For those of who confused enough to think that being in a band is fun, I've spent the last 3 days listening to the same bloody song over and over again, making minor adjustments to levels of things like “2nd ovrdubbd guitr – 3rd take – R chnnl” in the hope that it will suddenly transform the whole thing into something sounding like “Mamma Mia” by Abba, which as we know is the holy grail that all right-thinking pop musicians strive for at least once. So far I have been unsuccessful. It's difficult to get inside the head, and indeed the house, of Bjorn Ulvaeus.

Financial newsdesk: I've just consolodated my smaller debts into a single, bigger debt. And did it without wearing a surprised and delighted expression while on the phone to a headset-wearing callcentre-monkey while being smiled at by an animated blue telephone while ten pound notes shower around my head. Quite an achievement.

Last night I sat watching NY-LON, hooting with laughter. What an eye-rolling excuse for a television programme that is. Stilted dialogue spoken by untalented actors delivering stilted performances. Perhaps if they did the whole thing on stilts – now, THERE would be a show. People walking backwards and forwards across the Atlantic Ocean in the hope of getting a shag when they got to the other side. Marvellous. Commission x 18.