That’s it, now, I’ve done enough Christmas celebrating, and it’s only the 22nd. It’s not even the first day of Christmas, yet. I think the next two days should be spent sitting quietly, and sipping on a beaker of distilled water, before retreating to Dunstable on Sunday. No, not retreating. Advancing. Think positive. It’s like that story Green tells about Bob Marley, where a journalist said to Bob “Are we going back to the hotel?” and he replied “No, we’re going forward to the hotel.”

Jenny is about to fly to Sweden for Christmas, and amazingly enough she’s going from Stansted, which seems strangely unaffected by the freezing fog which has wrapped itself around every other airport in the country. Who knows why that would be. If any citizens of Bishop’s Stortford have any geographical or meteorological data to explain this freakish display of weather – i.e. it being nice – kindly spill the beans.

I’ve not decided what I’ve doing for New Year yet – probably still sitting quietly and sipping on a beaker of distilled water, with a gem lettuce for afters – but this here party looks like an interesting prospect. If you’re going to start a company which puts on seasonal events, don’t call it Menage A Trois. At best, it gives men the impression that for every male partygoer there will be two women willing to sleep with them, and at worst it conjures up an image of a room with three people in it, exchanging stilted conversation interspersed with embarrassed silences. If that’s actually what it is, then say so. “Man seeks two women for an awkward New Years Eve encounter. 9pm till 5am. All drinks included. £65.”

Last night I went to Clerkenwell, met Elliot and Tim, gatecrashed a Christmas drinks party of the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra – there were only 5 people in attendance so they probably welcomed the extra atmosphere – and then went on to Jody’s birthday party on Charing Cross Road. The most notable occurrence was seeing the proprietor dress up in a Mrs Santa outfit and do a little dance for the birthday girl. I met a columnist on the Telegraph, whose column yesterday was headed “The young are guilty mainly of being young”, which I can’t argue with, really, and at the end of the night I fell asleep on a night bus and woke up in, yes, you’ve guessed it, NO! You haven’t guessed it. I woke up at the bus stop I was supposed to get off at. Oh, the powers of the unconcious mind. I went on to fall asleep in bed, and woke up in bed, too. Brilliant.

I received a nice email this morning from a friend saying that he’d like a new Free French album in 2007. Despite the fact that the rest of the band have probably completely lost interest, there’s also the fact that I’ve not written anything new for 18 months. In fact, the last thing I wrote was the jingle for the show I did for Resonance FM – you can relive that heady moment here – and I said at the time that I think it’s the best thing I’d ever written, and I didn’t think I could top it, and it seems that this is actually the case. Oh well. Maybe I’ll stick to words, instead. At least I get paid for writing those. Sometimes.