I Bless the Rains Down in Africa

TOTTENHAM COURT ROAD: So since I've last blogged I haven't exactly done a lot except register patients for the Charring Cross Hospital and hang out in BK and Rod's flat listening to the Piccadilly Line trains rumble past just outside the window.

On the weekend I got locked out of the apartment and had to wait around in the hallway for three hours in my socks, trousers and t-shirt. The landlord, who was on his way back from Plymouth, suggested I go get something to eat and meet him back there later. Unfortunately there aren't too many places you can go for a feed in London in socks with no wallet. And it also meant I missed a reading by the fantastic American poet Andrea Brady at the Hammersmith Irish Club which would, had I been able to get back into the apartment, have been only a brief fifteen minute stroll up the road.

Saturday was a similar kind of disaster of missed appointments but things finally did get turned around when I went to river for a pint and a sunset with Charlie and Jess. On the way there, walking past the Hammersmith Apollo, who should we behold but... Toto. And I'm not talking about Dorothy's dog. No those prog rock geniuses behind such hits as "Africa" and, well "Africa", were braving the cold and signing autographs for their legions (12-18) of fans.

Later that night I went out to my cousin David's place in North London for fine lamb, wine and conversation and then back to Ladbroke Grove for a pumping house party. So all in all, while it was massively unsuccessful and resolutely uncultured, it was nevertheless a good weekend.