I've been thinking a bit lately (which is somewhat surprising considering the lack of thought my job entails) and I've decided that there's no point not liking Sundays purely because they're the prelude to the working week. If I don't like Sundays then how many other days of the week am I going to enjoy - just Saturdays? When I think about it there are four days of the week that are pretty good. Thursdays because they're the day before Friday, Fridays for Friday nights, Saturdays for being splendid, and Sundays for the lie ins.

The weekend was very good, the best bit of which was going out in Watford on Saturday night for a last-minute organised but brilliant party/night out combo for Tori's boyfriend's birthday. We went to a club called Reflex which had...

A REVOLVING DANCEFLOOR.

Words cannot describe how great it was despite it only being about three metres in diameter. I also didn't drink enough to get dizzy and throw up on said dancefloor, but that was the best night out I have had in a long time.

The New Bloke got a haircut at the weekend too. I'd been trying to convince him otherwise as I love it when his hair's all scruffy. However he managed to obtain my consent when, after our night out on Friday and I had hopped into bed, he ruffled it all up to demonstrate its too-longness, into a crazy yeti-ish style at which I announced in all seriousness, 'Your hair's scaring me, I think you better sleep on the sofa.'

I still chuckle now.

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