What happens in Vegas...

I sat on the tube today looking at a rather dubious poster selling holidays in Las Vegas, which ran with the tag-line, "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas," or words to that effect. It feels like a rather nefarious way to sell a city. Am I the only person in the world who thinks Las Vegas looks like a hell zone? Every time I see another photo of the place my sphincter tightens. It looks entirely fake. And not fun in any way, shape or form. If anyone reading this has been and cares to give me a different perspective, I'm all ears...

Nathan is away this weekend recording choir music in a studio with a bunch of friends. I wish I was with them but I've had to stay behind to work, which is not much fun. I decided to give myself a bit of time off this evening and sashayed to the kebab shop for some kind of halloumi in pitta experience. Sadly, the bloke behind the counter decided to cook the halloumi on the same grill as the largest splat of dodgy-looking meat I've ever seen. It was like looking at road kill. Like some kind of shredded badger. The man prodded the meat with the same tongues he was using to impatiently turn my squeaky cheese. I tried not to look, knowing it would only put me off my food, but my eyes kept drifting back to the horror...

I try not to be a prissy vegetarian. If something has been cooked with animal fat, gelatine or rennet I'm usually simply better off not knowing. Unless I can taste it on my lips afterwards. Animal fat leaves a residue like some kind of ghastly lip salve.

I stayed in tonight, working a bit and watching rubbish telly whilst the snow swirled around the lamppost outside my window. It's not settling, sadly, but it looks rather impressive. At one stage I turned all the lights off and watched it, somewhat transfixed, like ash falling from Mount Vesuvius! Did anyone else used to play The Last Days of Pompeii in the playground at school, imagining the falling leaves in autumn were lava flows? Just me? Okay...