Barac Obama in the East End

Walked back across the green from Tescos and thought; 'The only thing differentiating that guy on the grass drinking White Lightening and you with your St Emillion in your bag is the fact that you have to mark those fucking essays- so you'd better get on with it'. It's marking season.

Many of us do everything possible to avoid the task at hand.

Today it was the hot tip off that Barac Obama, leader of the western world, was going to make a special effort to pop in to Pellicci's, a rather famous cafe at the bottom of our street to 'meet the real people of London' We were sworn to secrecy on this information, and Julie was terribly excited, we wouldn't even use our mobiles. It's also possible that we are both total dupes. I did spot a couple of traffic controllers from Tower Hamlets Council out there with maps yesterday, and duly reported that 'something was going on' to excitable Julie. But as I should have known with the council, nothing whatsoever was going on, and as an expectant Julie went to breakfast in Pellicci's, prepared to stay all day if necessary, the talk was of nothing but Ryan Giggs and wind.

However I did have visions of inviting the President over to the Trench for a pint of stella served by the lovely girl in her overcoat studiously reading Martina Cole, to meet the other two occupants on their mobility machines, and him being simply astounded at the reality of modern Britain (he goes to a banquet tonight where, the BBC loving informs me, it takes eight hours to lay the table)

Pellicci's was never on, as Scott said (I ignored for a moment the ban on mobile communication in fear of the CIA) 'Has he ever tasted the food there?'