I've barely had time to catch my breath this week let alone fill you in on my night out in Dullthorpe. It was great. I laughed a lot, I danced a bit, I didn't drink too much and I over-ordered at the Indian, as did everyone else. I could even have pulled if I'd wanted but I was having far too good a time.

So what has occupied my time so much that I haven't had chance to update you? Well! I've been mostly giving advice to handsome young men with concerns for their nether regions. It all started with Pixie Peter - he'd had a fab weekend with his new Caledonian Lady Love and was slightly concerned when a couple of days later he developed worrying symptoms which culminated in severe discomfort when visiting the toilet. I immediately signposted him to the GP clinic for anti-biotics with a short lecture on safe sex ( tongue in cheek the whole time).

I was very relieved to hear that it was nothing more serious than................................gallstones!

Gallstones! A 30 year old with gallstones?!! Have you ever heard the like - I almost wished it had been the Clap for his sake! - far cooler!

Then yesterday afternoon, I'm sitting minding my own business in my office when another friend turns up seeking warmth and sustenance in between appointments. I'd normally expect an in-depth discussion on the finer points of File Management, in fact I'd prefer it. I have absolutely no idea what led him to insist on revealing the minutiae of the 2 occasions that a leading condom manufacturer let him down. Do I look like Dr Ruth all of a sudden?

Maybe it's this flipping irritating dose of celibacy that I've been suffering from for the last few years that makes them feel safe enough to discuss these things with me - I must have finally become asexual. Let's hope my date on Sunday might just have a cure.