Hug a hoodie

On route to Julie's this afternoon, we saw a gang of young lads hanging about outside a shop on the Holloway Road. I immediately bristled at the sight of one of them spitting on the pavement. Not just spitting, in fact; the nasty little git was almost vomiting a trail of phlegm onto the footpath! It was somewhat grotesque. There he was, in a hoodie, looking like a proper little chav. "God, how ghastly!" I said to Nathan.

Five seconds later, the lad was rushing to the shop door and I wondered nervously what was about to happen. Was he going to rush in and nick a can of coke? Was he going to wallop some unsuspecting passer by?

Turns out he was rushing to open the shop door for an elderly man with a walking stick who was struggling to get out. And, even more surprisingly, he made sure the man was okay before moving on.

What an astonishing dichotomy! It just goes to prove that one should never judge a book by its cover.

We had a lot of fun at Julie's. It was craft and cake and I went as easy as I could on the cake bit; a touch difficult when you're confronted with the most delicious chocolate and orange thing. Hard times!

We watched all the talent shows, marvelling at how the X Factor can call itself a classy television programme whilst it refuses to employ live musicians to accompany the "acts" every week. This week was "Big Band" week, which meant, finally, they got to perform in front of an orchestra, and, as always, the decent acts raised their game. Hardly surprising: the power of a Big Band including a full string orchestra will give any self-respecting performer a lift.

There were no white Grannies on display for the mixed-race performers this week, but they did pull out Tamera's (white) mother. Simon Cowell obviously thinks she's got record-selling potential, and as she was in the bottom two last week, must have felt it was time to remind the country that she's not a scary black woman. Desperate tactics. Sometimes I feel a little ashamed.