Listening to: Melting Pot (The Charlatans)
Isn't it: noisy down south?
"Sorry mate, won't be about this weekend after all - going to London."
I have that effect on people.
I had been due to spend an evening in the company of my old chum Grantham New Town's Reg Pither. We'd planned a few beers, some heavily spiced food and then back to his to gather around the gramaphone to listen to Now That's What I Call Oompah Music 36.
Then the text came. A bit of a blow, but the pig "farmer" bounced back and, rather than wander the streets of Wolverhampton sobbing "why, Reg, why?" I called Mr and Mrs W and I'm now cosily tucked up aboard HMS Ark Royal, the only sofa visible from outer space.
I also caught up with some old pals. Big Danny, Little Dave and Medium Jim reminded me just how much fun I could be having if I was still working as an evening newspaper hack. Later I have a feeling I invited everyone in the Combemere Arms to spend the rest of the summer on Westray - may have cause to regret that one.
So, despite at least seven pints of Guinness and a Chinese lemon chicken, I'm remarkably perky and the day is my own until I meet my 15-year-old at 6pm.
What shall I do?