Hurrah for chat, ceilidhs and acid-inspired Sunday afternoon telly.

I started writing a "woe is me" entry late on Friday afternoon. I'd spent the day trying to compensate for Bingy Corp's exasperating inability to read the instructions on the stuff we send them, writing email after email to explain and re-explain how to use it.

I was in a bad mood. Fortunately, the weekend saved me from crushing frustration and you from a whingeing blog entry.

On the way out from work, I collared Jason and convinced him to come along to Pivo after he'd gone home to change. Next I called Kate and grovelled at her until she came along too. Once we were all installed in the pub and clutching our respective pints, I felt able to let out a kind of whole-body sigh. I could physically feel my muscles relaxing and my mind emptying of the irritations of the day's non-work.

Jeff, Josh, Devon and the rest of the Mafia were also out that evening, and Jason and I met up with them after Kate went home. We wound up in Bertie's of all places, now reinvented as a truly diabolical Aussie-style sports bar.

With a dancefloor. Oh yes. Check my bad self dancing like a twit.

On Saturday night we all headed down to Devon & Annabel's for a meal. (Again, with excellent food. It's time Jeff, Josh and I organised a dinner party to say thanks to them for continually feeding us so well.) Both Louise, a German friend of ours, and Emily, an American friend of Devon's, were (are still, in fact) visiting at the same time and so we'd organised a trip to the Caley Brewery ceilidh.

Which of course sported a dancefloor. Oh yes. Check my bad self dancing actually quite competently.

A nice little walk through Holyrood Park to pick up my car from outside Annabel & Devon's flat rounded things off on Sunday. So how did I come away from the weekend? Happy, tired and a little philosophical*. A pretty good antidote to a crappy preceding week.

* But I'm not going to tell you why.