and I just succeeded in leaving the local pub before the last orders bell had even rung. I'm not sure whether that means we are becoming responsible in our old age, or whether we're just bored with the pub, or each other. I guess we'll find out tomorrow night when the experiment will no doubt be repeated.

By 11am this morning I was wearing gold PVC trousers, a frighteningly futuristic tracksuit top and a big orange mullet wig, being photographed in various locations around the local hospital, including several outside Accident and Emergency. The photographer asked me to sit on the bumper of an ambulance. I did. I was shooed off by a passing security guard. “Don't you sit on that, it'll break!” It was alarming to know that my arse could cause lasting damage to the bumper of a vehicle belonging to our emergency services.

By 3pm I was auditioning for a half-Bolivian band in Dalston. I was openly referred to as “dude” throughout. I imagine if you translate the word “dude” back into, uh, Bolivian, it probably sounds acceptable. But in English it makes me wince. Having said that, my friend Amp uses it all the time and gets away with it. Maybe I just harbour extreme prejudice against South Americans.

Back across town and then back out again, a hitBACK meeting with HOST. They were considering changing their name as there appear to have been about 7 bands called HOST since the dawn of ROCK. We persuaded them to leave it as it is, although if they get taken to court and sued for thousands when they get the success they deserve, we will claim that we advised them to change it all along, before walking away with our hands in our pockets, whistling.

The Northern Line is a MESS. You heard it here first.

It's lovely and quiet here. I don't know how anyone can write anything with music on. I've always been like that. In my teens, up at 7.30am on a Sunday before all that row starts, you know, John Craven on Country File etc, so I can get my homework out of the way.

I think I've managed to get a gig reviewing some pubs and bars for a book. The publication asked me what areas of town I'd like to review. I thought, yeah, keep it local, so I said the southern half of the Northern Line, Kennington to Morden. Now, of course, I'm sitting here kicking myself, cursing the fact that I didn't pitch for Mayfair, Knighstbridge or Hampstead Garden Suburb.