I may have accidently started a biological class war last night. I went up to Exeter University's Lemon Grove to see Electric 6. As usual, as well as the usual black t-shirt types etc, there were the Oxbridge reject types. These are students who were too stupid to get to Oxford, Cambridge, Bath etc and had to come to Exeter. It's a pretty town, you see, and not too nastily urban for the Pony Club undergrads. These are the types of girls who clearly think they are in a L'Oreal ad all the time and you really do wonder what they are doing at a Detroit guitar band gig.I can live with their snobby little ways. Except when they are standing stock still at the edge of the mosh and give you a flithy look when you emerge and push sweatily past to get to the bar. You're at a rock gig, not Ascot, luv. Move yer bloomin' arse, as Eliza would have said. Had she been a rock type and not an Edwardian flower girl who looked like Audrey Hepburn. Hopefully my sweat has polluted the rarified air of the upper-middle classes and they will all get a good lower class dose of the Lurg.

For the convention throat of Monday mutated into a Mystery Virus aka The Lurg. There has been fever, there has been gunk, there has been an impressive cough which makes me sound like a blues diva who spent twenty years in smoky jazz clubs (prompting the odd singalong to Dusty Springfield). There has been very little work, which naturally makes me cross. So I've been cross, ill and disliking the beautiful sunny weather. Being ill is much more enjoyable in the winter when you can bundle up and justify not going outdoors for days. Somehow being ill in the summer feels like an affront.

Tangent (hey, I'm ill, I can be random): I'm not the only one to think the "ba-ba-baba" bit on God Only Knows by the Beach Boys sounds frighteningly like the Jim'll Fix It theme, am I?