Well, I woke up with a pleasantly clear head. I could have laid in, as after I wrote my entry for yesterday I called LBC to talk about the breakfast show featurette but James said not to worry - they’d reorganised the running order and dropped in Richard Whiteley (anagram: dirty wheelchair) instead.

I made sure I was ready in case it fell through, but listened to it go out as I brushed my teeth, and when it was over set out on the walk to the station. I’d left my car at the station last night.

It was very pleasant. I took the long route by the river and through the high street, checking out the nice new apartments they’re building by the lock, and the floating restaurant on the canal. It reminded me I need to book at table for Sal’s birthday, but until just now I’d forgotten again.

The office slowly filled up with pained expressions. Clearly a lot of drink was consumed yesterday afternoon. I guess starting straight after lunch and going on until late in the evening without any more food this was inevitable. It’s small consolation that pretty much every email from each of our guests included at least one line on the state of their head.

Drank lots and lots of tea and caught up on the bits and bobs going on in other bits of the pub last night.

We bought Roses and Mini Heroes and munched chocolate all morning, feeling far better by lunchtime. Very naughty.

Made good progress on my jobs list, so left the office for ITN at half four feeling fairly righteous.

Chatted with Sam about Sunday’s ‘London this Week’. She’s found a great list of guests again, and already given me a pile of research to read over the next couple of days. I’ve brought them home and will digest them thoroughly on the train tomorrow.

The Lab went well. Will doing news, and later on the MD of Lycos, who basically gave us a clean slate to talk about pretty much whatever we wanted. It’s always good when someone comes in without an agenda (apart from mentioning their company name a few times).

Most bizarre story of the evening, though, is the competition currently being run by the New Scientist. They are relaunching the magazine so are giving readers the change to relaunch their lives. Collect enough tokens and you can go into the draw to be cryogenically preserved, and thawed out in the future when clever bods with high foreheads work out how to bring people back to life.

I really don’t get cryogenic preservation. The experts talk about how they have frozen sperm and human tissue before and thawed it out perfectly safely (and healthily) some time later. What they never seem to mention, though, is that those things were never dead in the first place. All they did was put the life on hold.

Surely if you’ve actually died before being frozen that has to introduce a whole new set of complications.

I wonder if you can specify you shouldn’t be the first one thawed out, just in case it doesn’t work - after all, you don’t want to be the experiment that goes wrong.

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