Ridiculously amazing website for when you're having a bad day at work. Which, unfortunately for me, seems to be all the time at the moment. Blah.

My birthday was brilliant though, and I've got a photo that I must remember to post...

And in other random news, finding lunch has become a tedious task when the Great British Lunch choices consist mainly of jacket potatoes and sandwiches. So I was thrilled to discover that a mexican takeaway called BarBurrito has opened in Piccadilly Gardens. It's proper tasty tex-mex, they actually barbecue the meat, the prices are fair and nary a bowl of nasty tuna sweetcorn or coronation chicken in sight. There is a god!

This t-shirt made me chuckle this morning. So cool, yet so scruffy.

Available from the excellent Digital Gravel.

Aww, bless.

I'm tempted to buy the new albums by the Cardigans and Kate Bush, but want to make sure I'll enjoy them. My record buying pennies are limited these days, so I don't want to be let down. (read: Broadcast "tender buttons" - though it did grow on me a bit...)

I've heard a few tinny snippets on t'internet, but not enough to help me make my mind up.

What do you think? Some info that might help:

1. Cardigans: I've been listening to Gran Turismo a lot lately - is Super Extra Gravity a good match?

2. Kate Bush: I was quite taken with "King of the Mountain" - is the rest of the album in a similar vein?

Sign spotted in the frozen food section at the Asda in Harpurhey:

"None of our products contain that colour that's been in the news."

It amazes me how geographically inept some people are. As I do many times every month, I just got a phone call from someone asking for someone in our London office. She launched into a big speech and I had to stop her and say she'd contacted the Manchester office.

She said: "Oh. I thought I'd phoned London."

0161. 0161 is Man-ches-ter. Y'know, *not* 0207 0r 0208. Did she think it was some secret code for a small pocket of north west London?

Catch up...

NYC was great, as it always is. The only downside was that we probably could do with another holiday - 12 solid days of sightseeing, shopping and exploring didn't exactly leave us in a relaxed, recovered state. Our charming but noisy flat on the corner of 47th and 9th also got to us after a while - constant traffic, honking, police sirens and even the odd catfight.

But! There's plenty of good stuff to tell you about:

* Bubby's (Tribeca location) - amazing comfort food (think crispy hush puppies, chicken fried steak with mashed potatoes and bbq corn) and the biggest slices of pie I've ever seen served up by friendly staff in a low key atmosphere. So good we went twice! ZAGAT says it gets rammed with wealthy parents and their trendy toddlers for brunch at weekends, but to me it just seemed like a restaurant that actually welcomes kids. Or just go midweek!

* Catching up with Sheila - first at a Katrina fundraiser put on by her magazine, where Anamatronix DJd, (which actually meant rallying the crowd next to her tour DJ... but she did seem very nice - and much thinner than on telly. I know, shallow.) Second, hanging out in Williamsburg, her new home. We had lunch at the wonderful Diner, went shopping in an amazing vintage warehouse and I also stocked up at the excellent Brooklyn Industries. Cool t-shirt for my boyfriend, gorgeous handbag for me.

* The Russia! exhibit at the Guggenheim.

* Enjoying all the fresh food available around the clock in our neighbourhood, Hell's Kitchen - especially the delicious Italian at Basilica, which is apparently a well-loved secret across town. The penne alla vodka with grilled chicken was so good that my boyfriend had it three times, and I've been trying to recreate it at home after the waiter gave me the recipe. Apparently it's all about the marinara...

Cool toy!

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Happy Canada Day!

Poutine at the ready...

For lunch, I'm having one of those new M&S "Fresh Fruit in a Bottle" drinks.

It's very, very green. And very thick. 4 pureed apples and 2.5 pureed kiwis.

I know it's good for me, and it does taste quite nice. But I'm trying not to look at it as I drink it, because it looks like green swampy sludge. Mmm.

Creative Finance:

Between some eBay auctions that finished yesterday and the current prices on ones ending today, I've managed to drum up enough money to pay for my Big Chill ticket. And possibly a bit of spending money too, depending on how they finish later today.

I've also been meticulously collecting all 1p, 2p, 5p and 10p coins we bring back to the flat, the proceeds of which will go towards Big Chill spends as well. A bit sad, I know - but there's something quite soothing about making up the little bags, and you'd be surprised how soon you have £40.

(the photo is a weak link; 60s barbie records = music =Big Chill. An excuse to play with the new free Blogger photo feature I just discovered...)

We recently wangled invites to a meet-the-author party put on by Penguin at the Malmaison, courtesy of the bf's mum. The posh nibbles and free booze was a nice incentive, but I'm not that cheeky - I had actually read Live Bait, P.J. Tracy's second novel. I did wonder why the nice rep from Penguin kept saying "They're really lovely authors, so friendly." Duh. I'd zoned out on the dust sleeve, and no idea they were a mother-daughter writing team. They floated into the room, dressed in fabulous, impractical, floor-length designer coats, and immediately started chatting up the room.

It was one of those surreal and cool moments where doing something completely different felt so refreshing. Chilled white wine gave us courage and we went to chat with daughter Traci first. We talked about Minneapolis, Santa Monica, how her mom used to write romance novels and their current characters.

It was all going so well - and then... I have a bad habit of gently tugging at my necklace when I'm a bit nervous, and suddenly my 50s vintage choker broke and beads sprayed everywhere. Traci, bless her, got on the floor with everyone else to help retrieve what we could.

This caught the attention of P.J., who thought the whole thing was very funny. We ended up at her table and I made her laugh some more. Apparently talking about bars and drinking is a no-no in New York publishing circles, and she kept saying how fun we were. I guess she liked the bf and his mum's northern sense of humour, and I've probably acquired a bit in the last few years. Hey, happy to please...

They were, without a doubt, what I'd call a hoot. Dead Run is a good summer read, too.

My mother has sent me more chain-letter spam. This time, it's a dubious tale of a serial killer who lures his victims by pretending to return a $5 note. The message ends with:

Ladies, really DO forward this to EVERYONE you know. Even if this man wasn't a serial killer, he looked nice, he seemed polite, he was apparently doing an act of kindness, but HE WAS NOT A NICE PERSON!!!

Urban Legends clears this up as an unsubstantiated scaremail that started around the time of the Baton Rouge murders in 2003, and is still making the rounds. Oh, and it's badly written and melodramatic - so why is anyone taking it seriously?

Handling this kind of thing is tricky though. One friend had sent me an email petition against those pesky Bonsai Kittens. When I sent her a link explaining the hoax, she retorted "I just wanted to protect the kittens!" and now that I think about it, I haven't heard from her since. But hey, if you're going to send it to me...don't expect me not to try and save some future bandwidth.

This article by Germaine Greer in today's Guardian really made me angry. Although much of her article goes on about the environmental impact of the tidal wave of suburban housing, there was the underlying suggestion that wanting your own house and space is a selfish and unnecessary desire.

I've come to peace with the fact that we'll have to live in a flat for a while yet now, but the truth is that I'm pretty tired of it. Unless you enjoy hearing constant reminders that you're surrounded by people above, below and next to you, that is - doors slamming, rows, toilets flushing, bad music. Sometimes I would feel like the walls were closing in on me. I had to work really hard on calming techniques to change my perceptions of the noise around us.

So many of the city centre flats look well made on the surface, but the truth is that very little thought has gone into their construction. They're crash pads, not homes. Dividing walls between flats are hollow; doors are thin, cheap wood and don't seal anything out. Our common hall area is so echoey that when our neighbour opens their front door lock at 3 am, it sounds like they're attacking it with an ice pick.

So no, Germaine - I don't think apartments could be as much homes as houses. Unless you want to give me £500,000 for a penthouse.

I didn't think we'd manage it, but we're going to the Big Chill and I'm as pleased as a happy thing can be. If we hadn't gone, we'd be like two puppies with their noses pressed against the window as everyone rode off. Most of our friends are going now, and one mate has been booked to DJ alongside the release of his first album - so we just couldn't miss out. Saturday night we went to the Marble (try their Summer Marble ale, if you're passing) and after a few jars, we decided to stumble home and book tickets online before we could change our minds, or sober up - whichever happened first.

Now I've got an excuse to shop for fun things like girly wellies and a good festival-friendly shoulder bag. I haven't been camping in at least 12 years, but I was a pro out in the Canadian semi-wilderness so I think I can manage Eastnor.

Looking forward to seeing Nouvelle Vague, DJ Patife, Hexstatic, and DJing from Tom Middleton, Bent, Mark Pritchard and Treva Whateva - to name just a few. I've also heard good things about Tortured Soul. Dreadful name, but I'm intrigued by the idea of live house music. The line up is here - but check for updates...