I’m increasingly turning into a weekend blogger. I blame the late nights, although that’s no excuse for not logging on at lunchtime.

Anyhow, it has, needless to say, been something of a busy week, mainly spent writing. Not the book, unfortunately, but words nonetheless, and I’m enjoying getting back to writing for different magazines again, if only to broaden the range of subjects I’m writing about.

Today, though, was the first time I managed to get to the gym in a week, which is truly shameful. I feel partly vindicated in that the gym god send demons in the form of dive-bombing eight year olds to make swimming particularly unpleasant as penance. Oh, and I forgot my towel, which was very inconvenient post-shower. I ended up having to dry on the hand towel I normally use to wipe down the machines. Ugh.

Still, summer seems to have firmly successfully installed itself. It feels so hot today (it probably isn’t - it’s just compared to what we’re used to), and yesterday we took an extended lunch to sit in Regent’s Park in the shade of a tree.

We pubbed in the evening for Paul’s birthday. Me, Paul, Trevor, Jon, Dave, another handful of Pauls, and just enough other Nick’s to get confusing, ending up at Smiths, which seems to have taken over from Chicago’s as the trendy place to hang out. That’s not entirely surprising being as how Chicago’s trendiness was built on the fact it has a bit of neon on the bar, which seems to count for a lot in Chelmsford.

It’s been a good end to the week, then, and tonight looks like being fun. We’re all off to east London somewhere - Abbey Wood, I think - for another birthday. It’s just as well I’m not driving.

1. That was the week that was
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2. Brideshead not visited
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3. End of the week… start of a week
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