Now that's what I call a weekend. None of this 'early to bed' nonsense. Went out yesterday afternoon, and got home at twelve. Noon. Today.

Friday: Met up with Patriic and went to see Bridget Jones, which - despite myself - I quite liked. Hugh Grant sexy? Whatever next? Patriic and I had a swift pint in Mantos (Since when was a pint of Stella £3.20?) before he had to rush off to get some coal (don't ask). Bumped into Paul outside Comptons, so phoned Ian and told him we'd meet him in there. Several pints with Paul, several more with Ian, then John joined us for several more. And then Dan turned up, only for me to ask him several impertinent questions. Matt arrived too and we tried to go to Barcode but were frightened off by the solid wall of men. Ian, Dan and Matt went on to the traditional home of blogmeets, the Rat and Parrot. I went on home where I conducted several simultaneous SMS conversations.

Saturday: I am not going out. I'm staying in, having an early night. Why have I just put my shoes on then? Is that a jacket I see before me? Oh look, we're at Duckies. Great music, nice crowd, but the most dreadfully pretentious act I ever seen: a monologue called "Starfucker": "Julia Roberts in a taxi cab, Richard Gere on his hands and knees, Goldie Hawn, Meryl Streep and Helena Bonham-Carter in a restaurant, Jude Law reflected in the window of a passing car..." And on and on for fifteen deathly dull minutes. I escaped to the Spiral, ordering Ian to get his arse out of bed and meet me there. Fascinating conversation en route with Nigerian cab driver about how women just don't know their place any more. Bumped into David Saunders, too, which is always nice.

Sunday: the Royal Vauxhall Tavern (of course) where Edna put on the best show I've ever seen her do. Had a chat with Andy Almighty, who, it turns out, has been reading the A to Z of the Vauxhall Tavern and has therefore seen my description of him as Shaggus Almightius. Oops! Chatted to Andy and Alex, Phil, Ian, Darren and Jim, Michael, Andrew, and Seph, and then suddenly it was 11 o'clock and I found myself on the tube to Brixton for Marvellous. Danced to Siouxsie and Bowie and Bolan and Sylvester, and talked the ear off Zed. Bumped into Seph again, and at 4 o'clock we headed to an all-night chill-out in Vauxhall, stopping off briefly at his place for a cup of tea. The chill out thing was excellent, very stylish venue. It's amazing what queens can do with a couple of disused arches. Two dance floors, one apparently called "The K Room". I had a brief liaison with the ex-lead singer of a boyband (they had two mid-40s chart placings back in 1994 - not that much of a Starfucker, me). And then somehow, as if by magic, it was 11am and time for me to stagger home, avoiding the eyes of normal people going about their daily lives.

Coffee! Now!