Lying on the grass on Hampstead Heath in the sun, reading the paper: good.

Waking up trailing drool, with deep red creases in your face and today's front page printed in mirror-writing on your forehead: bad.

My apologies for not coming up with the stuff about Gaydar I'd promised. I'm just too darn tired. I guess I'm still getting over the illness I've had all week. Or maybe I'm tired because, to protect my delicate stomach, I haven't had any coffee all week. Then again, the tiredness and weepy eyes could just be the start of this season's hayfever. I'm not weepy, I'm not - honest; just cuz it's a Friday night and I'm on my own. Hayfever, mate, and lack of coffee - that's all.