There was a big sign in the ticket hall at Tooting Broadway underground this morning, informing everyone that it's illegal to be intoxicated on London Underground property. Which is interesting, considering that all trains running after 11pm exist solely to transport intoxicated people safely back to their homes. I wonder if LU know this? Surely the vomit must give them something of a clue.

Yesterday I was transported up the M1 at lightning speed by photographer Suki to Milton Keynes, for a rendezvous with a fan of Finnish love-metal combo HIM. Beth was 19, dressed head to toe in black, and her bedroom resembled a tomb of the undead, but despite this she was extremely chatty, very good company, and didn't once threaten to self harm. She explained that all her Milton Keynes chums had just gone off to university. “But I still love her,” called her mum from the kitchen. “Oh my god that's so embarrassing,” said Beth, rolling her eyes.

We zoomed back down the M1 to meet a Motorhead fan called Mick. He has an immense collection of Motörhead memorabilia, including this rather cute miniature figurine of Lemmy:

(The guitar, by the way, is also miniature, in case the whole scale thing is playing havoc with your brain.)

He recounted a marvellous anecdote about how his superfan status in the Motörhead camp led him to appear in a Wham video. When he realised he was about to appear in a Wham video, he tried to get out of it, but was persuaded to stay after being offered copious quantities of alcohol. So, if you're ever watching the video for “I'm Your Man”, and you see an incongruous, long haired bloke in a Motorhead t-shirt, that'll be Mick.

I arrived home and prepared a delicious low-carb dinner for two (highly recommended), then had a couple of glasses of wine, felt a bit peckish and had some toast. The road to good intentions is paved with toast, don'tcha know.