While I don’t much rate The Flaming Lips in general, I’d just like to say that Pompeii Am Gotterdammerung is fab.

The W.A.N.D. is pretty damn fine too, although I’m sure it’s rude.

And does anyone else think the phrase ‘oily parts’ is inherently filthy in more ways than one?

A bunch of thieving scumbag 11 year olds had my seat post off Max on Saturday. Lifted it complete with my Inbred saddle, Specialized seatpack containing my Gerber Cool Tool, Pedro Milk bottle tyre levers and spare tube; and the rear Crud Catcher mudguard. Also had my minipump.

A pox on the little shites. I don’t care if they’re not even teenagers, my wrath is mighty and I can inflict the most dreadful, traumatic nightmares.

Everything else was locked. I just forgot that Max has a QR on the seatpost. You don’t expect that sort of thing around Leven, it’s such a small place. It was so fucking stupid — they were recognised and they’ve been caught on CCTV trying to steal sweets from the shop. I don’t expect to get my stuff back, though. I’ve ridden all over the country, including Oxford and London, and this is the first time I’ve ever had anything nicked.

Thank gods for Ebay and very nice people from C+. Ebay for my Cool Tool and Mike for a replacement saddle. A thousand blessings upon you Mike of the Bike, and Mrs Mike too. I shall, as is traditional, pass the favour on.

Our wonderful and lovely Mrs Provost made me laugh:

Horrid little shitbags.

Looks like they will be destined for a life of misery, young offenders’ institutions and early death from stab wounds, anyway.

Oh, sorry, that should probably read “it’s not their fault, they’re disenfrachised”.

Sorry, blogfans. I have been instructed that I can’t do blogging at work. At least not unless I’m on my lunchbreak, and generally I just about have enough time to catch up on email.

However I have now managed to get my own PC up and running and connected to the infernalweb so I’m just going to have to make time to do it from home.

My current favourite song — the one I listen to cheer myself up. It’s the love of your life, and in my case there are several and somehow this manages to apply to all of them.

Pageant of the Bizarre — Zero 7

It’s never gonna be
Normal, you and me
What you’re signing on for
Is a storm at sea

So if you think you’re tough
Give me all your love
And I’ll give you every little piece of me

Catch a falling star you’ll go far
In the pageant of the bizarre
And tonight I give you my heart

Catch a falling star you’ll go far
In the pageant of the bizarre
And tonight I give you my heart

We will never be a nuclear family
But a rainbow will begin at our feet
And if you take my hand
Beware that this boat can
Run aground making the ocean floor weep

Catch a falling star you’ll go far
In the pageant of the bizarre
And tonight I give you my heart

Catch a falling star you’ll go far
In the pageant of the bizarre
And tonight I give you my heart

Catch a falling star you’ll go far
In the pageant of the bizarre
And tonight I give you my heart

Catch a falling star you’ll go far
In the pageant of the bizarre
And tonight I give you my heart

Take a chance on me, yeah
You’re my remedy, yeah

You may fall indeed, yeah
You’ll find peace with me, yeah

Take a chance on me, yeah
You’re my remedy, yeah

You may fall indeed, yeah
You’ll find peace with me, yeah
Peace with me, yeah

Take a chance on me, yeah
You’re my remedy, yeah

You may fall indeed, yeah

£100 to ‘bling’ my bike? Wow. That’s… generous. I mean, a century of ailing molluscs could buy me… four Surly tuggnuts. Or almost a Brooks Swift. Or a replacement pair of Pave Veloflex for the Pinarello. Or maybe a nice pair of Look CX6 carbon pedals.

You know? I think maybe this offer isn’t aimed at people like me.

Pirates of the Caribbean 2: Dead Man’s Chest

I shan’t bother with any spoiler warnings. I’m not going to reveal the oh-so-unpredictable twist in the end or anything like that because, frankly, I can’t be arsed. The film isn’t worth spoiling. You need to wrest any crumb of enjoyment from it that you can.

Although it turns out that Munky was correct in his assessment that I would not enjoy the film, it was not the Disneyness of it that was the problem. It was, to put it succinctly: over-long, over-indulgent, overly-visual and short on piracy.

Depp is still the best thing about these films, but he was muzzled in this one. Many people have said that his performance was even more hyperactive and extreme than in the last one — Fear And Loathing‘s Hunter S Thompson with a hat and a square-rigger. To this I say: bollocks. There was a total inadequacy of badinage, as Frood so rightly observed. The film clung to its quite sumptuously fantastic special effects (even I thought the tentacles were good), expecting them to deliver the coup de grace, when what matters in a pirate film is the cheesing piracy.

I don’t care how big the giant bleedin’ squid is, even though only the corvidae outstrip cephalopods in terms of my obsessive geekery. I want to see Jack drunk on rum, plenty of double and triple bluffing, much buckling of swash and, well, pirates!

I was clock watching from about an hour and a half, knowing how long it was and wishing I’d brought some concealed-carry alcohol to relieve the tedium.

Bill Nighy did a great job. He really did. Apparently he based his character on Chewin the Fat. This explains a great deal. Johnny Depp looked to be sleepwalking through a role that had been choke-chained and hobbled by a studio who wanted everyone else to get more of a role — or maybe he was so disappointed by Keith Richard’s non-appearance that he just gave up.

I don’t even want to discuss the rest of the cast. It’s too boring. Although the voodoo woman was quite good — could have used smoking gunpowder in her hair, mind.

We’ll probably go and see the next one. You never know. It might be a film that does not exist moment.

I learned last night that Sappho was the first poet to describe the moon as ‘silvery’, something that these days we apparently take for granted.

But it’s not cheesing silver, is it?! It’s sort of an off white!

I am depressed.

No, I don’t know why.

Well, I do sort of but there’s nothing I can do about it.

I am in need of retail therapy. Yesterday I ordered the entire back catalogue of the Dandy Warhols.

I can’t think of anything to buy to cheer myself up. Even the mini-sized 4-colour pen I bought in Tescos for 68p this afternoon failed to bring a smile to my face. Now that sort of thing nearly always works. It was stationery, it was a stupid size, it was 4 different colours, it came in a translucent purple wrapper and it was less than an ailing mollusc. The only thing that would have made it better would be if it had been metallic gel ink, and we can’t have everything.

I should have asked Dominic to recommend something small, hairy and equipped with adamantium claws.

The pocket pokemon from the Psion Guild or Katie for encouraging them. You know, in some countries tormenting morons like that is considered illegal, young madam. And you thought our pineal worm was cruel!