Apparently, they're getting new dinosaurs in at the The Oxford Natural History Museum soon. Which was just as well, as the choice has dribbled down to the rather unconvincing fluffy raptors. "My manager's out back ordering a whole lot more," confided bored museum shop attendant, "If we don't have a decent selection for half term we'll be lynched." Who knew things could get so hairy there, even during holidays? We chat for a bit. Apparently they also receive plenty of complaints about Richard Dawkins, which seems a bit unfair! Even faced with the stress of balancing your irrational desire to believe god made the earth 32 minutes ago (is that right?) against your four-year-old's NEED FOR DINOSAURS, it seems a little harsh to take it out on Natural History Museum employees, even if they are hawking evolution. Plastic evolution, fluffy evolution, evolution in kit form to construct and hang from your ceiling. MMmm, museum shops. On the way out we stopped to check on the bees. They were mostly torpid, quivering slightly, except one which had somehow turned round on itself, and got jammed between the glass and its snoozing neighbours. Wide awake, that one was.
Last night great gig! We went to see the noisy shouty pouty Noisettes, not to be confused with the Noisettes (we're abstract minimalists) and certainly not to be confused with the Noisettes on emusic who appear to be (ouch) smooth jazz. They were supported by google-friendly The Victorian English Gentleman's Club who had a great singing drummer girl with a BIG BELL, and and rambling one-man band Mayor McCa who I'm sure I've heard on the soundtrack of some North American indie film or other. All good, in ways best appreciated by listening to them, and lots of shouting.
I'm feeling better about things today. Cold feet, though.