It’s been a good weekend; the exact kind that leaves a man in the long dark tea-time of the soul on Sunday evening, and in the recently blogged-up age, he finds himself pontificating on the Internet rather than re-reading the papers.

Friday was an attempt at drinking with the pagans on Primrose Hill; sadly, though, it seems that the pagans are actually waiting for the Solstice on Monday rather than celebrating early on the Friday (evidently pagans don’t have an issue with a Tuesday morning hangover). Still, Gemma was on stirling form and coaxed and cajoled us all into night time frisbee, and we polished off a bottle of Pimms and adventured home through the park; a very satisfactory evening.

Saturday saw Matt and Damian warming their house; another great evening, this one characterised by cold grolsch being poured on my head (SHTOP! I’m not ready yet!) and ice-cold sambuca from frozen shot glasses. And Darby being a bad influence (Do me a favour – we go way back – what kind of a friend are you – sss s sss sss sss).

Sunday, Lisa did us proud by getting 13 of us a table at a great Dim Sum restaraunt (Phoenix Palace), where we had one of the best lunches I’ve had in recent memory for the very affordable eight-fitty each. I wish I spoke Chinese sometimes…

Now, I’ve blogged myself to exhaustion and am going to collapse and dream of pale blue scrubs…