Well he's that tall, I hadn't room to hoover!

I've been busy lately, socially speaking and it's been rather good. I have a steadily increasing stack of tickets to events I have recently attended, on my mantle piece and one could almost detect a sense of satisfaction and peace of mind in my demeanour upon reflection of this, if one were nuzzling one's mood detection antenae round my person. Now anyone who knows me would probably be impressed by that. (Not to mention relieved: 'tendancy to moan' would probably be on my school report if my friends were my teachers and the world had gone a bit back to school surreal dream flavoured)

Last night I had the pleasure of getting plastered in Fortnum & Mason. That place has been going for almost 300 years, you know? You didn't? Oh well, don't say you don't learn anything from Mr Kenneth. Yes, 1707 it was when Mr Fortnum and Mr Mason batted round the idea of opening up a little shop on Piccadilly in London. They've put a big new shiny staircase in since last year, which would please the old gents no end, I'm sure.

Anyway, you're probably wondering how it was that I got drunk at the aforementioned emporium of Mr F and Mr M - well if you're not, then why are you still reading? Go on, surf away, see if I care! There are some midgets wrestling on a clip from Jerry Springer on YouTube so I believe - Well for those of you still sitting on your hands in anticipation, it so happens that the management of London's most Royal Warranted department store open it up for an evening, a couple of times a year to promote their goodies.

Customers can buy tickets to the event for £20 and upon admission, they are welcomed and coats taken, to afford a comfortable stroll around the environs. Functionaries continually ply them with sparkling wine and canapés and other shop dollies of the highest calibre serve up samples of the finest edible bits and doings. The smoked salmon, the cheeses, the sausages, the aged balsamic vinegar, the marmalades, the chocolate, the shortbread, the yule log, the spiced tea, the nougat, oh, the delights! And the fantastic thing is, the ticket entitles the bearer to £20 of goodies, so one gets one's money back in the finest comestibles! (The idea being you'll spend more than your £20 and make return visits, so that they make their money back)

Anyway, with a beer both before and after this escapade, I woke up at 4 this morning with the TV on and a card of paracetamol tablets under the duvet with me. I can think of more appealing bedfellows to wake up next to, but a good night was had by all, I think, so I can't complain. Oops! There I go again with that positive outlook. My friends will be having fainting fits!