My Proms tickets haven't arrived. But my credit card has been debited with a different amount than that shown on the confirmation email.

So I thought I'd call the number given on the confirmation.

After twenty minutes holding, I was told that I was dealing with the wrong office and should call another company. I dialled and after another ten minutes holding, was told that I should send my request by email.

A day later, I received an email informing me that the volume of emails was too great, so that emails will not be answered. I was welcome to call the box office.

I hope the music's better.

My bank manager came to visit me today. This was part of their relationship management campaign for high-priority clients. She needn't have troubled herself as it was a waste of time.

She hadn't bothered to work out what we do as a business. She hadn't managed to develop answers to the questions I'd posed (mainly about the Internet banking service which used to be moderately ok, but has now been reduced substantially since the NatWest/RBOS takeover). She managed to convince me to change banks, when I have the time and can be bothered. I hate wasting my time with fools.

I was trying to find out what that phrase meant. A quick GoogleSearch led me here and here

Really snotty service this evening at Chez Gerard opera terrace in Covent Garden. That's the "service" industry in Britain. If Tom and Sam hadn't been with us, I would have asked to see the manager.

Our room at the Sanderson was excellent. A warm and freindly welcome, cool lift (go there) and outrageously expensive cocktails in the Purple Bar.

It was so good to meet up with Tom and Sam. They are great friends and it was a pleasure to spend the evening with them. Dunno about The Vortex at the Donmar Warehouse. Maybe the theme of the play doesn't fit the present era, maybe the casting choices were just too indulgent (well dumb). Still a pleasant evening.

I hate shopping. I loathe the crowds. I detest the pressure to buy. I always feel stressed, hot and tetchy whenever I've been shopping.

Over to Swindon today for a couple of meetings. I must be softening towards train journeys, as I chose to go this way. If only we were living in London, everything wouldn't feel so far away.

Of course the 06:15 train was cancelled due to "points failure ta the sidings" and we were put on the 06:26 slow train, which stopped for 15 minutes at Royston because of "door problems". So I arrived in Swindon late, but at least just in time for the presentation.

Whoops, another train rant. At least there was a cute guy to ogle.

I've just edited today's entry as it was a whinge about NTL broadband and computers generally, and I'm trying to be less grumbly.

I listened to the second act of Siegfried again today in preparation for the ENO / Barbican performance in a couple of weeks.

Pita called me this morning and told me what an unreconstructed Victor Meldrew I've become. I have a beautiful partner, a flat of my own, a car, a business, two marvellous parents, a brother and nephews and nieces who love me. I go to the theatre, cinema, opera and great restaurants whenever I want. My friends are kind, thoughtful people and we can rely on one another in times of need. I have a lovely glass of wine in my hand and (if Alfred would allow me) a bar of white chocolate. So why does my blog come across as a stream of miserable consciousness, moaning and groaning about life, the universe and everything. The death of the Conservative party, the appalling state of our roads and railways and my own working habits all seem to rile me. I'm like some latter day Bessie Smith.

I can't explain this persistent, nagging dissatisfaction that plagues me. Others must envy my life and lifestyle, but for me it's never quite good enough.

I can't deny my feelings as I express them in this blog. I'm doing my best to give a resonable reflection of my mood as I write. Maybe Occam's Razor applies and I'd be happier if I took a sunnier, more optimistic view of life.

To cheer myself up, here's a picture.

A very amusing afternoon meeting in London, but another very unfunny journey, this time with WAGN who couldn't organise a train timetable to save their lives (or indeed anybody else's).

Sometimes I wish I was living in Germany again. They laugh and despise us for the third world standard of services that we in Britain accept with barely a murmur.

You are a bunch of incompetents who do not deserve to breathe oxygen on the same planet as me. So sue me.

(After spending 5 hours trying to travel from Cambridge to Leicester, leaving on time, arriving in Ely, being stuck there for nearly 3 hours before being returned by bus to Cambridge).

I flew to Geneva this afternoon. Easyjet is so much less pretentious than British Airways, although I hate feeling penned and herded when travelling. Doesn't everybody?