So much for a night of cerebral comedy and general telly visuals: J and I rocked up to Bristol on what might just be the train equivalent of a slow, miserable death before being unleashed into the rain with ten minutes to go, a mother of a taxi queue and drivers who said we had no chance of getting to Bath Road at all. So we thought "fuck it" and went and explored this rather lovely city - another one that reminds me of Strasbourg.

After looping through assorted streets, we ended up at the bottom of King's Street in a gorgeous Jacobean pub letting the rain fizzle off our clothes, supping ale and gin (not together - that would just be wrong) and, um, doing shorthand. Who says journo students don't know how to have fun eh?! Grabbed a very nice supper at a place called the Zee Bar (v pretty, but so empty that we felt not at all shabby) drank a bottle of wine and then toddled off to the train to head back to the Taf. Whereupon I found I'd left my keys at home. But of course. It meant I got to have a nice chat to the girls who live in the ground floor flat and then R got back from the flicks and let me in like an errant dog. Sleep, so much sleep, followed.

Tonight I am sitting on the sofa and doing sweet fa for at least three hours before going to bed. Hardcore is clearly not the word!