Hungover today. I met up with Rob in Canary Wharf last night to watch the football and do a bit of a pub crawl with a beer burger thrown in at some point. Marvellous! Only towards the end of the evening Rob seemed wont to return from the bar not only with my requested pint but also mystery shots. Beer and shots go together like a horse and carriage. No wait! I mean like hamsters and microwaves. Just say no.

I'm going back home for Easter next Thursday and Rachella will be joining me for a few days. If the weather's good (it's bloody gorgeous at the moment. I love Spring) a day trip to Norfolk is on the cards. Trying not to fantasise about bumping into Stephen Fry again.

Until then, I will continue to drown in the sea of transcript, the deadline of which is next Wednesday, and despair at some of the things that happen in my courtroom. Yesterday during a break, two of the barristers began loudly berating the witness who'd just been giving evidence, calling him braindead and such like. Unbeknownst to them the witness was actually still in court, tucked behind a curtain.

Ah.

I'm a fine one to talk though considering I nearly puked up while my judge was summing up the trial today. Luckily I have very strong powers of control when it comes to vomit. Should really add that to my CV.

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