It's been a plaguey week, and to top it off, it feels like my lingering chest infection, instead of clearing up, is moving up into the throat. Gah! One day I shall give blood again. But not, I suspect, next week. Between work, worry and householding, I've been too exhausted even to rant this week, even though one of my favourite Bête Noires (Bêtes Noires?) turned up this week as a horde of bored journalists descended on Marks & Spencers in a feeding frenzy fired by salivatory thoughts of Jeremy Paxman's gusset anxiety.

Some bloody Guardian journalist even had the gall to complain about their sushi containing tuna mayonnaise instead of raw tuna and how "everyone" calls them Marks & Sparkles, leading me to conclude that a) she's never shopped at M&S and neither has anyone she knows or talks to, so she believes what they say in their press releases and b) she's never eaten supermarket sushi, and doesn't really understand the concept -- in fact, Yo! Sushi's probably a bit infra-dig for her.

Congratulations, the British Media. Keep dancing to Philip Green's tune, why not? ... and ugh. Poor Paxman, what a grim moment, to discover that someone's been hacking your emails and sending them to the Daily Mail.

Back on topic, though, word from my male friends:

"The pants are the only good things in the menswear! Please don't change them!"

Possibly in reaction, I've spent much of the week buying lunch there. I drew the line at buying a haggis, though.

they are all here to bless you Except for Ganesh, he's here to eat your peanuts.