Some things will never change. The North can suffer from huge snow drifts and nobody bats an eyelid, but as soon as a few centimetres fall in London and its environs, all hell breaks loose. Mad panic in the streets, lions and lambs lying together, and the lashing of the Apocalypse Horses in their stables. I got into Oxford with minutes to go until I had to catch my bus to London, because the Bicester-Oxford route was delayed by an hour (and there was no snow on the roads either, so I'm just going to blame Stagecoach and be done with it).

Oxford Tube buses have plugs by every seat. I approve of this. I don't approve of batteries that last for 15 songs, however (I left the iPod at home, because I thought the hard drive might freeze in the cold weather. I am as much part of the problem as anybody else concerning the weather).

Anyway, London! Lots of fun. I wandered around Camden for a while, buying some belts which, thinking about it, are almost definitely supposed to be worn by women, but I like them so I don't care. Then, to Regent Street. And the Apple Store.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

The Mac Mini is so cute! It's the size of a fat CD case, and so lovable! If I ever manage to get a job that'll give me the opportunity to spend £350 on a new computer, I'm so going to be spending it on the Mini.

I pulled myself away from the joys of Apple, and headed off to Oxford Street, where I went into a clothes shop that I was certain sold men's clothes as well as women's, but after a minute or so, realised that this wasn't the case, and so beat a hasty retreat into the more manly world of a bookshop. Oh yes. Okay, so not that manly, really.

Then, it was time to find The Windmill. I went off to Brixton, and started walking down the road towards the venue. Only I chose the wrong road, and walked past housing estate after housing estate for twenty-five minutes as the light faded away. After getting a little worried, I looked at a helpful map (did I bring a map? Of course not! I knew where I was going!), I discovered I had made a little mistake. Luckily, a bus back to Brixton Station shortly turned up, and I was back on my way, discovering The Windmill at half-past-five. Which meant that I was only two and a half hours early. I think that's a record.

(My idea of turning up fashionably late is to arrive ten minutes early. If I'm running horribly late, I might turn up at the exact time when the event is supposed to start. It's a curse.)

Deciding that I wasn't doing to spend two hours sitting outside on my own, I went back to Oxford Street to get something to drink. I know Starbucks are evil and all, but they do good chocolate cookies. And I'm totally up for selling my soul to the corporate world for a hot chocolate and a cookie. Eventually, I thought about heading back to Brixton. But there's a slight problem.

The Underground seemed to have given up. There were huge queues at all the Oxford Circus entrances, and nobody was going inside. I started to panic - it was almost half-seven now, and the doors opened at eight! I might miss something! I stood in the queue for about ten minutes, before I had the idea of catching a bus.

And now a public announcement: remember that the old Routemaster buses WILL pull away from you, even if you are stepping onto the bus as they do so. I learnt this the hard way, picking myself up off the road as the bus rolled past. But, eventually, I made it back to The Windmill, and thus, to the concert…

(at ten-past eight! HORRIBLY LATE!)