AUGUST 31

OHHHHHHH..... shit. I was going to do a big update tonight, honest, all about our trip to a fantastic Indian restaurant, Emric's adventures trashing my Lego TIE fighter, the stupid idiot cyclists of Long Beach, the crappy shitty week I've had at work and loads more. Look, I even took a picture of Iestyn on top of the laundry specially for this entry.

Only mum sent me Hyperdrive on DVD and it did cost her twenty-five quid and it was really kind of her to send it over and I only meant to watch one episode honest but it's really funny and so I ended up watching all six and Ev shouted at me for laughing too loud and waking her up and then I started reading about it on the BBC website and then I watched a couple of episodes of the second series and I fell off my chair laughing and now it's two in the morning and I'm knackered and off to bed.

AUGUST 30

SORRY for not updating this in ages. Lots of stuff has been happening, but frankly I'm so shagged out when I get home after work that I can't be bothered to do it. But I will get something up here on the weekend. I'm also into the tenth week of giving up ciggies and the mood swings, insomnia and weight-gain are really starting to get me down. It's enough to make me want to take up smoking.

AUGUST 19

A THOUGHT occurs... As I've given up fags, should I change the header of Planet Mut and get rid of the Marlboro Light that's served so well for over three years? What do you think? Do you even give a shit? Email me and let me know your suggestions. God knows, I could do with a laugh.

AUGUST 17

THANKS to Grant beating up the vending machine this afternoon, I ended up with a free bag of microwave popcorn. I normally wouldn't touch this stuff with a bargepole, but later on I got a bit peckish so I cooked it and dived in.

I know I run the risk of sounding like a food snob - there are, after all, trailer parks in Alabama where this stuff is considered a delicacy - but Christ, it's awful. It smells like popcorn, it looks like popcorn, it sort of tastes like popcorn, but if you served this up in a cinema there'd be chairs going through the screen in no time.

Within a few minutes the inside of my gob was coated in a mix of salt and butter, or at least whatever organic by-product of the plastics factory the makers of this stuff call butter. My fingers were covered in the same stuff and very rapidly so were my mouse, keyboard, front of my shirt, chair arms, mobile phone, desk, pen and pretty much anything within reach. As dehydration set in I grabbed my bottle of water only for it to slip through my fat-slicked fingers onto the floor. I managed to pick it up and downed most of it but my gob still felt like it was coated in lard. I ended up pretty much having to gargle with tea to melt the stuff. And I still had half a bag to go.

Then I spotted the best-before date. I know it's not too clear in the above pic, but it reads "MAR2007". Not only was I eating shit, it was out-of-date shit. My one hope is that, as I've survived years of my mum's cooking, my stomach will be immune to whatever surprises five-month out-of-date popcorn can spring on it.

AUGUST 16

THERE I was, sitting at a red light on Ocean at about 1.20 this afternoon. The sky was blue, the Mini was ticking over nicely, "Sennen" by Ride had just started on the CD player when I suddenly realised I'd forgotten to put my nicotine patch on. Shit. "Never mind," I think, "I'll think of it as a test. Maybe I can go all day without needing a patch, and that'll be a good thing."

All I know is that every single person in the office is lucky to be alive. So is every other driver on the 710, 5, 134 and 2 freeways, the woman serving in Billy's, the construction workers on the 710 South, Emric, this PC, the kettle, the dishwasher, the TV, my crappy RAZR mobile phone, my office chair, most of Glendale, and my satchel. As soon as I got home I slapped on a patch (I'm down to the 10-a-day ones now) and now, an hour later, I do feel slightly better. Well, at least my urge to kill has reduced to an urge to kick. And I didn't succumb to scrounging a fag off Mel. I mean, it's eight weeks tomorrow, one wouldn't have bloody hurt, would it?

AUGUST 15

MAY I introduce my new personal motto. For those of you who don't speak Latin or haven't read Feet of Clay by Terry Pratchett, it translates as "Shat On From A Great Height".

AUGUST 14

MANY thanks to Tammy for sending me these photos of a fantastic 1971 Cooper she spotted at a car show in Burbank on Sunday.

I WAS going to do a longer update but I'm shagged out. We have finally got our updated editorial system at work - CCI 6 - and it's been a right runaround. Almost all the keyboard shortcuts are gone, the ones that remain are changed and nothing exports to the website properly. Fantastico. And, just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, the televised Burbank City Council meeting ended with Rick Astley playing over the sodding credits. I'm off to bed.

AUGUST 11

TODAY I got off my arse for the first time in ages and we went to Descanso Gardens, in La Cañada Flintridge. It's basically a big garden (duh) split into several sections. I took the camera (which I haven't really used since we got back from Britain) and took a load of pics.

After our visit we headed into Glendale, to the new Target store in the Galleria. The Galleria is, basically, a huge mall that appears to be bigger on the inside than on the outside. Like many malls it's full of stores selling useless shit at vastly inflated prices but like many malls it was still packed.

By this point we were starving so I decided to take Ev to Billy's, the deli whose pastrami sandwich nearly killed me last week. I went for the hot beef sarnie with mash and gravy, and Ev had the same, but with turkey. All I can say is they had to widen the doors to get me out. How I managed to drive back to the LBC while in the middle of a force 10 food coma I have no idea.

Oh, and Target was crap.

AUGUST 8

FOR some reason, the other night Ev decided to replace all our hangers. It's at times like these I'm glad I get home from work late.

ON THE way home tonight my conviction that the world is rapidly going down the khazi was yet again reinforced by the sight above. Yes, there are now TV screens on the pumps at the local Mobil station. WHY? For Christ's sake, the planet's dumb enough as it is, do I have to have my IQ assaulted by this trite shit when I'm filling up the Mini? At least at home I can turn this utter dross off, and if Ev won't let me I can read a book, but thanks to Mobil I'm forced to listen to it while paying $3.50 a gallon. I'd like to find the gurning marketing twat responsible for this, fill him full of Premium 91 and throw lit matches at him. Or her, I'm not biased and hate all marketing people equally. Welcome to Planet Earth - run by, and on behalf of, stupid people.