2003-04-14 - 4:13 p.m.

I�m only writing this from work to stop myself blacking out on my keyboard, the after-effects of a weekend in Haarlem and Amsterdam still coursing through my body like so much cheap, strong Dutch lager.

Haarlem was visited on the premise that it might be a �bit less hectic�, but given the fact that the only way for thirteen guys who�ve never really met before to get over the social awkwardness is to drink like they�ve got guns to their heads, it didn�t really stem the tide much. We spent some time in Amsterdam(age), of course. It�s the kind of city where you feel a bit out of place unless within minutes of arriving at the station you�re injecting lab strength ketamine into your eyeballs whilst being noshed off by a gaggle of strung-out floozies and waiting for all your internal passages to prolapse. We contented ourselves with alcohol in a variety of forms and looking at the prostitutes in the windows, because, hey, that�s what tourists do in Amsterdam. Families, old people, coach parties of minor Cardinals from the Vatican City � they�re all there having a gander, just because you can. Needless to say, it�s about as exciting and erotic as steaming broccoli, but you go anyway.

Sleep was decidedly absent from the agenda, as was any kind of alcoholic restraint, so naturally today I feel like my internal organs have been replaced during the night with those of a forty year old chimpanzee who�s spent all his life being experimented on in a secret government booze and cheap continental cigarettes laboratory. Considering most stag parties are one step below a troupe of silverback gorillas in terms of levels of testosterone and social grace, it was a friendly and harmonious mix, though there was one chap whose only means of communication seemed to be through reciting huge swathes of dialogue from various comedy programmes. Maybe it was a medical condition. OK, now I have to concentrate on not blacking out whilst in charge of a publication.