Booze drought

We have run out of booze. For someone who never drinks on his own, having my brother around has completely switched my attitude to boozing in the evenings. I'm not sure what we are going to drink tonight, we only have novelity drinks left, you know the sort that you only buy as a joke. Dark times indeed.

I'm trying to do some writing today, which means I've already put the bins out, cleaned the front room and think I'll do the washing-up next. I have to put more gloss on the children's book, well it's a bit beyond gloss. It needs a fresh coat of paint, and a bit of bodywork done, and perhaps a new engine.

My mother read it and said it was 35% there. 35% is a bit lower than I would have hoped, still I suppose that is 35%. So a third of the way there, so I will continue the slog, or at least I will after I've done the washing up.

'Lets be friends, redux'

What a weekend. Not seriously, what a weekend. Why can't ever weekend be like that? I mean I'd be dead in months but my corpse would be smiling.

It started quite late, I got a haircut (good haircut, annoying hairdresser) chucked some clothes into my beautiful luggage and put on some very smart shoes. I was going to wear my waistcoat but I discovered that it doesn't fit anymore. I've put on too much chest muscle and now I can't put on my favourite item of clothing anymore. This caused quite a bit of swearing.

After a frantic last minute wardrobe re-think I stomped down to the train (in new shoes) with 30 seconds to spare. Some time later I arrived in London, met up with Ben and then jumped onto the tube.

Lycra was on good form and we had a very pleasant meal while drinking too much plum wine. There was laughter, truth and a some interesting statements. Lycra has a chap at the moment who is clearly messing her around and I suspect, married. More on this later. Anyway it was a nice meal, and then we joined some chums at the bar.

Lycra stayed only for one drink but had time to meet Pencil Skirt. Yes, the two objects of my unrequited love met briefly.

In the bar was Piqued, his lady friend and even Ra-ra appeared. It was marvellous. A bar full of my favourite people. London is so marvellous. We talked, laughed, said things we shouldn't have an basically had a grand old time.

I've come to accept that things with Pencil skirt are never going to be anything but friends and so I relaxed into the evening of laughter. She was impressed by my new shape though, as was Ra-ra, and suddenly all those hours in the gym seemed worth while.

Some people left, others arrived and I before I realised what was going on it was 2am and the bar was kicking us out. Oh, and one other thing. Pencil skirt and I kissed. I'm not sure how it happend, but it definitely happened and I'm still in shock.

What is going on? Are we know friends who kiss?

Final festive party

I'm hungover, I have cuts on my hand and I bump on the back of my head. Yes I've been drinking. It was the work goodbye drinks and they started at 3pm with desk Whiskey and went on from there. I really can't handle my drink anymore (the gym effect) and so I had to excuse myself at 9pm with a case of 'absolutely ruined'. I stumbled home, slipped on some ice banged my head and cut my hand before I finally fell into bed.

I feel a bit special today, but it could have been much worse. The drinks were, well actually really good fun. This job may be in the wilderness but I do like the chaps I work with. I even had a proper blokie chat with someone I don't get on with terribly well. It was jolly festive.

So now I'm packing to return home for Christmas. I'm in a very different situation form last year. I've got a job, a proper career one, a house of my own but this time I'm single. Which is the default mode for me.

I'd like to say I'm going to use this much needed time off for some soul searching but really I'm just going to eat too many mince pies and sit next to a log fire. In balance I think that's better anyway

The office party.

The office party was more like a trip to a nightclub than a party. The company is far bigger than I expected. Clearly I need to explore the other floors a bit more. There were a lot of people I didn't recognise - also girls seem to dress up a lot more for these things than the boys do. The chaps were just wearing normal work gear, where as the women were dolled up to the nines.

The nightclub was in an old library so it was a pleasantly pretty building. We were armed with 5 tokens to buy drinks and then we would be on our own. I caught up with a few people I hadn't seen in a while, including another person from the journalism training course who is now leaving. He was in good salts, defiant and full of vigor thanks to leaving.

The rest of the evening was fun, bouncing around from group to group of chums talking about all sorts of things. I chatted to the girl in HR (Tall, dark hair, great sense of humour) who I'm going to be working with in a few weeks and even danced for a bit. The music was awful but when needs must. I left at about midnight and in an excellent mood.

The next day I was off to Panto with Pencil skirt and the rest of the London lot.

In which twitter saves the day

Last night was not what I expected, which actually turned out to be rather fun. I got down to London early, positively buzzing with excitement. After a short bit of pacing about and waiting the Actress arrived and we ambled into the members club.

The moment I saw the alleyway to the club I had sudden flashbacks to if not the second then probably the third date with The Peruvian. She was a member of the same club. This made the next few moments rather exciting as any time a girl with long hair was spotted I flinched and hid behind the Actress.

The actress was on glowing form, I'd not seen her in months but she was everything I remembered and more, absolutely fabulous. We grabbed some drinks and I introduced her to the art dealer. She bonded instantly over wearing beautiful shoes that destroy feet. The Art Dealer took a real shine to the Actress, and so the evening progressed. The Lycra lady was there too. Looking resplendent. We made a bit of polite conversation about the planned adventure and then I went to get some more drinks.

It was all a bit of a whirl, and then Lycra ran off into the night with a client and I was left with the Actress having far, far too much fun. We played billiards and gambled with promises. I left the table with an offer of supper and a 'rescue should I need it' and so we drank some more and laughed. There was a book of 'erotic origami' which we tried some admittedly rather tame designs from and cackled at the results. I doubt the financial pages have ever been turned into 'those' before.

Eventually the Actress had to scamper off into the night, I was terribly sad to see her go, she had been even more fun than I'd remembered and yet again we had engaged in a surprisingly deep conversation about relationships and stuff. We will definitely go drinking again.

At this point I rejoined the Art dealer and we drank pink champagne and talked to some porn producers. I knew some of them from my old job and so we caught up on the gossip and they shocked the bankers left in the club with their stories from the set.

Far, far later we had to leave the club and stumbled home via a take-away to by something awful to eat. When we were back in the flat we drank rum and then went to bed. I was staying in the Art Dealer's spare flat - honestly, who has a spare flat?

Before I went to bed I tweeted about my might and thought no more of it. The next morning I work up, pulled my things together and jumped on a train. Work knew I was going to be a bit late but they didn't know how late exactly, neither did I. I arrived 'Up North' in good time but then had to spend almost two hours at the bus station waiting for a pesky bus. I arrived rather late thinking I was going to get a bit of a telling off but instead was greeted triumphantly - my tweet had impressed them so much they didn't mind that I was rather delayed.

There is a lesson in that somewhere, but I'm not sure exactly what it is. I also have no idea if Lycra was stirred into jealousy by the Actress, she (the Actress) was on form but who knows how the female mind works, not me. Either way the Actress was a delight and we are going to go out again because she is far too entertaining to take out rarely.

What a spiffing night out.

Choose your own adventure Louche.

I have a few options this weekend. It's like a choose your own adventure book.

1) Stay in house whole weekend writing stuff I should have finished years ago. Clean cottage, do washing. Wake up on Monday with everything ready for the week ahead but with a vague feeling of 'is this really what I spent all week looking forward too?'. This is how I spend a lot of weekends

2) Date on Friday in the tiny town set up by a chum at work. On Saturday go clubbing with people from work (all girls) and see what the charms of the local town are on a normal weekend. On Sunday go for long hike with chum from work (male).

3) Go down to London for long weekend. Catch up with lovely London chums, then have lunch with girl who is so pretty I can't really talk to her (she has asked me). Possibly have first date with someone else work people are trying to set me up with. Toy with the idea of Christmas shopping but decide to do it online instead. Come home tired but at least feeling I did something with my time off.

4) None of the above.

Resisting Elvis

This weekend was surprising. I was dreading going to Skegness. A depressing holiday camp near the sea but not on it. There is nothing to do there apart from eat rubbish food and drink. I wasn't looking forward to it. I think the main problem is that event is organised by people who don't ride motorbikes so they don't get what is fun about bikes.

Anyway, we arrived, got very drunk danced like loons, talked to girls and some of the group did some light vomiting. What was actually quite good fun. I had my own holiday apartment so I could retreat from the party at will. Which was nice because the other apartment was like a zoo.

The second day involved some light duties (riding about and then judging something) before it was time to become Elvis. I spent ages shaving to get Elvis sideburns and then finally it was time to get into costume. The jumpsuit was very cool, as it not warm in the slightest. It always was rather revealing, but was silly and that's what counts.

We scampered out into the night, with one person dropping out before we even got into a club because he had drunk so much while getting ready. The entire club was full of people in costumes, and I had a good time dancing away.

Then Chuck appeared, I of course was civil yet distant and we spoke briefly about things of no concequence before our groups moved to different night clubs. I briefly saw her again later in the night but we didn't talk. I didn't think much of it apart from being pleased that I'd managed to be civil.

Finally I went home and crashed asleep and when I woke up I had two 'booty text' from Chuck. I had a bet with someone at work that she would try something like this, I even got the hour right. Girls are so rubbish sometimes.

I didn't reply to the text messages, I don't to any of the ones she sends me, but I expect I'll get an email about it today. With emails I reply to anything work related but everything else is ignored. In a way I feel sorry for her, it must be hard to resist Elvis.

On the plus side she did mention she is leaving in November so that's great news. And I have a first date tomorrow in London. I'm not sure quite what I'm going to do with transport. If I ride down it will be far quicker and easier but I can't drink, but riding means I don't have to worry about the last train or any of that nonsense.

Hello Chuck

There is a girl. I am going to call her Chuck because she reminds me in many ways of the character from Pushing Daisies.

She works in the same building as me. We had exchanged pleasantries before, in that vague sort of office way. Suddenly last week, for reasons I still don't fully understand we resolved to meet for a drink outside of work. It was more her idea than mine, but if someone like Chuck asks you out for drinks you jolly well go along.

Also because it was someone like Chuck, I wore a tweed suit to meet her. I live in a very rough area, I think it wouldn't be an understatement to say it's like the set from the Wire. Perhaps not the idea place to wear a tweed suit, but evidently smashing vintage tweed garners respect in the hood, I was fine.

I made it to the bar we were meeting in a little late. I was wearing brogues and clopping across town as fast as I could but there are limits to how hard you should push yourself, especially on a hot day while wearing a pink shirt. Well if you are going to wear tweed, there is no point in being half-hearted.

This drink in the bar was our first meeting outside of work. So I wasn't sure what it would be like. When I first saw her the sparkle in her eye when she saw me, it suggested that this wasn't quite the innocent drink after work we were both pretending it was.

We started with a reasonable bottle of Merlot, which evolved into another and then before I knew it we were taking supper in the restaurant. I ate the worst risotto I'd ever paid £15 for, it would have been the worst risotto ever but I'd had an even worse one in the work canteen earlier in the week. It was horrific, but for £2.50 you could forgive it, a bit.

The risotto was awful but by this point we had drunk enough wine to not care too much. We retired back to the bar and tried to secure some more drinks, we failed. Even Chuck's local celebrity status (more on this later) couldn't get us just one more gin and tonic for the road.

It was at around this point, and yet again for reasons I don't quite understand, we kissed. My memories of this moment are shrouded in a fug of booze and endorphins but I can remember the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.

Eventually we left the bar, having engaged in a frankly shameful amount of kissing and stumbled out into the cool night air. Actually it wasn't cool, it was freezing.

Almost instantly a cab appeared. I said she should get in it and go home. She said she didn't want to. I insisted, Chuck had a boyfriend you see. I said that I liked her, and because I liked her she should go home. This turned into a monologue about doing the right thing if you really like someone, it was as much for my benefit as for hers.

It was appreciated but had almost exactly the opposite affect to the one I was expecting. Chuck walked home, through a war zone to visit my flat.

We drank Champagne and talked nonsense and then, at about 4am it was time for bed. I explained that nothing naughty was going to happen because of her situation. She borrowed some clothes off me, I left the room so she could change.

She kept trying to break my resolve to do something that would require more than a PG certificate. I refused, again and again. Hoping that in years to come I wouldn't come to regret this. It might have been the right thing to do, but it wasn't the most fun.

In the morning I made us coffee and we drank it with apricot jam on toast. I didn't eat that much because I was still feeling a bit unusual from the drinking excess of the night before. I was so drunk I had to cancel a morning appointment to ride a motorbike.

After a light breakfast, we made our way into to town. We had a coffee, and as is the way of these things, were spotted by someone from work.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Dungeons of the rich and famous

I've had a very strange evening. I met up with the Art Dealer as the plan was to stay in her spare room while the Hitchcock Blonde off going to some painfully cool event in Cambridge.

The art dealer has been flirting outrageously with my chum H online so they decided to combine their first meeting (I'm not allowed to call it a date) with me staying over so the three of us went to the pub. It was slightly awkward, and it was pretty obvious that neither one fancied the other but once that was out of the way we had an excellent time.

While we were in the pub it snowed, so after a few more drinks we went and got some food at the nearest restaurant we could stumble too. We ate snails, mussels and other silly French things while drinking cheap red wine. Afterwards we went back to the art dealers house and drank more wine, so I have clown mouth thanks to the red.

I retired to the spare room and H ended up sharing a bed with the Art Dealer, although it was in an innocent sleep over sort of way. The Art Dealer's new place is lovely, and bizarrely Angelina Jolie used to live here before she was ultra famous. Some of her influence is still visible, like the fact downstairs there is a huge dungeon with red walls.

The photograph is of one corner, because I had to take it on the sly. Right, I'm off to eat some toast, I bet Angelina ate toast there too.

The ages of man (so far)

The ol' birthday is fast looming and so here are the ages of man as I see them. I'd do more but you'll have to wait a few more years for those.

1 to 5 : The age of noses
This is when you should spend most of your time trying to push things up your nose, ideally wearing dungarees. This is the only time it is acceptable for a chap to wear them. People are fleshy blobs and so you can't really notice the difference between the sexes although you do notice that some of the chaps with longer hair are rubbish at making gun noises.

6 to 12 : The age of conkers
This time should be spent with a small dog, ideally a super intelligent mongrel that smells funny. Summers go on for ever and finding the perfect conker is all that fills your mind. Fashion involves wearing a T-shirt with a robot on it and girls are disgusting creatures with an unhealthy interest in ponies.

13 - 16 : The age of Lynx (or Axe if you are in America)
People start to smell, you think that deodorant can cover all sins and for the next few years your bedroom becomes a toxic wasteland. Girls replace conkers as your key area of interest, although rather annoyingly the ones your age spend the whole time dating men who are older. You later come to realise that the chaps they date are sad types, the ones who can't get women of their own age but by then it's too late. You are probably in a band and no-one understands you.

Drinking becomes a past-time and going into nightclubs is thrillingly exciting as you may not make it in. When you can go into clubs legally half the charm is gone and you realise they are a bit crap. Some people decided to take angry music very seriously and you may find yourself drawing pictures of cannabis leaves all over your geography books even though the closest you have ever come to one is listening to Bob Marley at a friend's house.

17 - 21 : The age of shots
For some reason the moment you have mastered drinking a manly pint you are filled with a strange urge to drink disgusting and strong liquors in the form of shots. This only lasts for a while as soon you will automatically vomit if people even mention Tequila. This is the period at which a chap gets all those great stories that start 'I was smashed and woke up in Berlin with an Ewok'.

Girls are still a bit weird but for some reason if you act like an arse and ignore them they find you terribly attractive. This causes issues as everyone you fancy 'thinks of you as more of a friend' and all the girls you have no interest in spend all their free time writing your name of their pencil cases. You sleep with some people you shouldn't and at least once you will turn down someone you really wish you hadn't.

You'll probably do some very silly things in cars at this point, but if you survive them without dying you'll never do them again.

21 - 27 : The age of seriousness
People stop having fun at this age, or some people do. Jobs become careers and apparently normal types will suddenly only want to talk about mortgages and what happened to their kitchen. You will be invited to dinner parties, once will be enough, and then never vow to go again. A dinner party is an event where a whole load of people sit around a table and only the most boring is allowed to talk.

Fortunately by this age most women have realised that berks aren't worth dating and so now will like you if you are nice to them which makes attracting the ones you really like a bit more logical. Girls will start decide that hanging around and having a lovely time isn't enough and will want to know 'where things are going' and make vague comments relating to children. Some of your best male friends will all but cease to exist due to having kids, you probably won't seem them for at least ten years. On the plus side weddings are excellent fun (provided it's not your one), it costs less to insure cars and tailors start to take you seriously.

To be continued (in about ten years time I reckon)

How to miss your train, part 2

Well I am still in London, I was suppose to leave yesterday but I was having far too much fun, and lobster to want to go away. This puts me in a troubling position I was hoping to not enjoy London quite this much so leaving it wouldn't be too much of a trial. This didn't happen, I've had a spiffing time, absolutely spiffing and now I don't want to go but as I came up with a terribly limited wardrobe I have to.

There are other reasons why I have to return, like work things - I made the rather brave move of leaving my laptop behind which I don't regret but it means I can't really work up here. Silly chap eh?

I've been thinking a bit about the places you end up in, what I mean is how removed where I am now is from where I was say, five years ago or ten. Actually even a year ago feels like an entirely different world.

So perhaps it's time to go shopping for a new suit to usher in this new period? Yes, I think it's time but time for what? I've got more than enough tweed and velvet and that wouldn't be quite right, maybe a safari suit? Or something equally strange like that.

London

After careful thought I would like to say that I think London is excellent fun. Where else can you see a chap in a smashing white frock when you pop out to get some over-priced lunch? You just don't get the same quality of cross dressing in Devon and so far my various meetings with people have gone jolly well, jolly well indeed. Hurrah for travel.

I have started drinking already, and now I am viewing the afternoon through a pleasant wine induced blur. We had post-lunch cocktails at a club (the one that Piqued goes to a lot but is still excitingly new to me) and now I'm drinking in the office. In a moment we are going off to another office where we will be drinking vodka with someone in drag and taking photos of this event.

To say it's a slightly different Friday experience to what I've been enjoying recently is a bit of an understatement.

Packing informal hats

I've got a gig in London this weekend and I completely forgot about it, yikes! Not only did I agree to do some stand-up I have a few fairly important parties that I really should attend. So perhaps a return to the capital is in order.

This means I'll have to shave my luxuriant beard which is shame; but probably for the greater good. And then think about what I'll take with me, I'll have a social engagement every night so I'll need a few looks but I really don't want to have to take a whole suitcase. Hmm, this will be tricky. Perhaps if I just take a couple of informal hats and only one or two changes of brogues.

Of course if I can co-ordinate my trip with some work stuff, well that would be excellent otherwise it will just be a jolly across the capital which will be fun but not a terribly good idea. Although, many a grand adventure has started off with something that could be described as 'not a terribly good idea'.

Country living, pros and cons

Here is a run down of the various merits of living in the countryside so far. I mean the proper countryside, not just some rubbish rural town.

Pro - Zero crime. Not only does this mean that you sleep better at night but that it costs peanuts to insure things like motorbikes and cars. It's even cheaper if you live somewhere with loads of lovely garage space and even a boat shed that could store hundreds of bikes.

Con - Night Life. Everywhere is miles away, so stumbling home from the pub is more of a hike that an pleasant amble. The nearest pub is about three miles away and is crap. Still I might give it when I get desperate. They have a dart board, or at least they used to.

Pro - Clean Air. It really is far more fresh out here, and I don't miss the thick smog of urban life. London isn't that bad really, but if you get the tube you get this weird black dust on your clothes and that can't be good.

Con - Public Transport. You have to have a car or a bike in the countryside to get about. The nearest bus stop is miles away and runs a daily bus. Yes one a day. It used to be one a week, so I suppose that is a sort of improvement.

Pro - Food. We have a garden here, full of vegetables. I just dug up some potatoes and picked some beans. We are talking food yards rather than food miles. It is excellent.

Con - Food. You can't get Dim-sum in the West Country. Not at all. I'm not sure if it is part of some ancient by-law or just the crapness of being West of Bristol. Even if you don't agree with Starbucks the only opened recently in Exeter, about a decade after the rest of the country.

Pro - Geese. Everywhere you go on the farm you are watched by geese. Watching them back is one of life's great pleasures. They are quite tame, which isn't to say they won't bite you but if you hold out a bit of bread they will at least bite that first.

Con - Social Scene. I've never been one for young farmers after having worked at some of their events in my youth. The countryside is a lovely place to live if you are settled down but as a young chap about town it's not so great. Maybe I could start a sideline in importing lovely girls into the countryside, there is definitely a gap in the market.

Pro - Shops. The clothes shops down here are awful, apart from country wear of course but since I've got a full set of shooting gear I don't have much of a reason to by any more. The lack of good shops is excellent because it means I won't pop out and buy a suit in a moment of weakness.

Con - Cocktails. Supplies are limited, and the quality is very low, very very low. Louche's law of cocktails states that anywhere that offers cocktails by the jug will serve awful cocktails. You can only get them by the jug around here.

Pro - It's New. After having lived in London for so long the countryside is refreshing change. Admittedly I've only been here for a few days so it currently feels like holiday.

Con - The countryside can't be that great, or I would have stayed here rather than bolting for London the moment I could.

Hmmm.

Close encounters of the hairy kind

I paid a visit to my old neighbour on Friday. A chum was visiting from Dubai and so we were all out for drinks and things to celebrating seeing him again. It was delightful, the old gang together again talking nonsense and playing Wii tennis.

The only slightly risky thing about the party was that as it was my old neighbour it was directly above my old flat which is still occupied by the ex. Luckily I didn't have an encounter with her, and even if I had I doubt she would have recognised me - I walked past the flatmate today in the street and didn't realise it was me. Ho ho ho.

At about 4am I was ruined and my friends bundled me into a cab. Even with a cab I only just about made my way home. I say just about as I couldn't remember my exact address and so had to guide the very grumpy taxi man street by street. I didn't make any mistakes or anything like that but he was furious by the time we arrived home. He was visibly prickling with rage, maybe my new haircut makes men angry.

Since it was so late/early I elected to sleep in the library (instead of enraging the flatmate) until it was a reasonable hour. It was actually quite comfortable. I selected a book, sprawled out on the sofa and in seconds was fast asleep. Even in my drunken state I made sure I arrayed things around me so it looked like I had just fallen asleep while working rather than being a semi-homeless bum waiting out the time until I can go home.

At about 9ish I went up to the flat and went to sleep in my bed which was far more comfortable but less exciting.

I'm still undecided about the new haircut, which is silly as it's done and so it's not as if it can be undone any time soon. It's entertaining being completely invisible in the presence of friends, although I'm sure that will wear off eventually but I do slightly miss having distinctively long hair.

On the plus side the new look seems to be a hit with the girls, post-comedy gig a friend of a friend (who was also performing) made some not terribly subtle enquiries about my relationship status and then on Friday night another friend of a friend loudly declared to the pub that she had taken a shine to me.

We had been drinking so it wasn't entirely out of place but it still caught me off guard. So it appears that my old long hair while pleasantly roguish was perhaps a bit of a poor choice when it comes to the ladies. Only time will tell I suppose.

Cricket report

The cricket day out was excellent. Since I was a complete novice at the sport the other chaps in the team arranged a short training montage for me to learn the basics of how to hold a cricket racquet and so on before we started.

This went okay and so I was full of beans, and rather a lot of beer by the time we took the field. We were playing against a team of people involved in a wine shop who were opening batting. I was fielding, which involved standing about and concentrating on things in the distance. I only touched the ball once during the entire fielding experience but I managed to throw it back fast and in the right direction and thus I feel I contributed.

I was 9th in the batting order, and by about half way through our batting we realised that while it was mathematically possible for us to win the odds were astoundingly long. Still we bravely fought on, and I got to have one whole ball thrown at me while holding a bit of wood to hit it with before the game was over. Still strolling about in the padding was quite entertaining.

After this match there was the final which was played by the two teams who were taking it seriously while we drank more booze - moving onto the wine and tequila now and basked in the sun. There was a lot of reading of the Saturday papers while we experimented with different types of cocktail mixes. Smoothies go jolly well with vodka but you have to drink them fast.

With the final out of the way there was a play off for third place which some of the chaps insisted on playing in their underwear as they had offered to do this if people would donate more for charity, which they did.

We managed to win this game, although I didn't actually get to bat, or touch the ball so I don't feel that involved but a win is a win I suppose. So I don't think I'll be investing in a Cricket costume anytime soon but it was a smashing day out.

Skating Vs Cocktails

Skating is excellent. It should be adopted by the temperance movement. There were a selection of cocktails available at the bash last night and yet I only had two drinks because I was too busy on the rink.

My first steps (rolls?) on the skates were more than a little wobbly but after getting some basic tips from a girl in extremely tight shorts I rumbled onto the rink. The first few laps were a little 'troubled' as I got the hang of the movement and then tried to ape the style of the really experienced skaters. It seems that the better you get at skating the more bored you have to look by it all.

Moving wasn't an issue and I could even glide along on one skate for a while but braking caused problems. I couldn't really work out how to stop with grace and so had to just swerve when someone fell-over in front of me. The rink was packed so there were quite a few crashes going on, still crashing provided an excellent talking point and I made some new chums through them. That doesn't happen on bicycles or in cars.

Still after about thirty minutes of intense skating I was getting quite confident, and was swooshing around happily - if someone knocked me I'd throw my arms into the air and look decidedly uncool but the rest of the time I was doing okay. Even when various Z-listers ploughed into me.

A bit later and I was trying to do fast turns and spins, they were okay but I was getting decidedly thirsty and the bar was calling to me so after about an hour of skating I took off my boots and scampered to get last orders.

There was another bash I was supposed to go to but I didn't get a reply to my text message asking if it was still going until I was most of the way home so I got to have a surprisingly early night.

Drinking and rolling

I've got a roller skating party tonight. Some chaps are trying to bring it back, not that I ever remember it being 'in' but that is probably due to growing up in a rural area. Even at it's raging peak roller skating didn't impact much on my young life because there really wasn't much tarmac about to roll on.

It's going to be an 80s themed roller skating evening, so vintage wear is encouraged. This works rather well for me as I have a retro styled leather jacket for riding motorbikes that will definitely look the part and as an added benefit is armoured so it will provide some protection for when I fall.

Falling isn't really optional, I last wore skates in about '88, maybe a bit before then and I wasn't terribly impressed by them. The bash tonight is a launch thingy so there will be a free bar so I fear the combination of cocktails and roller skates might be a little dangerous. Perhaps I should wear the rest of my bike gear as well just to be safe.

Either way, tickets have been terribly hard to get hold of, which is always a good sign. Any party where the organisers say bring as many people as you like should set off little alarm bells. I mean organised parties, not house parties, they follow an entirely different set of rules.

I've been off the party circuit for a couple of weeks, and yet it feels like an age.

The university of booze

How much should a chap know about vodka? Well I think a person should know enough any form of alcohol to hold his own in a pub quiz, but not enough to be a bore.

I would say my vodka knowledge is rather lacking in this respect. I know how one drinks it, and have a rough idea of the correct range of temperature to serve it at and if pushed I could probably name a few signature vodkas that one should try but that is about it.

That is going to change in a few hours as tonight I'm going to Vodka University. I had no idea there was such a place but they have invited me to attend and so in the name of investigation I must go.

I'm not sure I'm in much of a state to do any investigating, it was a friend's birthday party last night and I'm still a little broken. It was a great bash, she had managed to fill an entire pub with chums and so at every table there were people chatting away happily about all sorts of nonsense. I couldn't stay long due to the dreaded curfew but thanks to the warm weather and a bit of speed drinking I still managed to get quite broken.

So tired, hungover and mildly reluctant to learn anything? Gosh it will be just like being back at university.

Mr Wells and the cats

Last night was a surprise. I had expected to spend an evening alone frantically working on new ideas to sell for money. Instead I got a call from a chum saying that there was some gallery opening in St James, and well things went a bit wrong.

Free booze was mentioned, so I pulled myself together, found a semi-decent shirt and set off. A short, rather warm tube journey later and I was sipping faux-champagne and looking at extremely expensive prints of cats by Andy Warhol. Honestly, some people do spend an awful lot on art when they could be buying motorcycles with their money.

The event was rather jolly, we met a photographer who attached himself to our group and then a strange Hungarian man called 'Mr Wells'. He just breezed up to us and introduced himself and then told us his entire family history. I liked the fact he asked for our first names but he was more formal and insisted on being called Mr Wells. After Mr Wells had revealed when his great-uncle had decided to come to London but failed we ran off to my chums club for drinks. Mr Wells didn't join us which was probably for the best as the blighter just wouldn't stop talking about distant relatives and their position on the globe.

We arrived with the photographer who had decided to join us. So we grabbed a table, drank rosé, ate artichokes and roared with laughter while talking about fingerless gloves and tinfoil parrots. I like going to that club but I fear, if I became a member I would go rather too much.

I'm all for becoming an old soak, but I just can't afford to do it just yet.