In order to divert some of the vitriol that would otherwise be directed at last night's abysmal The Woman in White (goldfish flapping in puddles - dreadful music, ditto lyrics, everything else great. Hum) I have written a TEST! But not just any old test, oh no! It's a test about Jaws! Woo and indeed hoo!

I really have to stop starting things with "Well".

My incredibly shiny new phone has decided that O2 is too rubbish to work with and has therefore stopped receiving text messages. Which I am being sent. So there. Damn. Off to the theeeaaaateeeer today to see 'The Woman in White' which will hopefully be obscenely melodramatic and full of the joys of the season. Parking in London though - hum.

Well I think we've just confirmed that Rupert Everett is god. Or rather a god considering the time of year. Sherlock Holmes was fantastic tonight - obviously I didn't have a clue what was going on as I have all the deductive dkills of a potato, but even I twigged there was a twin involved. Rock!

The belt has been loosened due to the influx of Stilton, turkey, chocolate and television - satsumas are doing no job whatsoever of counterbalancing seasonal fatness so sod it. Was marginally horrified at Christmas lunch yesterday to discover my seven eyar old cousin has developed a dripping sarcasm to rival mine in the last year and owns the Franz Ferdinand album. Suddenly I feel dramatically outclassed. Got mildly pissed, went home, got less mildly pissed and had a musical interlude with Dad while the Boy read and mum did her fiendish jigsaw. Genius.

Happy Christmas one and all. No relatives were harmed in the making of this season.

Well, the radio says it's going to snow tomorrow and the radio doesn't lie. Apart from the torrential downpour outside my window, I am entirely convinced that we are going to have some a-mazing snow tomorrow - or at least somewhere in the UK anyway.

Am loving being on holiday - the sleep, the carols, the unequivocal love of the dog. Work can well and truly kiss my ass for the time being.

Only question: how the heel do you dress up as corruption? I love fancy dress parties...

Damn. I guess I'm just going to have to face the fact that Ebay is not going to rescue my financial situation. What to do? Temp? Where! Rob stores? No gun! Beg? Too un-tramp-like looking! I know the festive spirit should be kicking in and believe me, it's a-kicking, but the noose of poverty is creeping tighter around my neck. And yes, my grammar is failing me as well. The shame.

NOOOOOOOOO! PJ Harvey's giving up performing live. Sad day.

No longer a gigwise virgin. More internet reviews! Oh yes!

Home tomorrow: Christingle, dog, fire, goodwill, Stilton, satsumas. It's what Christmas is all about.

I now have two friends my age who are married. I am 22. This should surely not be happening. It's a good thing I have the biological clock of Doctor Who or I might be starting to feel cagey.

Poverty is now no actual joke - is it ever. I know compared to, well, everyone else in the world, I am ridiculously fortunate, but going to a Christmas social and standing like a lemon sans drink etc smacks of something rotten, plus staying at home and watching Holby City (unexpected bonus, I love that show) instead of going to the meal. I must seem like the most aloof, unsocial, typical post-grad. I hated those people at university, and now I am one of them, "too good" to socialise with undergrads.

I'm not too good! I'm really rather shit! I'm just poor!

Hurray! I have new work at gigwise. Unlike artrocker, they seem to be slightly smarter than your avergae bear and get you guest list which is nice. Bonus at last, makes up slightly for the drastic levels of poverty I once again find myself in.

TRAGIC DEATH OF PANTERA GUITARIST
____________________
At about 4am last night, Pantera guitarist Dimebag Darrell was shot dead onstage at a gig in Ohio. Members of the audience were also injured and the gunman was subsequently shot dead by police. It is not yet known whether any other members of the band have been hurt.

What's twistedly apt is that when I went onto the website to see if anything had been posted yet, their sounds were of gunshots. Someone's got a black sense of irony I guess.

Finally. After two and a half days of searching for rock, metal and fetish clubs, the Kerrang holiday listings are finito. I'd like to thank ents24 and netgoth in particular for being quite ridiculously useful. Phew.

A bizarre twist in coincidence last night continuing from Monday. Monday: I decided to take advantage of the fact that the Tate Britain is just around the corner from my flat and try and get on telly while the Turner Prize was being awarded. I got into the actual building by smiling at the guards when they asked for my invivtation and saying I didn't have one. Obviously, all arty people do this because they're "mad" and "out there" and "don't carry anything" because they let me past no problems. Came to a slight flaw when it came to having my name on the list and I was flurried out of the building by anxious curator types who thrust me accusingly at the guards and looked at me as if I had a bomb shoved up my top ready to deploy. The earnest arty demonstrators outside looked thoroughly bemused and a photographer took photos of me under the impression I worked for the NME. Hum.

Tuesday: Kerrang gave me free tickets to go and watch The Features at the Dublin Castle last night which I reviewed for Artrocker. This Italian guy with an extremely large camera tapped me on the shoulder and asked if he'd seen me here before. Turns out it was the guy from the Tate! God I love random coincidences.

After two days of Metallica, Korn and, um, bagpipes, the Kerrang office is now playing Longview. Or Long_view. Or however they're hyphenating themselves these days. Happily, it's 'Only When You Sleep' which is my favourite. Hurray! Way to cheer up listings.

Well. I spent my first weekend "living" in London and got extremely freaked out. It's about ten minutes to the Houses of Parliament for God's sake. There's something massively different in staying with people you know or in an area you know to just staying in a house. Hmmm. I felt very provincial and rather worried.

I took the tube to work this morning which was rather cool - getting it to work I mean, not the tube. (I should really stop calling it work. But I haven't made tea yet, so perhaps I technically am.) I felt slightly Mary Poppins-ish bouncing along Oxford Street, almost being run over by double-decker buses and singing "Chim Chim Cheree" loudly. Alright, I made the last bit up, but what the hell. It's all very English and very London. It freaks me out quite a lot actually, but I guess three days is no time at all to even start getting used to a place.

I went to a great surplus store in Warren Street this morning, getting a lab coat for a photo shoot. Damn it, what's it called again. Leonard's Corner? Lionel's Corner? Anyway, go out of Warren Street tube, turn left and cross the road at the second set of traffic lights you'll cross over. It's just on the corner there,funnily enough.

Anyway, back to playing with Quark again. I'm tired and really quite Londoned-out. Not boding well for my journalistic career I guess...

...And back to the wishlist. O please Santa, bring me aLa Petite Salope dress! I've been ever so well-behaved.

It's a dream come true! Damn my unfeasibly man sized feet! An Irregular Choice sale!

Ordinarily I wouldn't link to something as mundane as a mate's left-over tea but this is so frightening it deserves a special "wooargh" mention. Oli's monster.

My mum's in the Times! P61 bottom right hand corner asking questions! Go Mum!

Weird ebay crap fills in those little holes in the day so well!

On the musing side: why do Tomato Ketchup, Worcester Sauce and Prawn Cocktail Walkers all taste exactly the same? It's so unfair!