I think I’ve made more hollow promises in my life, especially in the last few years compared with the number of promises that I’ve actually kept. One of my biggest failings is a promise made on the occasional Thursday morning, the sort that is made after a late night at XXL, some three four hours sleep and goes along the lines of “I’m not doing that again.” Like all promises, this one is particularly made to be broken, crushed and annihilated.

Wednesday afternoon was a funny one and by 5pm I was beginning to climb the wall with frustration. Some of that was reserved for the fact I couldn’t legitimately cut and run, the rest was down to a sense of an under-satiated libido. After perusing some of the darker sides of the internet in an attempt to ascertain what was new to the SW1 area, I fell back on older habits and decided to pay Brompton Cemetery a visit. But on the way, I walked past the Queen’s Head and having wandered past so many times before, I thought that I’d finally call in just to check it out. As my intelligence has reported in the past, it’s made up of a predominantly older clientele but there were some Chelsea boys patronising the venue, their plumy accents cutting through the air like a serrated knife. It’s the living, breathing stereotype I object to – it’s just…horrible to be proven right at times.

So after a quick bottle of Franks, a bit of being stared at like a packet of bacon at a Weight Watcher’s meeting I was on my way again. Alas I had forgotten just how to get to West Brompton and relied heavily on the iPhone map to direct me, going down streets I’d definitely never seen before. I came out at the Troubadour restaurant next door to what was the Coleherne. Infinity was shut and clearly had been shut for a while although there was some life upstairs – it’s a shame because it is in such a good location and West London is starved of entertainments. But it was 7.45 when I got there and didn’t fancy my chances given the closing times stated on the website – correct.

Rather than hang around and consider my options, the call of London Underground beckoned and I took a train back home restarting another game of Starfox (I still cannot seem to access the bloody “hard” Venom because of the awkwardness of the 3DS control system). After I got home, I ate…something – oh, one of those cheap Tesco bags of salad + a sammich and then ran a bath. It was only then that I decided I wanted to go out in search of company so threw on some clothes and headed down towards London Bridge. Scored once, fended off unwelcome advances at least half a dozen times but went home at 2.30am.

In some respects, it was a big mistake as I had two meetings yesterday which the urge to fall asleep was extremely difficult to resist. In fact, there was definite eye closure in the second of the two meetings but in my defense, the main speaker did have such a dull presentational manner that I defy even the most hardened insomniac to remain awake. Dragged my heels in the usual walk home but hopped on the tube at Marble Arch just so I could sit down. After spending money on a bunch of yellow stickered items in Sainsbury’s, I arrived home, cooked some beans and watched three episodes of Bad Girls back to back – this is what passes for a relaxing evening at home for me these days.

So that’s the last two days in a nutshell – forward look time. And there’s not much planned in the next few days. There’s a drinks thing this evening and a birthday party tomorrow, neither of which hold any particular interest but that’s more my attitude rather than a reflection on the two events. And having paid my rent and looked at my bank balance, I really don’t think I can afford to attend either event – I might put in an appearance for appearances sake but could leave after one. Sometimes one really has to rue being paid on the last working day of the month.

Had a bizarre dream last night which I challenge anyone to interpret – I was in the kitchen at home and that fat black and white cat which prowls around outside got into my house. Unfortunately it was too slow and I was able to grab it and carry out of oft-threat to give it a bath. But the damn thing died as soon as it hit the water and then in a really surreal twist, it shrivelled up and turned into a pepper mill. So I tossed it over the fence next door. I didn’t think baked beans could have such an effect on sleep but there we go. A quick look at an online dream dictionary says that the dream could be indicative of a problem or issue I have with cats. Bah, talk about the obvious.