The title of this blog hails from the Francis Dunnery song I’m listening to right now. I recommend you open Kazaa, iTunes, message your mate Dave – wherever you get your music – and download it, before of course you buy the Scrubs soundtrack on which it appears. Ah, great show. And good song. Way better than the pressed curd of milk the DJ was spinning tonight at my college bar. In the dairy section was, amongst others, Kylie Minogue circa 1989, A-Ha, and those prophetic/pathetic Weather Girls warning of man showers. What a blood bath that would be.

Still, little could be quite as depressing as Friday night at Pendle Bar. Designed as a sort of airport lounge with surplus disco lights and insufficient seating, with aforementioned playlist and the sort of imaginative clientele that tonight reworked the bar crawl form with some clever word play that put their bras on the outside of their shirts. Bra Crawl see? Once they’ve exhausted that they’ll try a Brawl Car evening, combining racing with fighting…A-Ha.

Somewhere behind one of those bras tonight was a girl that earlier – I think – was sort of into me. Yeah, that’s right readers; an end to the sexual frustration? Well, I think it was for the best that I didn’t find her. It was probably a sign of its prematurity that she shared a name with my recent ex and, hey, if my sexual frustration was cured – what would I write about? ‘Til next time blog fans, good night.