A conversation in the pub yesterday prompted me to check on the whereabouts of those trainers over the telephone wire on Ross Street earlier. They are still where they were, right up against someone's bedroom window. You'd think they'd be beginning to rot by now. You'd also think whoever owns the bedroom would've taken them down by now, though I suppose I wouldn't have got round to it if it was me. Those Leffe glasses are still in my flower beds. And I actually want them to drink out of.

The pavements of Cambridge are something of a snail graveyard today. I can sort of see why worms come up from underground when it rains, but I don't really get why snails insist on moving very slowly onto hard surfaces where people walk. I guess they have their reasons, but I can't see that they're good ones.

I definitely have blue tits in my nesting box. Judging by the amount of time they spend going in there with food I'd say the chicks have hatched. They don't make me happy like they did last year though because I'm waiting for them to get killed and end up all over the garden again.

In case you haven't guessed, not a great deal has happened since I last wrote. I did a bit of recording (I've put up a rough mix of an electric version of that "You won't break my heart" song both on my profile and on my facebook page - I really love Dave's solo), I played squash and nearly died (we had to stop early because I was feeling weird - I blame the heat - and before anyone says anything, I was winning), I made the revolutionary discovery that sticking a capo on the front of my face makes my double chin seem less pronounced by pulling it forward (and really hurts after about 10 minutes), I bought a chocolate cheesecake again, which has made me feel a bit ill.

One thing that I've been thinking about a lot recently is how all my friends from university seem to be proper grown ups now with partners or wives and how far I am from that. I'm 30 years old and still a little bit scared of talking to the man behind the counter in the Post Office. How did that happen?

In 5 years time I really don't want to still be living on my own, wading through clothes I can't be arsed to put away, breakfasting on toast made from the few non-mouldy slices of bread I can find and buttering it with the back of a spoon, and dining on microwave lasagnes straight out of the plastic box. You wouldn't know that's what I do from the vouchers I got with my clubcard statement this morning though. I was expecting them all to say "50 extra points with every ready meal for one on the day of its expiry date" and "25 extra points with every chocolate cheesecake", but it was all fresh fruit and vegetables. Maybe they're trying to encourage me. I dunno. I feel like I need something properly interesting to happen soon. I'm unhappy, but I'm only a bit unhappy and only about the absence of things and it seems to me that if you're going to be unhappy it's better to be really unhappy about real things. You can write songs about that. I'm really struggling writing songs about being bored. I need someone to make me fall in love with them and then treat me badly. Any volunteers? Weirdly, the times when that's been happening have been some of my favourite bits, looking back at things. Or at least the most interesting. At least I felt real. I feel like I'm not really concentrating at the moment.

Tom was telling me last night about his friend who keeps an incredibly detailed blog right down to the urethral infections. I'm not much better eh? Maybe I should be spending these hours writing songs.

I dunno where the "what you're listening to now" thing has gone, but I'm listening to "Dance the Devil" by The Frames. Or "Colm Mac Con Lomaire, Craig Ward, David Odlum, Earl Harvin, Glen Hansard, Graham Hopkins, Joseph Doyle, Paul Brennan" as Windows Media Player calls them. I don't know why they didn't go with that.