My trousers smell of wee and so do I. But who cares - it's Friday and as I'm heading out to London's notorious London to spend the evening shouting my head off in some disgusting boozer I might as well smell of Donald Rumsfeldt's crevice fluff for all the difference it'll make.

Having said that I'm reparing to a Japanese restaurant later, but by then I'll have drunk 6 pints of Cockney Fizzy Keg, smoked a packet of gaspers and no longer care what I smell like.

Anyhoo it's odd that I'm drinking at all seeing as I was SO horribly hung over yesterday that I seriously swore off the booze. Went to see Bluebeard's Castle (freaky Hungarian opera by Bartok) which is only an hour long, so was in the pub by 8.40, but somehow still thinking it was a post opera drink (normally 10.45ish), so felt the needto consume pints as fast as is humanely possible. The results were predictable enough . . . ack.