I didn't know that this kind of depression could happen so swiftly, least of all to someone who seemed to have no right to an illness associated with unhappiness. I went from supposedly 'having it all' to 'having a breakdown'. It took me six hard months to climb back.
Chloe and I were in her favourite pub in Shoreditch. She knew the bar staff by name, they did not however know hers. It was a typical East London locale, lots of old mismatched furniture, '70s reggae and obscure beer served in strange glasses. The concept of 'shabby-chic' is artful in its deception.
This was day I became homeless. It was a chaotic day. I was carrying several bags, and was not sure what or where I was going. I went to a café, had a coffee and decided to see what happened. Not much of a plan, but I had never been homeless. Eventually, that night, I slept in the A & E Department at St George's Hospital, Tooting.
Whilst I was absentmindedly posting some letters at the end of my road ready for Tuesday's first collection, I saw the most wonderful new piece of street art. Right at the end of my street. Here it is...
I was told once that the best way to know a city is to get lost in it. I can't say if this is a universal truth but with my truly terrible sense of direction I've had plenty of chances to put it to the test. It was just this Monday that I made my favourite finding to date.
Two-piece The Midnight Barbers are loud. Self-assuredly, gleefully loud; the kind of sonic expansiveness that can bring a room of people to shocked attention.
Easter's traditionally a time for new life with lambs a'leaping and ducklings a'paddling down rivers and stuff. Already 2014 has been a great year for city zoos who've been welcoming new additions to some of the world's most loved and endangered species...
If I had thought like a gallery or set my aims like a gallery, I never would of even got out of bed in the first place. This project is born from passion not money. This is why I chose to go back to the old fairy tale and begin again, working for what I believe in - honest art with a meaning.
Northern Ireland needs to enter the British consciousness. We especially need the Irish diaspora, unionist and nationalist, to feed into the process. At present it's just a troublesome cousin. But we're more than that. We're not just a troublesome side issue.
On Sunday it's goodbye to the Oval, London, and hello to Montpellier, Languedoc, where Michael, my carpet dealer friend and I picked up a rental car and drove to Avignon.
We hear the stories of many fellow comrades who have fallen foul to that 'vampiric' institution of unpaid internships which appears to sap the elixir of life from aspirational go-getters. These people have watched The Devil Wears Prada one time too many. There's a whole corner of the internet dedicated to sharing these exaggerated cosmopolitan horror stories.
The evangelical movement has exploded across London with charismatic preachers offering their flock material success in this world as well as redemption in the next.
The Designs of the Year awards and exhibition at London's Design Museum offers plenty of food for thought for marketers.
Around the world 2.5 billion people have no access to a toilet, and 1,400 children die every single day as a result of unhygienic sanitation. These figures are as outrageous as they are shocking. But nobody wants to talk about it, because - well - it's just not very nice, is it?
Aggi is from Iceland, by the way, cooks in red trousers, has a fruity smile and looks just like Anders Behring Breivik. Which, when mixed with the fact that he shares a name with one of Britain's celebrity cleaning ladies, is an alarming combination. Still one should judge a plate of food not by the chef's trousers...
It's the London Marathon this Sunday. It's the best sporting event of the year and the only one where anyone - fat, thin, old, young, middle-aged, rich, poor, Peter Andre - can compete alongside the very best athletes in the world.