Plans Go Awry

"'Ello darling, you're a lot better looking than Kim Cattrall" (The Social, Nottingham, Last Night)

I didn't go to Liverpool for the Quizzing GP, but you knew that anyway. This was something to do with my giving a guest lecture to my old MA at Nottingham Trent yesterday. It was set for 3.30pm, so I thought I would be able to get back to London in due time. By 8pm was my thinking.

By 8pm I was still in the pub. Having a few drinks, having a few more drinks. These crazy students. I did my best to disillusion them with my truly legendary jadedness. Amazingly, this was such a grand effort that I missed the last train home (you fool!) and got back to London by 5.30pm this evening. And I do feel ill. Maybe, it was the icy cold last night. But I do feel ill. Like my brain has been crowned with stinging nettles. In fact, I may not even write a friendly for tomorrow's President's Cup match against Cambridge - shock, horror, outrage, will things ever be the same again? I am feeling that dirty headed.

The plans went truly kaplooey. Saturday was meant to be consolidation day: do work and questions; allow myself to sort everything out before I went to Portsmouth tomorrow night to see Arab Strap. I was also going to phone up Jane and say: "Oh my God!! Have you read this buzzer quiz question and that buzzer quiz question, and can't you see they've been written by a delirious, illiterate wild man, who hadn't had any sleep when he sent them? Please insert a "which" and a "come" in question so and so. I am now going to run away. Far away." And I didn't. Gash. Now everything is going to be done in a disorderly and silly fashion. You know, I only do it to myself.