I am hungover as a bastard, and don't quite remember all of last night.
The Doctor took me to the World's Most Photographed exhibition, and there was a pint of beer and quite a lot of wine and even a vodka martini involved. Really am getting too old for this. Hangovers should not last into the afternoon. Though I have somehow acquired an umbrella.
There were lots of interesting snaps - including one of Adolf Hitler looking a bit of a knob in his lederhosen, and an extraordinary one of Muhammad Ali as St Sebastian. That said, the Greta Garbo ones all looked much of a muchness to a philistine like me, and all from one brief period at the height of her career.
The cat has been sympathising with my delicate state this morning. Just a moment ago he snuck in from the garden with another toad. The little sod.
I am now halfway through a bottle of coke and in the midst of some Christmas stories. The authors should get announced in the next issue of Dr Who Magazine - in about a fortnight - so I'll not name names just yet. Though I notice there's a blog or two dropping the subtlest of hints. Tut.
Oh, and blimey, London is going to host the Olympics. Bugger. Probably means lots of work for me to do tomorrow.