So it is Sunday, which invariably means the little man with the hammer has awoken in my brain and set to work with exceptional dedication. In other words, I am badly hungover. I can actually feel my peripheral brain cells shrivelling in disgust, and internal organs going into mute revolt. My body hates me.

My life is altogether too complicated at the moment to allow for these blips of inactivity. At this moment I have an overly complex and disastrously precarious set of relationships with various members of the opposite sex requiring careful vigilance (I would say management, but I'm not managing it very well). Who'd've thought painting pub signs could lead to so much drama?! One bar, four guys - it's a mess and a muddle, just like me.

Oh my head, my head, it hurts!