Three posts in a row - I'm going great guns here. Just shows what a soul-sapping dead-end job can do for you.

Anyway, I have been worrying all day about what to write for today's entry. Nothing one might call even remotely noteworthy has happened so far, and at the turn of every corner, at the opening of every door, I have hoped beyond hope to encounter some incident, or accident, or paranormal phenomenon. Alas, my hopes have been in vain. Unless, in the next ten seconds or so, something truly astonishing happens...

Give it time...

Nope. Nothing truly astonishing happened. A man did walk past the office, but he was unremarkable in almost every way possible. Remarkable, you might say, in his unremarkableness, but no, I can't get away with that, really, can I?

So last night: well, cleaned the flat. Watched University Challenge. Got, in fact, several questions right, including the following:

How many astronomical units is Pluto from the Sun?
How many astronomical units does Voyager travel in a year?

It was the astronomical units round. I got them both right. Even I, hampered by modesty, must admit that's pretty goddamn impressive. The answers, if you're interested, are 40 and 3. And they dared to give me an E in Physics A-Level. Ha - if only they could see me now.

A large proportion of today has been spent organising the plans for New Year. One has to organise these things, you see, otherwise one ends up wandering around with no clear direction, and ends up having a rubbish evening, culminating in a riotous, joyous celebration in which you are the only one spitting bile and hatred into the throng. Nobody wants that. So I'm going to York. As usual. I highly recommend it, actually, having been a stalwart New Yearer in that vicinity for many years. Busy, but not London-busy. Parochial, but not Littlehampton-parochial. And at about quarter to midnight, it's a beautiful sight to see the revellers emerge from the pubs, only a minority doused in their own vomit, and head towards the glittering lights of the Minster where, at the stroke of twelve the plangent chords of Auld Lang Syne fill the chilly air, the exhilirating pops and fizzes of Champagne corks spike the darkness, and drunken louts such as myself run around trying to kiss as many girls as possible, safe in the knowledge that, hey, it's New Years Eve, and there's not a damn thing they can do about it.

Sounds like fun, eh? Anybody want to come along, let me know.

Well, I think I'm out. Twenty minutes till home time, and the welcoming environs of Surrey Quays await me. I will endeavour to make sure that something exciting happens on the way home. Watch this space...