So much for a quiet weekend. I managed to escape the carpark without being impounded on Friday night - my offering of record tokens to my saviour, St. Stephen of the Mags' having been duly delivered and obviously favourably accepted. So then I sped down the motorway towards Shuddersfield to be greeted by a freshly run bath and the promising smell of good grub cooked by the fair hand of even fairer-tipped haired Nige ( pre-Christmas dinner date who had gallantly invited me to Texas for NYE and then promptly disappeared into the ether that is my dating life).

I thought I was relatively quick in the bathroom and even dried my hair without the aid of a mirror ( sure sign that I wasn't all that keen to impress). Food was served, conversation ensued and he made a point of kissing me. Pleasant evening, impressive dvd collection, nice house, stunning countryside, kicked myself when I realised half-way down the road the following day that I'd left my jacket and would be compelled to return at some point.

I had a couple of options on Saturday night - 40th birthday party in Dullthorpe, or my sofa - I chose option 3 as soon as I heard that Jack's match the following day had been cancelled and turned my car back the whence it had came towards Leeds. Hugely indulgent dinner with Lol, Tim Laden and his Germanic friend, and an earlyish, comparatively sober night rounded off by exploiting Lol's philosophy shelf as I dulled myself to sleep.

I was surprised to receive a call from Jack just as I was heading into the loos at the rugby club, anticipating my breakfast, coffee and some banter about my jig efforts, he'd overslept and not made it further than his bathroom so the day was unexpectedly freed to enjoy a late lunch with Rachel, Bacon Bits and a godson who had developed a strange foreign accent every time he disappeared out of sight.

I intended to come straight home and vegetate on the sofa but got waylaid by a family party at Marko's sister's - it must be 10 years since I last did that- the kids have grown, the girls suddenly find Jack extremely interesting, and I just amaze at how they don't seem the slightest bit different but I seem to have aged and spread enormously.

I was almost as grateful as Jack when Marko gave him his black and white wristband to arrive back to the sanctity of my lounge, to collapse, turn off the phone, watch the final episode of Fingersmith ( I've read the book so it mattered not that I'd missed the sandwich filling) and steel myself for my first full week in work since this year commenced.