Saturday

Saturday starts at a relaxed pace with a sensible breakfast and some light pottering. There are vague plans to tidy the house but neither of us can really be bothered so we head out to Sainsbury's to do the big shop, making sure to get back for 12.45, whereupon I crouch in front of my iPhone and watch Manchester Utd v Chelsea on Sky Sports 1. Since signing up for Sky Mobile TV a few weeks ago I have yet to see Chelsea win on this tiny screen (including the second leg of the tie against Inter Milan and the horrendous 4-2 home defeat by Manchester City) so hopes are not high. However, Chelsea manage a first half performance that involves completely outplaying United at Old Trafford, punctuated by a lovely little backheeled goal from Joe Cole. The second half is more tense and United grow in influence - but after goals from Drogba and Macheda the game finishes 2-1 to Chelsea; the curse of the iPhone broken and the Blues on top of the league, with the prospect of winning the title firmly in their hands.

As punishment for watching the football, however, the hoover comes out and we make a good go of cleaning the house up. It's rather satisfying to get it done, in the end, and always nicer to spend time in.

As the evening rolls round, K and I finish watching season one of Mad Men and I have a couple of lagers - in preparation for Andy and his girlfriend's 'proper' leaving do tonight. I head into Soho for 7 o'clock and am pleased to find Andy and various other people arriving at exactly the same time - accompanied by my old friend Tim, who I haven't seen for months since he's been travelling around the globe. The bar (the same Andy and I ended up at on Thursday night) is a weird place to be at 7pm - it's dark, loud and serves only cocktails and expensive bottled beers. I don't have a lot of money and after a couple of bottles it's 8.30 and I already feel like going home. However, given that Tim and I have plenty of catching up to do and the fact that he has a bottle of Bell's whisky in his pocket, we take the decision to head outside for a proper chat, during which we stand sipping whisky on Old Compton Street watching Saturday night go by. It's not the classiest bit of drinking I've ever done, but it does the job and it's nice to catch up with the old boy.

By 10.30, however, the bar is rammed, I'm out of money and I'm getting unpleasant flashbacks to unhappy nights out at university (mainly because most of the same people who were there are also here) so I say a few select goodbyes and meander home to catch the end of Match of the Day.