2002-07-08 - 3:07 p.m.

The last seven days have felt like an onslaught on all fronts, and if there�s one word to describe them, it would have to be �unrelentingly, buttock-clenchingly and sometimes terrifyingly crapulent.� OK, seven words. But lessons have been learned, namely that I�m perhaps the world�s worst �wing man� when it comes to perusing bars for women of the opposite gender, that honesty is something much missing from most personal relationships, and that three straight days of having Oasis blasting out about 3 yards from your front window must surely come close to contravening the Geneva Convention � isn�t this the way the US Government ends particularly stubborn sieges with psychotic religious cults?

In three hours I have to interview a vaguely famous person � UK people will understand who I mean if I say �floppy-haired frontman of the Abbey National commercials� � do you take the Hicksian line and lambast him for endorsing corporate banking culture, or just accept that he could buy and sell you with a toss of his lustrous curls and stick to the merits of his latest play? Naturally I�m hoping that this whole episode will be quickly usurped in fame terms next week when I wake up in the Montreal hotel suite of Ms J**nene Garof*l* wearing nothing but some pink furry handcuffs and a smile. Those who have requested autographs / tissue samples, I�ll do my bestest.

Two things: Would anyone care to design me a cool invitation to my (ahem) 30th birthday party? The theme is �bacchanalian excess in every conceivable vice�, or something. PLUS, is anyone a good caricaturist or illustrator � we need someone to do ten pictures of our �obituary characters� so that we can start hitting the publishers. Untold riches could await or, more likely, at least a few polite rejection letters.

Best line from �Raising Arizona� last night:

Man buying balloons: Do these balloons blow up into funny shapes and stuff?

Old shopkeep: No. Unless �round� is funny.