The Mafia (in full, glorious effect - witness Jeff's heroic inebriation and the multitude of Mafioso nationalities) descended upon a Big Fat Greek Party on Friday. There was drinking, talking loudly and standing around in a manically hand-clapping circle watching Greek people dance, one by one. 'Nuff said, I think.

Saturday consisted of one long, fraught hangover. I can honestly say it's the worst I've had to contend with in a long time. The planned Saturday evening session fell through because of the mass casualty rate after the Greek party, so I toadied my way into a poker night organised by Michelle instead. It turned out to be more of a poker rally, with eleven of us in the one game. And much as I hate to admit it, Ben was right: eleven is possibly too many...bluffing was more or less out of the window because the odds were that someone betting high had a good hand.

Still, factor in one Australian flag-patterned cake containing enough food colouring to dye the North Sea and the night is saved by dint of mutual blue-tongued hilarity.