On Wednesday night,

I went up to the Outhouse with Jez for a pint. A pint became four pints and before I knew it, it was 1 am and Jez was trying to spray the barmaid with androgynous Ted Baker 'scent'. A relatively quiet night - at least he didn't break into the monkey impersonation.

This has, in fact, been a week of 'before you know it' drunkenness. On Friday, I dragged the usual suspects up to the Blind Poet to meet Dave, Dom, Michelle et al and before we knew it, it was 1 am and were were stumbling into a taxi home.

On Saturday, awaking to find myself smelling and tasting (unreasonably, I might add) like an alcoholic, I assembled my shit and took the train to Glasgow for a band practice. The gig is looming uncomfortably close, so we we set up in near-record time and got stuck into practicing at 3 pm. Without Dave, I must point out. At 4.30 pm, having beaten some of the most troubling songs into submission - sans vocals - we looked at each other and said "Where the fuck is Dave?"

Dave finally called us around 5, and it transpired that he had fallen asleep.

<sigh>

We finished the rehearsal at 6, and aside from one song, were mostly happy with the day's work. We trooped along to Mono to blend in with the rest of Glasgow's achingly hip arty types, and before we knew it, it was 11.15 and I staggered off to catch the last train home.

Sunday was much the same, except A) through in Edinburgh and B) with Dave in attendance. We finally nailed (or at least managed to sound reasonable while playing) the last truly dodgy song in the set, so the gig is looking like a more attractive prospect. T minus 3 days...