It costs 30 pence to relieve yourself at Liverpool Street Station nowadays.
I intend to spend my entire week's pay one week and see how many (or how few) times I can 'go'.
At London Bridge Station, a croissant costs £1.49.
I asked the guy behind the till if they contained gold dust. He laughed, as though I was joking.
A poor French Horn in the second hand shop on Holloway Road had no mouthpiece.
All that potential to make a din, and no chance of doing it!
Brick Lane is full of greedy pin-striped bankers, soaking up the vibe and eyeing up the property.
Soon it will be bland, bland, bland, steamrollered under the weight of ill-gotten gains, a Costa on every corner, a Starbucks on every street, a Cafe Nero in every neighbourhood and Gilbert and George wincing down Fournier Street, trumped by the very guys they have been parodying for so many years.
Last week, I vowed never again to buy any second hand clothes.
My room smells like Oxfam, even though it is full of vintage treasure.
However, I have never before bought so may second hand clothes in such a short space of time!
This week, I shall make the opposite resolution.
I have just finished reading Just Kids, Patti Smith's book about her relationship with Robert Mapplethorpe.
It is touching, honest and full of poetic moments, and one of the best descriptions of pure love that I've ever come across.