Nothing much happened in the morning. I finally figured out what I was doing wrong with the files that I was trying to scp over to Sourceforge. I had misplaced a / in the file path.

Trevor came around in the afternoon, whilst I was scraping off some old paint in a back room in preparation for my summer project of repainting that-which-needs-to-be-repainted-due-to-winter-moisture-damage.

We had rooibos tea and a mince pie each on the lawn, and swapped music. He didn't like Godspeed you black emperor as much as I did. I loaned him Rain Tree Crow and Love's Secret Domain, and got Big Black and Recoil. I am now listening to the new Shpongle, and will play some Mogwai later, the back to Brian Eno's ambient works. Diverse enough? It gets better later.

Carlo has watched his new Simpsons season 1 DVD set for the first time, so I get to borrow it for a few days. In the evening I has Guy and Werner over & we watched four or five episodes. Burn's sidekick, Smithers, changes colour! In one episode he is brown, in the next, yellow.

After eleven we were tired and debated just giving up and going to bed, but I was spurred on by the fact that tomorrow, monday, being a public holiday, I could get up at noon if I wanted to. (In fact, typing this at 12:20, with the remains of breakfast still next to me). So Werner and I met again at The Jam in town, for the Drum and Bass party.

This was not chilled music. Slamming, hard, fast, skittering piledriver beats, that would have easily passed for Jungle has they been played in 1995. And I mean the real hard industrial jungle, not that Jazzified crap that that bastard Goldie turned it into. It was like a giant metal spider running over the tin roof of some vast factory.

I really enjoyed it. No complex melodies, but driving and textured sound. It has a facination like that of thrash metal - a complex texture of nearly white noise. For a while I closed my eyes and danced in a warm, dark, throbbing, exceptionally loud womb.

Werner decided to go home around 1:30, and I contemplated following him. Seconds later, the Dj changed the tune, and the new one started with even louder high-pitched buzzing noises. I felt something give inside my left ear. Enough. I left right then. The eardrum may be torn, it feels a bit wobbly today.

I have just finished Daniel Quin's book Ishmael. While it is quite readable, I rate it as consistently annoying. I rapidly got over the didactic device of the telepathic gorilla, but having read some of Danniel Dennet, Steven Pinker and Richard Dawkins exceptional books on evolution and what it means to be human, this bunch of simplistic half-truths really doesn't cut it. that language is also anoyingly sexist for a supposedly 1960's-informed enlightened universalist. He just never stops writing stuff like "So mankind sets out to conquer his planet" Emphasis added. It may be minor, but it's more evidence that the whole thing is facile.