First they came for Trenton Oldfield and I did not speak out because I did not like Trenton Oldfield

Last night I went to a gallery closing - a bit like a gallery opening apart from you had to bring your own booze, which was a tall order in Shoreditch where there are many shonky shebeens but few off licences. Piney Gir played and was lovely, apart from the microphone being turned down and then up and then feedbacking. On the way home, I popped into the Buffalo Bar to see The Indelicates and harangued charleston for a bit. I miss the Buffalo Bar. I miss being able to stay up past 12 without feeling like death-slightly-microwaved the next day.

The 393 zipped past me so I walked home. I like walking through Stoke Newington at night because there're enough people around for it not to be scaresome, but not too many to make it oppressive. I turned left at the top of Church St, leaving behind interestingly-spectacled young people fixie-biking it home from an evening on the craft beers and walked up the high st where all the fried chicken shops were shining and a woman was letting her dog eat out of a bin.