My position is supported by Kant

Forgot that I didn't have the girls this weekend and so didn't know what to do with myself. Bumped into Erica in the pub. "What are you doing tonight?" she said. "I don't know." "Well, there's a party tonight --- if you'd like to come along."

"I'm going to be alright here, aren't I?" I said in the taxi. "No invite I mean?" "Fine," said Erica. Don't worry." In their house, they've converted the basement, and have put a sound system and lights down there. They'd also set up a yurt on the village green for people who wanted to get away from the music.

There were more women than men there. I got talking to a pretty, slightly Italian-ish looking woman a bit younger than me--although when she said that she was looking for someone "driven and ambitious" I knew that it was game over. She gave me her card and asked me to get in touch. Next day, I was with Trina in the pub and saw Erica and her husband, and then, Italian-looking woman, who was with some friends on another table. Her friend was wearing a pale green, almost khaki dress tunic with a high open collar and buttons down the front, spaced evenly, so that there was that gorgeous little kink of openness as the fabric goes over her tits. It looked like a good-quality thin cotton, as it creased, pulling over her tits, with little fabric ridges spanning out to her shoulders and back.

Trina went to the loo. I said to Erica, "I'm not sure if I'm reading too much into this, but I thought ILW was quite keen last night. I don't know, probably putting two and two together and making five." "Well, she said 'Is your friend single?'" Strange, all this attention now. There was nothing like this in my twenties.

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On Bank Holiday Monday we went to Wray Scarecrow Festival, travelling up on a careering, bouncing, nauseous, bus. It's a gorgeous village, mainly C18th and C19th century houses on a street leading down to a riverbank where the locals abandon their children. The scarecrows are imaginative, politicised, and sometimes mechanised.

The local hairdresser sometimes slips up

But everything gets recycled locally

England is known for its compassionate treatment of the elderly
["You may be old and wrinkly but I care passionately for each and every one of you, I really do -- Wray Scarecrow Homes"]

The Tour de France is beginning near Wray this year (really), so this is the kind of poivrot that will litter our streets this summer

One can always rely on a Scot to lower the tone and raise the bar at the same time. The sign under his kilt says "boo" but it's not really the kind of village where you can take upskirt shots

We went for a wander in a bluebell wood--a good place for outdoor sex, we both agreed. Back in the village, we saw some salacious old German beermats for sale, depicting a nude fat-bottomed woman bent over stoking a wood stove, admired by two standing male observers.

Then to the pub for a couple of pints. The last time I was in that pub was on Valentines Day when I delivered my Valentines card made out of a pile of tiny post-it notes, for Daniella, a regular there, to the woman who served us on Monday, but fortunately we didn't bump into her. The waitresses wore these black, tube-like minidresses, a sexless hypersexuality.

Half of Lancaster was there, and another review of the Festival can be found at fellow local's site Unicycle Emptiness.

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Got in tonight to a bit of a bombshell. Tess came in and told me she's moving out in a month's time as she's been offered free accomodation through where she works. Only the other day I was saying to Trina that I'll have Tess in the house for another fifteen months, until her course ends, so will have nothing to worry about for a while. Every time I think this house is settled and stable, it all changes. But there you, such is the life of the landlord, and I can't afford to live here alone. Or rather, I refuse to do the work that would enable me to live here alone. And I like having other people around. The stairs echo too much otherwise.

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One of the legs on my futon has broken and I've had to prop one corner of it up with some books, including the Critique of Pure Reason and Beardsley's tome on Aesthetics.