Surprisingly, Reuters reports that this is a question more in the minds of men than women! Who’d have thought it?

After banging on about it at length, I was pleased to read the reports of Norah Jones’ success at the Grammy’s. She really is an exceptional artist.

However, I was more interested to read about the increased interest in artists who win awards. On a personal level, I must admit to always buying the Mercury Prize winners album. However, I have never been swayed by either the Brits (then again I do remember the show hosted by Mick Fleetwood and Sam Fox) or the Grammy’s. However, if it gets more people to listen to music that is not created via some reality TV show or other, it can only be a positive thing.

As a reminder to self..

Must see Live Forever - a documentary about the ’90’s Brit Pop explosion - if it ever appears anywhere near my gene puddle. If not, remember the name for late night viewing on BBC3 (or similar).

The Manc Scum will be inconsolable! Buffy is to come to an end.

Well, at least he’ll have the repeats (and his 2003 Sarah Michelle Geller calender - but that’s another story..).

Mike at Troubled Diva is currently carrying out a vote on top ten records since the sixties. In point of fact its the top tens from this week over the decades since 1963. Some of the records have been complete blasts!

I urge you all to cast your votes. It’s really started up some debate (particularly between the Whitney Houston and Dolly Parton contingents).

Another brilliant set of entries, on one of the best websites around!

I’ve just spent the last two and a half hours on the phone. More precisely, I’ve just spent the last two and a half hours on the phone, lying on my back in the hallway, chatting and laughing like an idiot. This was to avoid disturbing the other-halfs viewing of Red Dwarf on the television (although I’m not entirely sure it worked). However, as I could hear him laughing, I didn’t see why he shouldn’t hear me!

My friend, the Brum sculptor, rang. At the start it was an “I feel so ill” call - the ones that you do to friends at the point just before you ring your mother. Two and a half hours later, having touched on subjects as diverse as her latest project with profoundly deaf children and contemporary classical music, my Open University course, crap Christmas presents (and why men seldom get it right!), our teenage years (Youth CND and all that), hairy women and whether polytechnics really have the right to call themselves Universities, I finally admitted defeat and told her my backside was numb. She managed a parting shot of “my temperature has gone up” before I promised to ring again tomorrow to make sure she was alive.

As I ran for the toilet (two and a half hours without a “comfort break” is a long time in my universe - unless I’m drinking vodka, when I have the ability to go for hours without venturing into a pub loo - and if you’re a woman, you’ll understand why) I began to realise that the conversations that I have with some of my friends are very different to the ones I have with others.

If I go out with the Manc Scum, we may start off on football (safe subject) before moving onto general life issues. However, we will rarely venture into politics or anything of that ilk (we are at different ends of the scale on so many things, and after years of baiting one-another, we came to this silent agreement not to mention it - as things tended to get ugly (he’s very stubborn, but then again, so am I)). With some of the guys I have a drink with, we’ll start off on work (and generally how shabbily we’re all treated - underpaid and over-worked emphasis) and never move very far from it. With the women, however, it’s much more practical and related to the small gene puddle we inhabit.

It’s odd, then, that last weekend (and again tonight) I was able to converse in quite a different way. A way that I was able to do with the same group of people over ten years ago, but I thought had somehow got lost on the way to immersion in the gene puddle. It made me wonder whether my brain is still, afterall, quite active, and that the hours listening to the radio during the nights I can’t sleep has given me more of an understanding of life in general (and contemporary politics in particular) than I had ever realised.

Whilst having a bit of a Stolli session with the Manc Scum on Monday night, we started talking about when we were teenagers. The view seemed to be that I had this really exciting, interesting life - which was spent commuting between the gene puddle, friends in Cardiff (including the Brum Sculptor) and being in London. Conversely, at the time, I just felt like I didn’t quite belong anywhere. I suppose that’s when I started to develop different conversational tacks for different groups. However, after tonight, perhaps I will try a conversation on the issues surrounding the Iraq war with the Manc Scum, just to see whether it still ends up in a slanging match! I’m sure we’ve probably grown out of it by now.

For one horrible minute, I was naive enough to wonder whether this White House link was a piss-take. Thank God it is!

With thanks to Em for this.

The other half has been on nights again - hence the following e-mail:

“Guess I dont feed Cosmo that badly after all. Besides which she’d never eat a frankfurter in under a minute! Now if it was chocolate……
Russian Cat“

Cosmo is our slightly (well, OK, very) overweight black and white cat, who at this moment is sat at my feet, licking the bits that only cats can get away with licking in public. When we adopted her, she looked like the Felix cat from the adverts. Ten years on, she has more stomach than rest of her body.

Oh, and by the way, the other half kids you not about the chocolate. Of course, it has to be the expensive kind. Ah, I brought her up well!

I do sometimes wonder how I come across through this medium. It’s easy when you know people and you can explain when you are being sarcastic - or they can tell.

However, what’s really bothering me is the thought that I may be coming across as an alcoholic! And, worse than that, is that I may be taking my entire nation down with me.

When a man you’ve never met before sends you links like this, because he has been reading the site, surely I have to show some concern?

In all reality, am not a raging alcoholic - although have verged there or there abouts every now and again. I just have the odd drink at the weekends - honest. If you don’t believe me, well, you can always leave a comment!!

So, am now back from my little trip to London. Had a great time. It’s nice to meet up with old friends and realise that they haven’t changed!

Finally got the train on Saturday afternoon, after enduring a rugby scrum of people at Cardiff Central station. Trying to move in Cardiff on an international weekend is never fun - and certainly wasn’t fun this weekend! Plugged into my cd player, bought a coffee (will I never learn that railway station coffee is nasty?) and sat waiting for the late train. The journey was OK, and I managed to get to the hotel without incident.

The hotel was fine - just opposite the main entrance to the Victoria and Albert. It was one of those standard hotels, that has obviously been aimed at foreign tourists. The really funny part was that I arrived before my friend - telling reception that she would be there in about an hour or so. When she did arrive she got the third degree. I’m sorry, is it so strange for two women to share a twin room? I’ve always thought not, but who knows!

After watching the rugby, we finally left the hotel bar and went to meet John, whose birthday was the reason we’d travelled to London. The bar that we were meant to meet in has disappeared over the last three weeks (gosh, isn’t life in London fast?), so we met in a hotel bar instead. Over the coming hours had lots of conversations, mainly with ex-CND types, who had also made the party!

It’s really amazing that you still immediately recognise people, even after ten years, and that you are able to have conversations with them, that you probably wouldn’t have with anyone else. It’s one of the great joys of finding old friends again.

Anyway, about 11pm, it seemed like a really good idea to move on to a club. We ended up in Borderline, just off Tottenham Court Road. It plays a really good mix of 80’s and 90’s indie music. There was a moment when The Cure was followed by Happy Mondays and the Stone Roses. The dance floor was invaded, and what was a completely surreal situation, of really believing I was 16 again, became even stranger. God, I ached the following morning.

The main difference from being 16 was now we could afford to drink - without resorting to cheap cider or the like. Myself and three friends ended up ordering jug after jug of cocktails. It certainly wasn’t the best idea! The more drinks, the more dancing, the more dancing, the more drinks! You can kind of see the scenario, I’m sure.

Stumbled out of the club around 3am, and following a quick visit to a kebab shop (not for me, I hasten to add), we finally got a taxi and fell into the hotel about 4am. Continued chatting to my friend, and apparently, fell asleep in the middle of a conversation sometime after 5.30am.

The next morning, was rudely awaken at 9am for breakfast. Felt like hell, but made it down. We ended up back in the room, and it took until midday for me to shower and be ready to face the world.

My friend the sculptor and I met friends of hers and then spent a wonderful three and a half hours at the V&A. It was a very cultural afternoon - only interrupted by much laughter at a Spanish drinking vessel in the Glass gallery. I can’t do it justice, but it was a Sangria (not sure how to spell it) jug, with a very phallic spout! Was just so funny at the time - but you probably needed to be there.

Met up with some friends in a pub and ended up drinking more red wine than was really good for me. Finally got the last train out of London at 10pm. Fell into the house at nearly 1am - thoroughly happy with a great weekend.

To all my friends from the weekend. Thanks. You’re all stars - always have been, and always will be. We’re going to have further reunions (it was decided) and I can’t wait. We’re also going to change the world. But more on that again.

Now, time for food! Haven’t eaten today, so large dinner needs planning.