Friday 13th August

Georgie is back in the office today after her trip to Edinburgh, and immediately her tales from the Festival are making me jealous. Once again I umm and ahh about booking a train for the Bank Holiday weekend, and again bring up the prices of the trains online. K encourages me via email (probably with her own Mat-free ulterior motives) and I text my brother Jim (who happens to live in Edinburgh) to see if he'll be free over the weekend in question. Annoyingly, he doesn't text back for the rest of the day and I'm left with the prospect of reconsidering the wisdom of such a trip tomorrow.

This evening, K goes to meet her friend Jess in a pub after work, with vague plans that I should come and meet them and some other friends in Crouch End later on. I have a quick dinner and a can of Kronenbourg left over from Wednesday while watching a couple of episodes of Louis C.K.'s brilliant new sitcom Louie, which I downloaded earlier in the week. It's not long before I'm feeling a little left out and lonely, so I call K and make sure it's OK for me to come up to the pub. I walk over to Crouch End and meet K and Jess in The Maynard, before eventually heading to The King's Head, where Ant, Rich, Nick, Ellie and her boyfriend Mike Boyfriend have been drinking for quite some time. We're a few behind the group and while I eagerly play catch-up I never quite feel comfortable, instead getting bloated and a bit sick, rather than drunk. I have a nice chat with Mike Boyfriend about my sort of pet subject – Soviet-era football – something I'm rarely able to do in this group of footballing ignoramuses.

Before it gets too late, K and I head towards home and she insists on getting something to eat. I'm not particularly hungry what with having had time to get dinner before drinking, but we soon find ourselves in KFC, with K opting for some new chicken wrap thing called an iTwist (because putting a small “i” in front of something guarantees that you are buying an oh-so-2010 product). It actually looks quite nice on the poster – but I'm a Fully Boxed man myself, not that I can face ordering one just at the moment. Carrying her meagre dinner past the frightening teenagers of Crouch End KFC, we finally make our way home.