Well, due to work-related time-paucity, yours truly's not had a worthwhile jot to report in Ye Olde London Blogge since last week. Aye, I attended a stonking End of Summer Party (see pics below) on Saturday night and drank too much cider, and spent Saturday morning wallowing in the sensory overload that is the Borough Markets again, but that hardly qualifies as an acceptable substitute. So here's the next round of plans to tide ye over:

- Tomorrow night: appears I'll be going to Whitechapel to meet a uni friend and catch up over a Jack The Ripper Walking Tour in the cold, bleak depths of an English winter's eve. As you do. Honestly, am starting to think list of friends over here was imaginary, judging by how often they're around. The rumours about the hectic London lifestyle are definitely true. For some. Ahem.

- Saturday night: venturing into the howling wilds of the English Coca Cola Football Championship and going to watch Crystal Palace play Barnsley at Crystal Palace. By myself. Did I mention the friends I have over here seem to be busy to the point of being nonexistent? Maybe there's a reason none could come to this match. Hmmm. Better look up what colours not to wear....

- Halloween: have been invited to a costume party here by the Roccos boys or... a costume party in Dublin. Remains to be seen if work will allow a flex day this soon to go to the Emerald Isle wearing devil's horns and furry johdpurs.

- After that: Am currently investigating train journeys to various parts of Scewtland and Wales, and pricing flights to New York. There will be no shopping for shoes if I get to New York. None whatsoever.

STOP ME IF YOU"VE HEARD THIS ONE:

The latest credit crunch jokes doing the rounds at work:
Q. What's the difference between an investment banker and a pizza?
A. A pizza can feed a family of four.

A mate borrowed 10 pounds off me and the BBC called me up to ask what it's like being England's third biggest lender.

LONDON NEWS:

- Madonna's divorcing Guy Ritchie for making one strangely-similar-to-the-last-three movie too many. Or something. Look at how much I care. Ritchie looks set to make more than the ex Mrs McCartney in his settlement. Rumoured to be negotiating purchase of Wales.

- NBA Commish David Stern blasted the London Olympic Committee for planning to move most of the 2012 Olympic basketball matches to a small-ish stadium with none of the panache and glitz of the O2 Arena. Majority of the English population asked "David who?"

- Another black youth got gunned down outside a nightclub the Saturday before last (at the end of my street, no less), and the story was promptly forgotten by this weekend. Imagine if that happened in Brisneyland. Gun laws would've come under even further scrutiny, front page news for at least 3 days, Lord Mayor Can-Do would've been bouncing and jiggling around even more than usual on our tv screens lambasting security, nightclub owners, the binge-drinking culture, Fourex.... and doing as much about it as he does for anything not associated with building tunnels or pretending to care about heritage buildings being knocked down for concrete-and-glass boxes.

- Westfield's gargantuan new Temple of M'ehh at Shepherd's Bush announced that when it opens there will be no hoodies allowed inside for security reasons. Immediate public outrage at lack of crackdown on accompanying exposed cracks.

- Lots of talk about "baby pub louts" (very young kids allowed to run riot in pubs) at the moment. I mean, it's hard enough carrying 5 pints back to your table when you're trousered without having to deal with what appears to your beery eyes to be a midget on speed jinking between your ankles screaming "Catch me!!!!!". Innit?? Here's a wild, anarchic idea - don't allow minors in booze barns. *Gasp* Wha' yew mean, "drinking culture"?? Where'd tha' all start??

- Colin Powell (yes, Prez Dubya's stern former Secretary of State), got up on stage at Albert Hall the other night and broke 'em all off a li'l sum'n sum'n when invited by the Nigerian hip hop crew performing at the time. Big fella even holla'd to all the peeps in da' hood and got shakin' that thang, fo' REAL. And then sat down again. Word.

- Apparently the credit crunch has all London's upper crust trying to outdo each other in the divesting-of-one's-assets stakes and competive cut-lunch making. The papers are rife with stories of former bling-sporting City types descending on unsuspecting thrift shops en masse like a plague of Botoxed locusts and photo shoots celebrating the pre-loved nature of the nonebrities' latest frocks at red carpet events. Trust these vacuous b*stards to turn the whole situation into a "look at me" merry-go-round. Bollocks to the lo' of 'em.

That'll have to do ye all until I have something worthwhile reporting myself. Fingers crossed that it's not too long a wait.