Going to London at the weekend is one of my pet hates. I do it every day of the week, so doing it again on a Saturday is much too much like going to work. Today, though, St Patrick’s Day, is Will’s birthday, and I promised I’d go along to the pub last night to celebrate with him.

I spent most of the morning flopping around in bed with a book and only got up when it was already too late for breakfast. Paul, who was also coming to the pub, wanted to look at blinds for his study, so we walked to the station and caught an earlier train into town than we’d planned.

The weather was fantastic. Clear blue skies, and plenty of sun, so that by the time we arrived we were baked, and we bought ice cream to cool down. As we came out of the tube at Bond Street, though, the rain had started, and throughout the afternoon it got heavier and heavier, so that by four it was a downpour and we sheltered like cowards in the cafe on Selfridges’ ground floor.

It was unbelievably gay. I’d put the ratio of same-sex couples at around fifty per cent, and the air was awash with the scent of gel and the sight of toned arms hanging out of singlets - even in this weather! Even in a cafe as posh as this, the tea pots still spilt on the table, and the chocolate fudge cake was rather dry, but it kept us out of the rain for half an hour, and by the time we left it had reduced to drizzle.

We fought the crowds between there and John Lewis, where Paul ordered a blind they promised to deliver in five or six weeks, then cut across to the Conran shop to look at the thermometers and clocks. Nice, but rather expensive.

All the while, I had been texting back and forth with Mark, and we arranged to meet in Phoenix Bar on Shaftesbury Avenue, from where we went on to eat at Kettners. This is always a good place to eat, for three reasons:

• It looks very posh, which puts people off because they think they can’t afford it so you always get a table

• It’s actually quite cheap
• The food is fantastic

I had the Peterburger, one of the best vegetarian burgers in London.

By the time we had got ourselves settled and ordered we only had time for a main course, and then cut through the back streets to Holborn to hunt out The Rugby. As we set off it was spitting again, but by the time we got to Holborn station it was actually raining quite steadily.

That’s when we realised neither Mark or I had our map with us, or the details of the pub.

We walked backwards and forwards, up and down High Holborn, looking for a street we thought had the word Saint in it, before eventually admitting defeat and calling Will. It’s a good job we did as it turns out The Rugby is closed at the weekend and he’d relocated to the Penderel Oak. Poor guy, he had to call everyone and tell them the new arrangements. Still, the mix-up means the three of us were the first to arrive, which never normally happens.

It was a very fun evening. I drank enough wine to get really quite dizzy (which isn’t actually that much) and was still stumbling around the kitchen when we got home gone one this morning. Niall and Matt turned up at nineish, and Matt came over to check he hadn’t said anything too outrageous in the pub last Wednesday - the day I met him when he’d been there eight hours after being rejected for Big Brother. I assured him he had not. There was a good smattering of PC Advisor people, but as far as PCW went it was just Mark and me.

When we noticed it had gone eleven we ran for the train, worried that they may stop running earlier on a Saturday than during the week and we would be stranded in London. We just missed one, though, and had to wait half an hour for the midnight-o-two.

It was surprisingly empty for such a late train. During the week they are packed full of vomiting commuters. Perhaps they vomit at home at the weekends. When we got into bed I looked up at the time projected onto the ceiling and was glad we hadn’t gone on to the club, where we’d have had to stay until the first train back out of London this morning.

Considering the time neither of us slept that late this morning, and were up in time for me to go out and buy bread to make toast for breakfast. We played on the Xbox for a while, but it has a habit of making Paul feel sick, so he went home and crawled back into bed, and I tidied the flat, ready for mum coming around for dinner on Tuesday.

At three, I sat down for a ‘quick half hour’ playing Halo and only noticed an hour had passed when Paul arrived back at the door to pick me up and drive us over to see Trevor and Jon.

We haven’t seen them for ages - since we saw My Beautiful Laundrette last month. They’d bought cakes, so we sat around for a couple of hours eating them, sipping tea and tickling the cats while we talked about what we planned to do for holidays this year. It seems none of us have quite decided what to do yet. Paul and I were thinking of doing Scandinavia by train, but since the second anniversary of my trip to Japan I’ve developed a real hankering to go back. It’s a long flight, and we won’t be able to afford to go first class like last time, but it’s so different there that it will be an exciting trip.

The time flew by, and at six we left so that I could get over to Chignall to meet up with friends from Link FM. I was late, but not the last time arrive, and it was great to see everyone again. Nobody has changed, and as expected the whole evening was spent among a thick cloud of cigarette smoke that seems to have come home to me, attached to my clothes.

The station is going back on air for a month in July so much of the evening was spent looking ahead to what they planned to do, and surprisingly little of it was given over to nostalgia. I’ve told them I’m not available to present this time around, but I’m keen to keep up with what they are doing as it is always good fun to hear what’s going on, and pop in to say hello when they’re on the air.

They were still going strong when I left at ten, feeling tired, but having had a good time.

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