Q: "What's it called?"

A: "Cumbernau- what the hell is that thing?"

A few post-work drinks on Friday night became a rather enjoyable evening and ended up with me staggering home at some ungodly hour and then getting up half an hour before I was due to meet Davis for Saturday's TM practice. I took a taxi (a rather warm one - not good for the old nausea) to meet him and we headed off towards Glasgow. There were signs advertising a 30 minute delay on the M8 so we took the plunge and headed for Falkirk instead. Or rather, Davis did while I lolled near insensibly in the passenger seat and tried to avoid befouling the interior of his car.

Just after we left the M8, a sign declared that there were 60 minute delays on our new route. From my point of view, the delay probably saved the practice; by the time we crawled into Cumbernauld and grabbed ourselves some food, my body was rallying and the threat of disastrous digestive problems was receding. The town centre delivered the final mental defibrillation by the mere fact of being completely, unreconcilably hideous: I ranted and spluttered as we drove through its monstrous shadow and felt almost normal again.

The practice, short as it was, went quite well, but I think we're in need of a gig (possibly at the end of January) to get us properly up and running. A new song or two wouldn't hurt as well, but general injury is still keeping us from playing at our best. It'll come, no doubt.

We got back to Edinburgh sans delay, and I was almost joyously healthy again. I ironed a shirt and put on my current pet ridiculous suit, aiming for 'swing' but unfortunately hitting 'mod' instead, and headed out.

I'd go into detail about the night but suffice it to say that it was a fun, breathless rush from party to party to Vegas, encompassing a near-monopoly of the first dancefloor by the usual swing suspects; an unwitting abandonment of your host by the same; a happy reunion half an hour later and a night at Vegas marked mostly by some thoroughly ridiculous dancing by, of course, me.

A few of us wound up at Michelle's flat afterwards and had it been summer, the sun would have been coming up by the time I walked home. A good night!

On Sunday I had a burger. That was it.