Buckingham Palace have announced that the Queen Mother passed away at 3:15 this afternoon. More from the Beeb.

Oh, and there’s further excitement at Greasy Skillet—giving you more redesigns per cubic metre than ever before! Every time I turn around, it’s slightly different. Dave also appears to have reverted to the first person plural for his (their?) writing style. I’m quite sure that if I were to write in the first person plural I’d end up speaking in the first person plural. Picture the scene: “Hello, we would like to open a bank account, please.” The teller looks about, wondering to whom you are referring. She’s confident that you’re the only customer in the bank, before pressing a button on the underside of her desk and muttering into her lapel.

I found this highly amusing: what do you think momorganizer.com does? Take a wild guess. Okay—now take a look.

Boxes And Arrows holds a lot of promise. I can see this turning into a crucial read not entirely unlike ALA and Digital Web.

I used to live and work as a DJ in a pub. It brought a whole new meaning to the term “Resident DJ”. Anyway, that was then. Now, the pub has been sold on by the brewery and has become a venue of adult entertainment. A strip club. This evening saw my return to the place to inspect its new role, and it was certainly… interesting. There were, of course, many ladies wearing very little—and even less for cash.What was suprising was just how few customers were present. Sure, the place filled up a little after all the other pubs in the town had closed—but it was still not exactly crowded.

I got chatting with one of the performers. Besides this occupation, she attends college and also works as a computer networking consultant. It amused her when I told her I used to work here. It amused me when I found out what my old bedroom had now become. As it turned out, she had decided to talk to me as she felt that I was not going to require a performance. She was nearing the end of her shift and was tired—but needed to be seen to be working.

The whole experience was fairly bewildering. The few memories I have of this particular period of my life have been buried under black paint and wicker seating. I feel like I should care—but I don’t know if I do.