Jonathan and I met up in Barcode, and had our own little production line going, assembling the CDs we'd made for Wendy and Lush. Ian arrived, Jonathan went downstairs to his comedy thing, and Ian and I went off to a packed Retro Bar.

Dave was there, and we wondered if it might be quieter and nicer in the upstairs bar. It was. Soon Iain, Scally and Rick joined us. Cue much chatter and more drinking.

"Where's Marcus?"
"One, he's broke. Two, he's not feeling well. Three, he doesn't like indie music."
"Tell him they've just played Destiny's Child and Mary J Blige."

Marcus, they didn't just play indie music.

At one stage I realised that for the last 30 minutes I had been holding court while kneeling on a chair. "Look," I said, "my upper half is sober and upright, but my feet are having a whale of a time, waggling around."

Somehow we all ended up back downstairs again, and drank more. Jonathan and Mark arrived, and Jonce and I tailed Wendy and Lush around the club, trying to give them our present. When we eventually did manage, their reaction was wonderful - Wendy got all emotional and choked up. Have I mentioned how wonderful the Retro Bar management is?

Darren DJed, I took photos, all of which were blurred, out of focus, or out of frame. As midnight approached, DJ Lush played the CD Jonathan and I had made, and it got the best reception of the evening.

I tumbled out of the bar with Blogger A. "Who are we waiting for," I asked. "We're waiting for Blogger B," he answered. "But I thought he lived down south somewhere." "Well, yes, he does, but, you know..."

"...oh"

We had a long journey ahead of us - a northbound Bakerloo train to Baker Street, changing there for the Jubilee Line. The indicator on the platform told us we would have an eleven-minute wait till the next northbound Bakerloo train. We – OK, I – came up with what seemed a brilliant tactical suggestion: "Let's take the southbound train to Waterloo and get the northbound Jubilee from there." Big mistake!

We arrived at Waterloo and sprinted along the travolator and down the escalators, reaching the Jubilee platform seconds after the last northbound train had left the station. Cursing and giggling, we started running back to the Bakerloo line, only to be told that the last Bakerloo train had left, too.

Bugger.

Cue much swearing and general panic. We were now further from our destination, with not even a useful night bus stop in sight. It would have to be a cab. So, around the station we ran, Blogger B stopping in a dark alley for "a wazz". The cab ride home was jolly - if a little surreal. I have vague memories of regaling the other two with a story about one of my parents' many arguments - this one ended with my mother pushing a plate of spaghetti bolognaise into my dad's face; he ignored it and carried on as if nothing had happened, bits of spag bol dripping off his moustache.

We arrived at Blogger A's house, and Blogger B pressed a 20-quid note into my hand. Bonus!

When the cab arrived at my place, I discovered that I seemed to be unable to get my money out of my pocket, as my camera was wedged in. I pushed and pulled, and seriously considered giving up: "look mate, I'm too drunk and tired to get my money out. You don't mind do you?" But suddenly my camera shot out of my pocket, and so did a hundred coins. "Wheeee!"