the build up and action (*addendum: and by we all I mean completely and totally me. As 1, I wouldn't be caught dead watching this with real people and 2, I was probably the only person in the country who tuned in to such pseudo-science rubbish). It was oustandingly weird. The hollywood counsellors on velvet sofas added an air of glamour, and then a whole segment on the 30 Lorraina Bobbett incidents a year in Thailand.

I think i need to repeat that. About 30 women a year mutilate and or cut off their husbands dicks in Thailand - and most of the men can look forward to a completely normal life after reattachement up to 15 hours later. It turns out cocks are like starfish legs or newts tails or something. And the beauty of it is, many of the couples stay together - forgive and forget genital multilation I guess. Jesus.

Then waiting in Kings Cross this afternoon, I came across a copy of Diva with Shane from the L word on the front, who is admittedly quite sexy in a flat-chested sort of way. And the cover story was about lesbian authors. Being a woman who loves her some Carol Ann Duffy and has been meaning to read Tipping the Velvet for several years, regardless of my or the authors orientation, I was interested. And I was shocked and appalled at my own hesitation to pick up a lesbian magazine in the crowded bookshop. It was quite surreal actually having the flashes of violence, insolence and general social awareness of prejudice in my head - and sizing up the trucker on my left and the goth on the right to see if it would actually be risky if I was seen picking it up.

So of course I immediately did - freaked out by my own stupidity and being obstenent. Because, really what are the chances they are on my train much less psychotic enough to rape and/or maim me in a lashing out of misguided homophobia? how fucked up.

So yeah, it's been an odd few days.

ps - I hope this post comes out okay, because for some reason the wireless has linked into the swedish version of blogger and i can't read any of the buttons. go figure.