I got an email for Jeremy Davis* my cross-dressing swimwear-model bounty hunter earth 2 counterpart, in my work inbox yesterday. He's been invited to the Press Preview of The Snow Queen at the BMW plant. He's tempted for the costumes and because hey, it's The Snow Queen ... but the invite contains some of those little red flags ... "dance routines combined with talking animals" ... "includes an enchanting original score" ... "fun, laughter and toe-tapping" ... and there's some severe overuse of the word "enchanting" going on. And Jeremy Davis? What's with that? I'm beginning to suffer mild anxiety about just how real he's becoming.

I've also been seven-songs tagged again, this time by merteuil. Mostly a pretty slow mix this time, I'm afraid, sad songs, no belters:

• Christina, by Zombina and the Skeletones (Down from the sky/A dead star will fall/For the ugliest angel of them all)
• Email, by The Pet Shop Boys (time and distance melt away/no digital delay/and some things can be written down that we're to shy to say)
• Want Some by Spy 51 (this is too/this is too much/you've been taking all the things I want to touch)
• Storytelling Johnny by Fosca (these hips are not child-bearing/they're child-spurning/and child-sparing/and child-scaring)
• Maris Stella by Digitonal (soft afterdark sample stuff)
• Sunglasses at Night/Blue Monday by Tom Middleton Sound of the Cosmos (a very relentless dance track)
• Would you rather be followed by Forty Ducks for the rest of your life by Detwiije

I've put in a link if you can actually hear (some of) the track I refer to online. Tags onto concourse, henriksdal, buddleia, crazycrone, grannybum, badasstronaut and any of the rest of you who want to do it. Participation is, as ever, strictly on a voluntary basis.

The centre of my money tree has died and I need to replant it into multiple small pots. The edge of the sink is leaking and I need to put some sealant round it. The metal shelf is now so full it's clutching at my hip every time I walk into the kitchen. The electric box is cluttered with paper, it needs to move, so I can read the meter. Oh, yes, my feng shui is royally fucked.

But on the bright side, my new wrist-mounted engraver marks plastic and some metal but not windows.

* Jeremy Davis was born when an interview with me was accidentally credited to "Jeremy Davis" instead of "Jeremy Dennis". The details of his life have been filtering through since; if you know anything more about him, please let me know.