Regular readers know I'm a displaced northerner living in that London place. Going 'home', especially at Christmas, brings a strong sense of place and a wonderful feeling of quiet serenity that I've yet to find in the big city.
I made a vow to myself in the summer to do two things before the end of this year. You can find out what those two things are by clicking here - but only if you'd like to.
By jings, I'm in a book.
Favourite Christmas memory: Getting a Teeny Tiny Tears doll from Santa
Favourite Christmas character
Favourite Christmas ornament/object: Snow, snow, deep, deep, snow
Is Christmas your favourite holiday? I love it but I love summer hols in Spain more
I've just read on the BBC website that Radio 1 have censored The Pogues' Christmas song, Fairytale of New York, taking out the word faggot and removing the line an old slut on junk. Fairytale is a slurred love song between two drunks and the joy of it is its cynical sting. So was the BBC right to censor it? Peter Tatchell seems to think so and Lubin agrees but I'm not so sure. Do the words faggot and slut hold so much power that there's a need for censoring?
It's not often that the north-east village I come from makes local news, never mind international and headline news. But that's what's been happening as the fight to save Ryhope pigeon crees rages on - and rightly so. I remember walking past the pigeon crees on my way to and from school. I know some of the men who still have their crees on the land. Like most other Ryhope people, I also know who is behind Worktalent, the company who want to shift the crees off the site and develop it for profit.
Regular readers will know I'm a big fan of yoga but I had to give it up after five years when I moved to a new job and couldn't find a class. There was one place I was recommended to try but they only offered colonic irrigation, which I didn't think was a fair swap, so declined.
Having just written something about Stephen Fry reminded me that he and I have history, oh yes. He once emailed me a poem in response to one I emailed to him.
Booked tickets to see Stephen Fry's panto at the Old Vic. Although it's bound to be fab (yes, that is Sandi Toksvig), I bet they don't sing this wonderful panto song. Am I the only one to remember it from childhood Christmas pantos from years ago?
I've been writing Coronation Street weekly updates for th'internet since 1995 but had to give them up in September this year. Well, guess what? They're back in all their glory. Corrie fans can find out more about the weekly updates and sign up to receive them in their email each week here, and there's a full archive here. By 'eck, it's good to be back.
The tree is up and the tinsel is draped. 
To Trafalgar Square today in central London to have a look at the new artwork on the fourth plinth. I don't know much about art, but I know what I like, and I liked this enough to take some pictures and blog 'em to share.
As promised, here's a cheap and dirty review of the gig I promised here. It was fab.
Off to see The Human League this weekend in London. They're performing all of their 1981 album Dare which for those of us of an, um, certain age, remains a seminal work. I can type words like seminal but I'd never say them in real life.
Found out this week that someone I know has had his first novel published.
Woke up this morning to -2.5c on the weather station, a lawn dusted with frost and frozen roses in the garden.
Sore nose, eyes hurt, lungs wheeze, second day off work wrapped up in a dressing gown watching brain-rotting daytime TV, fed up, feel down, nose streams, eyes run, ears ache, muscles burn, hair tingles.
To Camden Roundhouse this week to see Siouxsie. Fantastic. All things considered, it was my second favourite gig of the year, coming close to, but not quite pipping this one. 
Like writing in your spare time? Want to learn how to get paid properly for it?
It's beginning to smell a lot like Christmas. And I'm not ready for it, not yet. Well, ok, I've ordered my Christmas cards from here and got my leave and train ticket booked to head up north, but I'm not feeling in the least bit tingly about it just yet. It's weeks away, it's too commercial and Santa Claus isn't real. He's not, you know.
To the Royal Festival Hall this week to see Nick Lowe. I loved him back then when he looked like this on the left but I seem to love his music even more now he looks like this.
Relatives visiting from up north have brought with them necessities for this Mackem down in London. First off are a few copies of The Sunderland Echo, essential reading, but better than that are a couple of stotty cakes from Greggs the Bakers. Pure delight. I've already got them in my lunchbox and they could just turn out to be the best thing about today.
It's not very often that I get excited when I hear a certain noise on my way to work each day. But there's a clang, a heavy clang, in the tube station I leave from every once in a while that fills my heart with glee. It's a heavy metal clang which signifies something's happening with the track or the points or whatever it is in the station in the tunnel out of view, and it can mean only one thing. An empty train is coming and I will get a seat.
What - or who - was the original Bobby Dazzler? In the north-east where I'm from, a bobby dazzler was usually referred to a baby or a child who was, like, super-cute as in: "That bairn's gorgeous, isn't she? A right bobby dazzler." Or, it was used to referred to something like a piece of jewellry that was shiny and huge, as in: "Her engagement ring's a right bobby dazzler". But where does the phrase bobby dazzler come from - anyone know? I'd love to think there was a person called Robert Dazzler, Esq.
Bought some penguin chocolate biscuits on the weekly shop at Morrisons. I saw them and thought: "Crikey, I haven't eaten those in years". So we took them home and I had one the other night and guess what - the biscuits are tiny. When did they shrink?
Everyone has their favourite Carry On film. Oh go on, yes you do.
Last time I was at Brixton Academy was earlier this year to see this band and I was there again last night to see Editors. It was a good gig, but that's all it was - good. There was no excitement, no getting lost in the music, no hot and sweaty jumping up and down, living just to sing along to the band. Where's it gone, that missing ingredident that sets a gig on fire and gives it some spark? It was the first gig I'd been to since the smoking ban came in so there was no smoking and not much drinking going on either. While that might bode well for gig goers' livers and lungs, it did nothing for the atmosphere and made the gig seem like a well mannered if noisy middle-class school assembly. When the band did their encore it wasn't the power of clap and cheer that brought them back on, it was probably written into their contract before they went home and had a cup of tea. Which I guess is what most of the audience did too. Bring back the hot and sweaty, noisy raucous gig.
While on holiday, I made two major decisions. These are, in no particular order, as follows:
Back from a wonderful holiday to Spain. Went by train from Waterloo to Paris on Eurostar then on the trenhotel overnight from Paris to Madrid. Quite an experience but not one I think we'd want to do again due to lack of sleep (it was too exciting for sleep!) which lead to us feeling like zombies the next day. We did get train-chocolates on the pillow left at night by the lovely men who turned down our bunk beds - pictured - while we were having dinner and free drinks.
To The Old Vic last night to see the stage version of Pedro Almodóvar’s film All About My Mother. A truly fantastic performance from the sparkling cast which included Diana Rigg, Lesley Manville, Joanne Froggatt and Mark Gattis (from The League of Gentleman), pictured here from the play as the transvestite whore. A truly wonderful night.
I've never blogged about work before and I won't do it again after this post either. However, there’s some big ch-ch-changes going on in my working life and when I return from my jollies I’m starting a new job. This means leaving the Bloomsbury part of London I’ve worked in for over five years and there is plenty I’ll miss about the area, not least the following:
