London: a lonely sneeze of the week 14th-20th May

You push down the button on the side of the kettle, the one marked 'on', switching the kettle on in the usual way. A little orthodox, perhaps, but it is Monday. The water churns, the bubbles burst, it generally gets warmer than it was when loitering, chuckling to itself, inside some pipes next to your sink. You place two mugs, then one when you realise you're still alone, on to the side, the bit near the thing. Bag. Water. Milk. Spoon. Your glasses steam up like the inside of a pervert's greenhouse. You wipe them with one of your two hands, and realise the calendar is screaming, screaming to tell you that it's a new week. You spit your hot, hot tea right up that portrait you had commissioned. The calendar says nothing, because it's a calendar and also because it's tired from screaming before. You run. The lift comes, goes, rising higher than seems reasonable at this time on a Monday. It seems to realise this too, because it comes down again. You thrust yourself into it, and it shudders with pleasure and also going downwards. The sliding door slides open sideways as it has every single day since you moved here. "Give me something to work with, door!" you burp inwardly. The sun smacks you across the face, leaving a red mark. Must get some cream for that. Here's the week!

Dept-ward, for Deptford! The new-and-obviously-not-improved-because-it's-new Deptford Theatre of Complexity hasn't reopened, because, again, as I said before, it's new. Swinging open its triple doors in a manner that can only be described as convoluted, the Theatre of Complexity aims to "add three and occasionally two" new layers of meaning to London's burgeoningly overwrought theatre scene. Its website tells us that it invites applications from "a heady mixture of 17 and 23-year-olds and nothing in between to submit intriguing applications that aim to subvert traditional structures and cause us to re-examine our own internal temperance". Gulf Brenditonion, the Guardian's tepid theatre critic, has already described its announced season as "not really, thanks", and the Theatre has burned down a factory in response. Upcoming plays include 'The Trial of Portillo, but Not The One You're Thinking Of', 'Count These Leaves With Me and Then Fuck Off', 'HUNDREDS OF ANTS' and John Godber's 'Bouncers'. Street food will be provided in a different location.

Flash forward to flipping Finchley! Phillip Keown, the 7 year old son of Morton and Bentley Keown, the parents of Phillip Keown, is having his 7th birthday party, on Friday, at Finchley Birthday Centre, "Finchley's Centre, for Birthdays AND NOTHING ELSE" (finchleybirthdaycentre.co.uk). The event will be invite only, but insiders have said that one of the windows at the back will be left open, "only if it gets hot", and the cake is going to be on a bin near the back anyway. Phillip has reportedly stated that "he doesn't want any more ham for his birthday", so gift bringers should be aware of this. Phillip will be blowing out the candles at 4pm, and a candle-lit vigil will be held in the gardens of the Centre in memory of their fallen waxen comrades. The dress code is Top Ten Famous Seven Year Olds, and is available on Gmail.

Kick off those ugly, hateful flip flops and tug yourself down to Sandilands! Keen to shrug off its growing reputation as the home of some people that you don't know, Sandilands has opened its first reason to visit: The Sandland. Billed as being to sand what Iceland is to ice and Ireland is to ire, Sandland promises to tell Sandilandanians and "some others" precisely everything that they need to know about sand, and then another six things beyond that, and then you leave. With exhibits such as 'Sand Heaven', 'Sand Picasso' and 'Sand with Soil Mixed Into It', Sandland is filling that sand-shaped hole in your life, a hole that, by its very nature, will probably collapse anyway, overnight or something. But with pre-sales going through the roof, which will be repaired next Tuesday, it appears that Londoners know a bad thing when they see it, and maybe Sand is a fad, or Fand, that is here to stay. Only time will tell. With an hourglass. Made of sand. Streetfood will be provided, but you really shouldn't have any. DJs like 'Licky Nicky' and 'DJ Turpentine' will be spinning the 'platters that clatter', and mostly hoovering.

Briefs:

- The Quite Good Centre in Woolwich will be closing forever on Thursday after extremely positive reviews. The owner, Burton Michaelmas, has said that he's feeling 'quite bad' about it all.

- The Manchester Festival is relocating to central London after the Culture Secretary put in a successful bid for the City of London to own the rights to the word 'Manchester' and everything that encompasses.

- Willesden will be closing for refurbishment on Saturday, and reopening as 'Cool World'.

You sink back into your sofa-bed-bath after a heavy week that actually, after everything, seems to weigh the same as all other weeks, and realise that your sun slap was much worse than you'd admitted to yourself on Monday. You vow to never notice Mondays again. The week gets pissed off and sleeps on the floor.