Friday 3rd September

Today at work is an absolute packet of bollocks (to quote Malcolm Tucker) as everything that ends up in my inbox is not only a total distraction from the things I'm supposed to be getting on with but also a major hassle involving dealing with some of the people I least like dealing with. I hit frustrating dead ends all day and cop some flack for mistakes that were never mine. It's infuriating - and luckily K promises me a hug when I get home (even though it'll have to wait as she's going out to meet a friend tonight). After two nights out in a row, though, I'm more keen on a night in with a couple of cans and idly watching the England game.

However, I get home with my tinned Friday night entertainment and have a chat on the phone with K - who makes it clear that in fact rather than meeting just one friend tonight, she is in fact off to one of my favourite pubs to meet a bunch of our mutual friends. Still not intending to go out, I have a little fun by pretending to be horrified not to have been invited out - and announce that I will be recording a video statement to put on YouTube, telling the world how hard done by I am. We get off the phone, and foolishly I decide that it actually would be fun to record said YouTube clip - so I sit in front of the mirror and spout sulky messages to my fiancee while filming it on my phone. Is this a normal thing for someone to be doing at home, on their own, on a Friday night? It's very hard to be sure. The clip is out there somewhere, as grim evidence.

Having wasted some time faffing around with YouTube, the football starts on ITV1 as England begin their Euro 2012 qualifying campaign again Bulgaria at Wembley. Spirits are, as the limp World Cup performance guaranteed, not particuarly high - but England start brightly and take the lead after only a couple of minutes. They look far more inspired than they ever did in South Africa and go on to win 4-0 thanks to a Jermain Defoe hat-trick and a solid performance by Joe Hart; who is so comfortable in goal for England that it seems ridiculous that we were even talking about David James and Robert Green for the World Cup, much less selecting them.

I sink a couple more beers in front of the football and catch up with a bit of blog writing, after which I decide to put on Beverly Hills Cop, one of my favourite films of all time and part of one of the three 80s/90s Holy Trilogies (Back to the Future and Die Hard being the others, of course) of thoroughly enjoyable cinema. I also decide to tweet a little commentary while watching - hopefully providing some entertainment to whichever of my followers are online at the time and proving beyond doubt the fact that I have no capacity to entertain myself in a reasonable fashion.

K gets home shortly after midnight, steaming drunk, and lies on the sofa regaling me with stories of her night out - at which point I play her my grumpy YouTube video (which thankfully raises a giggle rather than anger or mere pity) and go straight to bed.