Location, location, location

Last night I watched Location, Location, Location for the first time in about three years. The sexual tension between Kirsty and Phil seems to have escalated further - at one point Mr Spencer kicked Ms Alsop firmly but gently in the shin region, as if to release some of that pent-up frustration.

I could have done with the pair's help a few weeks ago. Having just moved to a flat in north London, which is pretty swish (relatively speaking) on the inside, I've been kept up the past few nights by Baring Street traffic - a road far busier than it was during our 20-minute viewing.

Still, it beats one house we looked at in east London - which we nearly, so nearly, put an offer on. After umming and aahing in the basement bedroom, our respective trains of thought were disrupted by an altogether more literal track-gracing collection of carriages.
The windows started shaking, hinges began rattling and squirrels in the garden darted up trees - the Eurostar was passing a few metres beneath us.

So we settled in the no man's land between Hackney and Islington and the never-ending flow of vehicles - above is four minutes' worth in the early hours of this morning.