'Twas the night before Friday.

And now it's Friday. I'm still in my pyjamas because it's been that sort of day. Carol and Noel have been keeping me company. I wonder whether there names being linked to Christmas is a coincidence? I think not, they spread joy. I think combined, perhaps they are The Lord.

So what was the night before Friday? Don't say Thursday you pedantic shit. It was all set to be a quiet night in. It was 11.30 and I had brushed my teeth, washed and severly moisturised my face (it's necessary in winter - one layer isn't enough, slather the stuff on). Then, ring-a-ding-ding, I got a phone call from Paddy saying I had to go to a party. I know my duty, if there's a party that needs me, I must be there.

It was quite good, but I drank too much wine, luckily I survived. I've been told to say hello, Andrew and Chris. I hope I've got that right.

It turned in to a bit of a vom fest. The scriptwriters were resilient, and the TV kids were puking away. One in each toilet, and two were puking into bowls. It was beautiful.

Right I'm off to Essex and Paddy's for a bath. I don't have one here. Who knows what madness will ensue. Probably something to do with DVDs.

Keep it bouyant,

Sophie x