All my clothes smell like arabica beans

and I've got the keys to three houses, one car, a diary and a deli.

Hello everyone. My name is Lucy, and I have a problem.

I'm scared of the dark.

I don't know why, I never used to be, and most of the time, it isn't a major problem. I know where all the lightswitches are in my house. In other people's houses, it's more of a problem. But it's usually a fear confined to houses. It's not a fear associated with, say, Ikea.

I like Ikea. Their stuff is cheap and gaudy and flatpacks have a whiff of the Viking about them. On my day off yesterday I went for a casual walk around said store, measuring desks and bookcases and writing down numbers on the back of an envelope, with the view to putting some of these items in my new house. I gathered some cushions and some rugs and was just comparing teatowels when all the fucking lights went out.

Imagine my reaction.

More ticket shenanigans!

I've got four tickets to see Hope of the States. I had anticipated taking my little brother, but apparently his idea of Fun Summer Activities is walking across the country so that's that out.

Hence, I've got too many tickets. I would have had too many tickets even if he had wanted to come, but I had also anticipated the show selling out and me being able to put the spares on eBay for a small fortune. This is also out, due to the show not selling well at all.

So, if anyone wants a ticket to see an actually really good band play what might be a very intimate gig indeed at the Rescue Rooms on the 13th of this month, let me know! You don't have to come with me, you can bring a friend or your mum or something if you like.

(Let's face it, I'll probably forget to go anyway.)

Ok, so here's the deal.

Knowing that my favourite (non-Britain-touring) band were going to be in Leeds on May the 30th, I did the sensible thing and bought tickets in April.

At midnight on the night of the gig, safely tucked up in my Nottingham bed, I suddenly remembered.

I suck.