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

Old friends

Today I spoke to an old friend via email. He was probably my closest friend from the age of about 16 to about 24. We fell out of touch, I don't really know why. I think there was a misunderstanding over something and then in that traditional male way we just didn't talk. Since we didn't live near each other anymore we couldn't solve it by just going to the pub and having a pint.

Anyway we are talking again and I'm delighted, absolutely delighted. Friends are to be treasured, I may have to go on a trek up north to go and see him in a pub and catch up properly. Some other stuff happened today which was good but it's not as exciting as an old chum reappearing.

Oh and I'm trapped in the flat. My flatmate double locked the door without realising I was inside, and well I can't actually leave. I suppose in the event of a fire I could try jumping out of a window but it would be quite a fall. I better not start any fires then.

Spiderman and his flaming hands

Well the spider walk went well. It nearly didn't happen. I was in a bit of a hurry and the costume was rather warm. I was wearing a layer of loose black clothes over the top (my old kick boxing gear) so to people in the street I just appeared to be a bit of a goth in a hurry.

This was okay until I ended up on the wrong street far from the right place so I was walking rather fast and got a bit warm, so I undid my coat a bit. This was fine, people on the street didn't seem to notice but when I got to the Thames and stopped to meet the photographer a Policeman noticed.

A Policeman who was NOT amused. They thought I was some sort of terrorist or Father for Justice out to stage a protest. I would have been quite a good time for a protest, the French president and his very pretty wife were only a few metres away.

I just about managed to 'oh my gosh, oh no Officer I'm not one of those' my way out of the situation but the photographer who was getting very agitated at this point got a bit shouty. It took even more comments along the lines of 'no look, I really quite like the French, I've got Carla's album' before they would let me go.

The first part of the climb involved striking spiderman poses on top of the building with the London eye in the background, then after we did this I had to strike Spiderman poses while half way off the building followed by striking Spiderman poses on the side of the building.

Once I was allowed to actually go down the side of the building by the photographer it was okay. The harness really cut into me, the Spiderman costume didn't offer that much in the way of protection and perhaps I should have gone for the one which was padded.

About half way down the building my glove got caught in the mechanism and I was suspended for a bit rather helplessly. Thankfully with a bit of tweaking I managed to get the rest of the way down with only one glove and landed safely.

I thought it was over but the photographer wanted another run of it, this time taking photos from the bottom of me descending. As this was my second run I went a bit faster, occasionally stopping (painfully) so the photographer could take more photos of my Spiderbum.

This time the rope passing through the gloves managed to set them on fire. Would would have thought that a £50 spiderman costume isn't high performance climbing gear eh? Smoking hands are quite entertaining but not really something I'd recommend to a chum.

I landed safely and I don't think I'll be doing it again, I couldn't really spot the fun in it all, it peaked when I nearly got arrested for menacing Carla.

Still another day another dollar.

John Wilkes and resisting being rude.

I feel much better after having drinks in Blacks. It was my first trip there, I've been meaning to go for ages but every time something has been arranged I've been either distracted by a woman or the pub.

Now I've been to Blacks I must say that the experience of drinking a very decent bottle of plonk in front of a roaring fire in a secret boudoir with a chum is one I will definitely want to repeat. I may even go so far as to become a member.

It was a very agreeable evening and I even managed to resist the lure of going on to a separate even more exclusive club because I had to be back in time for the curfew. It wasn't just the curfew that was dragging me away from the fun, in the morning I had to help a friend through a photo shoot.

It was for a deeply silly piece I've been working on and as part of it some photographs of this friend had to be taken. She is a retired porn star, but through-out the shoot she kept striking poses that were inspired by her previous employment, she couldn't help but touch things she shouldn't really in a public place because that is what she did for years.

A man walked into a bench because he was so distracted by the way she was licking her coffee cup, which if you had seen it you would have understood. I was in fits of giggles the whole time but eventually we managed to get some photos that weren't filthy and I cooked her breakfast as a reward.

The rest of the morning has been spent reading about John Wilkes who is a marvellous sort and I think he may become one of my heroes. Also I've been involved in the planning of a new Operation, as part of Operation New Life.

This one is going to require daring do, outrageous audacity, colossal cunning and the luck of the devil. I bet Wilkes would have approved.

London, pubs and laughing gas

Well the not-date last night was deeply entertaining. We went on a guided walk of the city of London, we were shown architectural curiosities, magic stones from Roman London and all sorts of weird and wonderful pubs. Yes pubs were a big part of the tour. I didn't realise how much of a big part of the tour they would be until it was too late. We drank in pubs older than America. There were even pubs that liked to pretend they were even older but as most of the centre of London was destroyed in 1666 they are typically Victoria or Edwardian fabrications.

I've taken ladies on different walking tours a few times. I think they are an excellent first date thing because they give you something to talk about and they turn London into a secret world of adventure. You walk down alleyways and lanes that you would swear didn't exist before. The tour guides are usually failed thespians so their delivery is good and while walking in between the points of interest you can make light conversation and silly remarks to each other.

After our tour had finished we went to a bar on Brick Lane for a few more drinks and had a very long conversation about feminism and the sex industry. I had to do a review of a nearby food place so we popped into it for some beigels and hard facts. Armed with our food we started walking in the vague direction of the tube but some how ended up in a huge bar with giant furniture drinking mojihtos.

Apparently some time passed and then we were in West London searching for a late night drinking venue to continue the evening, sadly they were all closed so we stumbled back to her flat instead and drank grass vodka and dark rum. After a few of these it seemed like a terribly good idea to try some laughing gas.

I'd not had much experience with the stuff but I thought I'd have a go. It was strange, you put the gas in a balloon and then breath in and out. Then your legs go all tingly and you feel awfully nice. Not laughing exactly but just rather spiffing. It was a new experience but I spent a lot of time afterwards fretting over if I was going to turn into some sort of Pete Doherty figure.

It some how ended up being 5am and since H had gone to bed long ago I was effectively homeless. The lady went on the date with said I could crash at her place, and being a bit of a formal sort I went to sleep on the sofa. Saying 'went to sleep' makes it sound a bit more formal and organised that it was, at some point I just stopped talking and fell over sideways.

It had been an awfully busy day.

The allure of pool, progress through waistcoats and the terror of words.

I went to a Christmas party on Friday. It was supposed to be a Christmas party for a group of people who met years ago doing something very silly, over the years it has evolved and now it is a Christmas party just because. We got to a strange pub in East Bourne and drink and catch up and so on.

This year was the first time I'd ever taken a girl as traditionally this Christmas bash was a male bonding affair kept secret from women I was dating. T.P. knew a few people there so it seemed logical to take her along.

After a horrible journey there; I really don't miss rush hour on the tube. We arrived slightly crinkled from being forced into a train carriage like pressed ham and ready to drink. So we drank.

There was a pool table in the pub and over the course of the evening T.P. went from just about hit the white ball with the wind behind her to beating the reigning champion much to his surprise and disgust.

It was excellent to watch. There is something alarmingly sexy about girls playing pool, it should be televised or at least have it's own gentleman's magazine dedicated to it.

And yes, the picture is actually of T.P. although it will probably only remain up there until she notices and then chokes me with a cravat until I take it down.

In clothing related news I've been practically living in my new waistcoats and I've noticed a pleasant benefit, they make me sit and stand-up straighter. I did have a bad habit of slouching before and now thanks to my new wardrobe I'm ram-rod straight, you could use me to prime a cannon.

Speaking of cannons, did you know the word 'tampon' comes from the bung of cloth used when loading a gun with shot and powder to fire? You do now.

This week is going to be terror week for me, I've got an alarming amount of work to do, including most of a book, three features and a stand-up show. I'm sort of making progress, in that I've chugging along with the book but in classic style I've left it all to the last minute and now I'm doing the grown up version of writing it on my knee on the bus on the way to school.

Still it worked then, so it's bound to work now as long as this doesn't count towards my final mark.

I bring you a gift from the gods, cake

There are some things in life that are important because they are the corner stones of civilisation. Speech is pretty critical as it lets you say to other people

'what-ho, lets work together and build a spiffing palisade to jolly well protect us from the other tribes and woolly mammoths'.

I mean, even though bridge specifically forbids talking to team mates it would be a nightmare to get a decent group together for a bash if you could only gesture.

Let us not forget fire, it cooks meat, warms the body, toast crumpets, changes metals so you can make them into spears and coat hangers and makes ovens work. Prometheus was punished for bringing fire to the people by having his liver eaten out every day by eagles. While this punishment was interestingly inventive it does seem a bit harsh.

Anyway, none of that compares to the momentous occasion that happened this weekend. This weekend, I taught T.P. to make cakes. Oh yes, the world will never be quite the same again now that she can make her own Cinnamon cakes.

At first I was fearful of giving her this powerful secret but after at least seconds of careful thought I realised although it can be a dangerous power she is mature enough to make her own decisions, and cakes.

We won't speak of the first batch of cakes, although the may appear as villians at some later date. Terrorising the local population with their malformed shapes and weird texture.

The second cakes were amazing, marvellous, splendid, spiffing, top banana and more. They were so good in fact that 'a mouse' ate some of mine when I saved them to have with coffee in the morning.

What a pesky mouse, although it does have very good taste.