St Vitus Statistics

Oh, I hate it when a plan don't come together.

I've had the house to myself for three whole days (Ms Dive being off conferencing somewhere or other) and had constructed a schedule of male-oriented singleton activities in which to immerse myself. These were, in no particular order: the smoking of cigars; the thrashing of guitars; the eating of steak; the playing of video games; and the staying out late in the pubs.

Sunday started really rather nicely: Havanas were lit, a couple of cans of lager were imbibed and many many mutants were gunned down. This, by the way, was all carried out in my dressing gown. Brilliant.

And then, unfortunately, everything went a bit wrong. I'll not bore with details but 0300 to 0930 Monday were unpleasant. Projectile unpleasant.

Couple this with an inavoidable meeting in Bristol (note to train companies - serving cabbage in dining cars is just crass) and my week began quite horrid. The evening was lost to an 11-hour sleepathon, Tuesday evening was mainly shaped by the force-feeding of plain pasta (foie gross, if you will) but did at least see a brief rally of video gamage - after a couple of hours of reassembling the house into something resembling the state it was in when my session commenced.

Anyway: to the point: Nothing that I have endured these last three days is anything compared to that facing people in the financial sector. I never thought I'd say this (and may my ancestors forgive me) but I am finding my self feeling sorry for bankers.

A key part of my day is working through the papers - print and online - to pick up key themes and trends that are relevant to those who which pay my rent. As a result I'm almost preturnaturally aware of the different spin the various outlets put on a story - the Mirror, for instance, has carried barely a column inch on house prices the last 6-month, whilst the Mail has pretty much blocked out three pages in each edition.

Today, though, there is one, uniform conclusion across all the front pages: We are, to put it mildly, fucked.

Batten down the hatches, one and all. There's an axiom that says something along the lines that music plays louder and people dance harder in times of adversity. So in that spirit, enjoy: