Ah! Sunday afternoon and I am nursing a particularly evil hangover. Why do us brits feel the need to drink an ocean when a small pond would suffice?, the curse of northern european culture I guess.

I am on a flying visit to my hometown (Ramsgate, Kent) to see the folks, catch up with a few straggling mates who haven't quite made it to London yet and to drink myself into oblivion - and I've achieved all three in under 24 hours, fantastic!!!

My life seems to be following its tail - I'm approaching 27 and doing most of the same things as I did at 21! which is quite a good thing really as the thought of quiet evenings in, a dog, a cat and 2.4 children is really rather frightening.

I am also sitting here wondering how a very good friend of mine's evening out on the pull went last night?, another 26 year old doing the things she did at 21 (or should I say 'doing things' that are 21? hmmmmmmmm!).

Somehow, the thought of a 100 mile drive back to my South London pad is not a prospect I am currently relishing. At least the Sunday roast my mother is lovingly preparing should hold me in good stead - there comes a point when spag bol or chili con carne become a somewhat tiresome choice of Sunday afternoon fayre.

Until later then, keep chasing rainbows y'all.