The best bank holiday ever

A Bank Holiday alone: a shimmering, cerulean depot of dreams.

Tonight I will spray an HB tag on Lambeth Tunnel at the Cans Festival, Banksy's international street art gathering; on Saturday I will wander round Thomas Hope: Regency Designer at the V&A, drawing lissom little sketches in my Moleskine, before getting folked with the Blind Boys of Alabama at Camden's Jazz Cafe; and on Sunday I will finally read DeLillo's Underworld whilst grazing on new-season local asparagus spears dipped into homemade Hollandaise.

Or.

Tonight I will be colouring in the bleach marks on my black jeans with a whiteboard marker; on Saturday I will spend 5 hours trying on clothes and doing that list of 'good outfits I never remember, which is why I always end up wearing the same black jeans with bleach marks' and then 5 more hours re-assigning genres to my iTunes before I fall asleep clutching an empty bottle of Junipero; and on Sunday I will read C.J.Sansom's Revelation whilst eating supersweet Green Giant with a spoon from the tin.

Eeny, meeny, miny.