today, any other day

I was pleased with myself for my run down the platform at Highbury & Islington in order to avoid the worst crush on the southbound Victoria line train during a rain-drenched rush hour. As the driver announced that the train would not stop at Kings Cross St Pancras station due to overcrowding, I sensed a small spark of what it is to be a Londoner, to endure and to persist. The train paused at the station, and everyone on board stood in silence as a tannoy announced to an empty platform, "Please leave the station immediately. This station is closed due to a reported emergency." Just another rainy day in London, I suppose. It's the first one I can remember – not bad for five weeks.

It's the beginning of week two at my new job, based in Streatham; mechanical royalties. The sense of initiation into a secret society remains – who among you understands mechanical royalties? Not I, not yet, but I’m on the way. Roll on, payday.

Last Thursday my friends and I enjoyed a brilliant night at Koko, absolutely loving the dubmentalness of Kora’s first London show. Looking up at the stage, and looking back at the well-populated, impressively tiered venue, I think the band absolutely loved it too. On the agenda this week is a look at the Future of the Left, a new lineup from ex-Mclusky frontman Falco. And I'm counting the days until the Decemberists' show at the Royal Festival Hall next week. Eight sleeps!

My well-documented (is it?) "mild obsession with Turkey" (thanks Erica) simmers on, and I've been confused by the seeming lack of flight options from the usual suspects of late. Does no one fly to Antalya in the off-season? Also in the travel sphere, my friends and I have vague plans of Christmas in Eastern Europe. Perhaps Slovenia, since Angela and I failed to get there in July. I'm pushing for Romania, or Bulgaria. Why? Guess.