I do like Mondays

... because at the moment, anything could happen. It's not the weekend, so karmically I can't get away with doing nothing at all, yet I don't have to get up and go to work. As yet there's no fixed thing that *should* happen, and what *does* happen is usually worth the energy.

This week I got up pretty early and went into college to commune with my lead welding by myself. Strictly speaking I was far from by myself, as the workshop was full of teenage boys damaging each other in Lord of the Flies type ways, but they were all first years, and haven't got to leadwork yet.

And it was great. Take the pressure off, and the technique comes together. Now where have I heard that before?

I left at lunchtime in driving hail, and went to pick up a few things from Tesco on the way home. While there I decided to buy some food to pad out the box for Asylum Welcome that I started with the food ex-housemate L left behind (plus some of the food ex-housemates S then K left behind before her). I had several 'Tesco Value or not?' dilemmas. I wouldn't buy Tesco Value penne, for example, but it is only 19p for 500g, compared to 35p for Tesco standard penne (which I would happily buy). So that's two people fed rather than one, so yes to Tesco Value. Tesco Value tuna fish though... I just couldn't. Soup: yes. Fruit cake: no. Tinned mandarins: yes. Tinned beans: no. And so it went. Uncomfortable, but strangely addictive.

And so it was that I pushed a much bigger trolley than usual out into the car park, where the hail had given way to sunshine with a knife edge wind. I loaded up into the back of the car, then looked around for the nearest trolley park. 'I'll take that for you my love', said a large middle aged man, appearing from my left with his own trolley to return. 'Oh, thank you, that's very kind', I replied.

Well you're probably busy with a family to feed, he said. I was about to say that I wasn't, but then I looked at my bags and though, hell, maybe today I am.

The Asylum Welcome cupboard, when I later got to see it, was damn near bare. I asked them if giving food was better than giving money. They said that there is never enough money, and if people give food it means they can spend their money on other things, like helping people get to hearings. It was a profoundly depressing experience in some ways, but somehow not one without hope.

Later again we went out to the Zodiac (or the Zod, as M insists on calling it now he is in a proper band) to see John Cale. Most gigs at the Zod are now 14+. I thought this was so teenagers can get in to watch their friends play, but now I realise it's so that 50-somethings can bring their kids along to watch rock legends. It was demographically fascinating - when we got in there was a crocodile of nicely dressed couples forming an orderly but utterly unsustainable queue at the bar, much to the bemusement of the bar staff. To make matters worse, all the men were drinking Guinness.

I think I was the sole 30-something in the place - most of my cohort seem to have shelved their gig-going selves for the duration of early parenthood and those that haven't were probably watching Travis at Brookes instead. How glad I was on Monday night to be bucking those trends. If I could have had Mr B and at least one of the FinnFans there too I would have been the happiest girl in town, for this was an awesome gig and when they happen, there are people I miss. Mr Cale's version of Heartbreak Hotel stormed right into my Desert Island Discs, and his red, black and white hair should be an inspiration to 65 year olds everywhere.

Modern licensing hours meant we were able to find a sofa to have a pint on afterwards, where I rambled at premenstrual length about food and politics and music and connections, and M smiled benignly at me because a) he is always a bit deaf after gigs and b) he'd just spent two hours six feet away from one of his all time art rock heroes.

So. Monday is a whole new day of the week. Wish I'd had this kind of Monday years ago.

joella