This is the week of parties. Last night it was Macromedia, tomorrow it is Jason’s leaving do (and the show). Tonight it’s the launch of the Xbox at the Virgin Megastore on Oxford Street. It’s leading to a whole series of car dilemmas over where to park it or even whether to drive at all. If you leave your car in the car park beyond half ten it gets locked in, so you either walk home or pay for a taxi.

This morning it was pouring down, which made the decision a bit easier, but in the end it turns out I needn’t have worried about leaving early and missing all the fun. The invites said the party was due to start at half seven, and I had promised to do an interview on Drivetime, so I stayed at my desk and edited a group test while I waited.

The interview done, I found a convenient break, switched off and wandered down to the Megastore. There was a queue to get in that stretched around the corner. Two hundred people, I’d guess, moving very slowly. I decided to give it time to clear, so wandered down to the Phoenix bar to drink with the writing team, and with Matt who had just been turned down for the next series of Big Brother.

We stayed for a couple of drinks, but as time got on I thought I ought to go back and see how the queue was getting on, so wandered back to Virgin. Across the street, the non-tech press, which no doubt considers those of us who write about computers to be a curiosity, was taking pictures with flashes, and filming us. Against my better judgement I queued. The first time in months I’ve queued to get into a party.

I shuffled slowly with the rest of the crowd to where a shaven-header and rather fierce doorman asked me if I had my invite. ‘I’m press,’ I said. ‘My name is on the list.’ And he let me in. The people on the desk were far nicer, and when they couldn’t initially find me on the fabled list they assumed it was their fault, not mine. I was there, though, five names below where they had stopped looking, and once I had pointed it out they gave me a wrist-band and a strange green chip with no discernible purpose.

It was the kind of party I would describe as minimalistic. The back of the Megastore had been curtained off, and we were all herded downstairs, from where the DVDs and videos had been cleared away. Enormous grey speakers had been set up and from the moment I arrived until the moment I left they pumped out a very loud, very regular beat, unaccompanied by any kind of music. I guess that was so they didn’t disturb the scrum of journalist crowded round a wide-screen telly watching the football.

There were hundreds of people down there, and it was difficult to get around, and I couldn’t see anyone I knew. There was not much happening beyond drinks, and the occasional blinding green laser that cut across the room to draw a large X on the wall and so, after half an hour of standing by an overstuffed footstool I decided to move on, catch the train home and retrieve the car.

It was a pleasant event, and I’m sure it would have picked up, given time, but I have the breakfast trail to do tomorrow morning and I’m exhausted at the moment. I haven’t even made it to the gym this week.

All of these late nights this week have given me an idea, though.

Someone needs to make a web site that has details of all the trains that leave London at night and park up in sidings until the following morning when they trundle back in. All you need to do is pick one that leaves just when you’re ready to leave the party / pub / whatever, and hide in it as it trundles out into the sidings. Once it’s safely locked up and all the lights are out you can lie flat out across the seats and sleep until the next morning, when it takes you back in to work.

It’s like a free rolling hotel.

Now, if I was a gambling man, I would put some money on the Latvian entry (takes a little while to load) to win this year’s Eurovision Song Contest. But I’m not, so I won’t.

I received not one but two letters this morning that had little notes to the Irish postal service scribbled in the corners:

Notice to AN Post: do not deface this letter with political slogans / logos as it is an offence to tamper with mail pursuant to Section 84 of the Posts and Telegraphs Act 1983. This letter remains the property of sender while in transit.

1. Settling in
   Yay for broadband! It's up and running. Actually, it was up and running for about a day before we got it all plumbed in on...
   
   
2. Deja-vu
   Life is cyclical. I look back on my journal entry of exactly twelve months ago and see that I was at the Xbox launch party...
   
   
3. Where are you?
   I'm starting to wonder what I have got myself into, switching my mortgage provider. The surveyor came around this morning to look at the flat,...