Apart from TM's amiable demise

(if that doesn't sound too oxymoronic), last week was blissfully quiet. I have absolutely no recollection of what I did most days, and generally that's a good sign - presumably nothing went badly awry.

One notably excellent event was the mini dinner party Ash and I threw in her flat on Sunday evening. She cooked while I whisked, chopped and drank and despite a huffy oven that switched itself off as soon as we gave our attention to something else, everything came together rather nicely. The guests were on excellent form and I happily slid into the role of Inappropriate Comment Boy (sorry, Lisa!). The night wound down after a mercifully small number of Dubrovniks - I'd had quite enough by that point - and I slept the sleep of the plastered. Good times.

The preparation of the Trøll for next week's Nürburgring insanity is now almost complete. While being re-tyred at ludicrous expense, I asked them to check the exhaust - it was sounding a little loud, and I was curious to see if there was a hole that could be patched up.

There was a hole alright. There were three of them, and the silencer was on the verge of falling off completely. Another £200 later and I'd managed to increase the car's value by half in a single afternoon. I did get a free DVD of The Italian Job with the tyres, and it conspicuously didn't reduce their cost by one penny.

So now, post haircut (I said: "Can you just shorten the sides and the back a bit; they're a bit long," and he heard: "Turn me into King of the Mods!"), we're almost ready to rock. Hopefully Ash can travel to the continent without being summarily deported and hopefully the car won't spontaneously catch fire. Wish us luck!