Dear Sir or Madam,

I have been a Tesco customer for many years, and now shop almost exclusively with you, as Tesco is my nearest supermarket. But yesterday I was horrified to find the enclosed item in my salmon and broccoli quiche. I’m not sure what it is, but am fairly certain that it wasn’t supposed to be in food. I also enclose the receipt. I would, at the very least, like a refund on this item.

This is the letter I sent to Tesco after finding what looked like a small dread of sweater fluff in my dinner last night… it was so nasty I couldn’t eat the rest of the quiche, so dinner consisted of a tomato, some strawberries and a handful of crisps.

Plans for the weekend: Sunday is Routemaster 50, a celebration of the king of buses, in Finsbury Park. RMs are a dying breed, and by 2007 they will have disappeared entirely from London’s streets, with the exception of a ‘heritage route’, presumably for tourists/saddoes like me.

Wednesday night Steve, Tim, Andy, Xaun and I went to see the Schla La Las and Holly Golightly at the Windmill, an initially somewhat terrifying estate pub in Brixton. It was ok, but I felt the best thing about the Schla La Las was their matching dresses and red handbags… I liked what they were doing, but I just didn’t think they were doing it very well… After about three of Holly’s songs we left, for a variety of reasons: 1) to escape Holly’s caterwauling 2) the fashion victims next to us (very thin, wearing lots of layers of chiffon/lace/sequins/oilskin/bacofoil, standing pigeon-toed in 80s shoes) were beginning to piss me off and 3) thought I was going to brain the guy who had parked his six-foot frame in front of me to take pictures of Holly. As I am 5 "4 on a good day, I am sure my head wouldn’t have found it’s way into the viewfinder if he had stood behind me. But I guess you and I know that chivalry, etiquette and plain good manners are long dead on the gig circuit.

This weather makes me want to sit in a beer garden. Sadly my local boozers (the Dog & Handgun, the Knife & Throat and the Ferret & Crackpipe) don’t really have any nice outside space. One has a sort-of beer garden (few wooden picnic tables on Kennington Road) where at least I can watch the 159s sail past in all their curvaceous majesty.