Diary

Apologies for the lack of an update, but it's a struggle to actually think of things that really happen to me and are worth writing about.

After last week's news, there was the usual monthly meet of Doctor Who fans and associated types at the Fitzroy Tavern - all good fun and no bones broken - while Friday saw me taking a little nap after dinner at 8.30pm and, apart from a few moment of lucidity, not waking up until 9.45am the following day. I can no longer remember anything of interest I did last weekend, although I have very kindly been given the lend of Mad Men seasons two and three by a work colleague, since I've only seen season one and BBC2 is showing season four before the rights expire and are snapped up by that avaricious goblin in charge of Sky. More on that when I get round to it. I've started working my way through the episodes, and they are starting to form a continuous experience, like a window that happens to face onto Sterling Cooper's offices.

Two networking events were on the cards for the week, but one on Monday clashed with another elsewhere. The last time this happened, attendance was very low, and there was a good chance that certain people may be present whom I have no wish to speak to, someone who basically dicked me about for a year, promising to get a film made, while doing nothing of the kind. She's still touting her own crappy project around. Serve her right.

The other one, on Tuesday, would have gone better had I managed my time better. Turning up late having had to stop for tea and working out that I'd only be able to stay for an hour in order to get home in time for a pre-arranged phone call meant that I met few people of interest, several who struggled to make themselves understood, and one bloke dressed like Magnum who gave me a CD of bland video game music his client had composed.

The film quiz on Wednesday was a turn-up for the books. I had decided to eshew my usual teammates - the captain of whom said he doesn't read this blog, making this the perfect opportunity for me to brag - in order to finish the book for the the following night's book group meet. I filled out my quiz sheet, waded through the end of The Year of the Flood by Margaret Attwood - bloody awful - and came third. My old team didn't even place. I believe this is called "nerdenfreude".

The actual book group meet was a very civil affair, with an even split of people who liked and disliked the book, and the group's leader egging me on to tear into it. It was hard to summon much enthusiasm for a volume that tedious and uninspired, especially since I was one of the last in the circle to give their opinion, and much of what I wanted to say had been better phrased by others. Still, there was a pleasant, cordial atmosphere, and unlike last month, there weren't any drug addicts trying to steal my bike.

The third prize from the quiz came in handy as a late Christmas present for one of my closet friends when I saw her on Saturday. Since she moved to Brighton last summer, I don't get to see her as much as I'd like, but it was enjoyable to catch up in the flesh as the rest of her martial arts club watched the rugby on the pub's big screen and we clapped - more out of ritual than support - whenever England scored. I hope she enjoys that six-pack of Corona as much as she said she would. I'll have to take her out and get her something she'd actually like as the other two-thirds of her gift.

I also got my watch repaired and bought two new pairs of trousers to replace the two that have had holes worn in them by rubbing against my bicycle saddle, as well as starting to research places to hold my 30th birthday party. It's quite enjoyable to find that they often look nothing like the pictures on the website, or even more confusingly are closed at weekends.

If anyone has any suggestions for places that don't charge for renting space/a room between, oh let's say, Greenwich and Soho, let me know. Yes, Kirstie, that means you. I know you're reading this. That's me tapping at the window. Hello!