It’s been fun to watch the Australian Channel 9 coverage of the Olympics via VPN. The ads obviously warm my heart, but I mostly just love seeing the Ch9 hosts going back and forth asking each other “how good!?” everything is. The other day we were watching the mens shotput and one of the American athletes wiped his chalky hands on his trousers after throwing and Eddie Mcguire said with total authority: “I tell you what. Those track pants are going to need a wash tonight.” How bloody good?!
2.
For the last few weeks, my regular overground (the one that goes between Liverpool St and Walthamstow) has been off and I’ve had to get the one that goes between Shoreditch High Street and Highbury Islington. It’s been interesting noticing the subtle, but distinct changes in demographic. Liverpool St-Walthamstow: graphic designer mums and dads, 45-year-old men on the phone yelling about why the fucking builders aren’t there yet. Shoreditch High Street-Islington: younger graphic designers, 24-year-old women discussing why they don’t want to share a bell tent with a guy called Ollie.
3.
I can’t remember where I found this, but it felt evocative in the hot weather. Oh to be on a beach somewhere, drinking beers, listening to Charli XCX’s Brat on repeat, reading 1200 pages about the fish sandwiches and bottles of Sprite that Karl Ove and his brother Yngve consumed while clearing out the house of their dead, alcoholic father ❤️
4.
Proud to say that - after 39 wonderful summers spent riding elephants - my family and I are following Chris Packham’s lead.
5.
I like the Custard ones, but let’s be honest: you could walk the shit of your dog in any of these bastards.
