The fine line between the outside and the inside.

Last week I went to Paris and fully intended to come back full to the brim of classical French existential pondering. However, the direction of my thoughts went elsewhere. I went to Paris and stood on the corner of the St Germain, waiting for a flummoxed Parisien to take me to the finest French Restaurant he knew, he knew none but suggested  'I do know a really great Japanese place nearby?' I discovered the hot new cafes in Paris were English run, I ended up going to the talking point gig in town which was Icelandic and the most popular exhibition which was American.

Gruesome Playground Injuries, The Gate Theatre, London.

Love Hurts, love scars, love wounds; Gram Parson once warbled at many a High School last dance. Perhaps he was also playing at the prom of self destructive lovers Kayleen and Doug before they found themselves in the sick room picking at the one of many love wounds found in Rajiv Joseph's heartbreaking tale of the bloody leading the bloody, 'Gruesome Playground Injuries'.