Yesterday I had the luxury of a free day. No pressing deadlines for articles about obscure brands of cognac, or struggling London-based businesses. No websites to build. No accounts to plough through. Not even the distraction of unmixed Free French songs to work on. A free day, stretching far, far ahead of me, a bit like the B489 to Aston Clinton after turning right out of Totternhoe Road. And what did I achieve with said day?

- watched the cricket
- posted drivel on LiveJournal
- had a nap
- had a salad
- had another nap

If there's a continuing thread to my life at the moment, it's cursing my own ineptitude at failing to get various projects started. has given me lengthy and invaluable advice on pitching my incredibly amusing book ideas to publishers and agents, but I have done nothing about it. I'm failing to take powerful features editors out to lunch – except my girlfriend – and thus failing to secure that weekly column which would mean that, in the future, anyone wanting to read my vague pontifications would have to actually pay hard cash for the privilege. plans to make me write a sitcom with him when he moves to Tooting in September, but I've got a far, far better idea for a sitcom that I don't want to even tell him about. In fact, I'm so paranoid about the idea being stolen that I don't think I'll ever tell anyone. A bit like the fantastic sketch I wrote about the inventor who goes to register his new invention at the patent office but can't bring himself to tell them exactly what it is. But I suppose, rather in the manner of the Foreign Office during the David Kelly debacle, if someone correctly guessed what my idea was, I would be obliged to confirm that the guess was correct.

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In the evening we had a Free French rehearsal despite being two women down. Afterwards we sat outside a pub and had the pleasure of seeing a van roll past, saying “Mr Bobby's Beds” and a mobile number. “You should call the number”. “Mmm. Imagine. 'Hello? Is Mr Bobby there?' 'No, I'm afraid he's in bed.'”

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Earlier I saw a slim girl and a very large girl buying breakfast in the canteen. The slim girl had a Muller Light yoghurt, the large girl had a sausage sandwich with butter & brown sauce, washed down with a can of Coke. QED.