The following day we went out for a drive. We ended up in Portsmouth where some vague Jeans shopping was attempted. Of course, the size nazis were in force and there was nothing to be found. We managed to wander round an entire outlet shopping mall and we even bought some sweets. Hang on, that's not quite the best plan for weight loss to beat the size nazis, but what the hell... the calories feel good in the short term.

If I've not mentioned the size nazis for a while, and I know I haven't, then I should briefly explain. The size nazis are the people who look at what size I am and then remove all clothes of that size from shops. Or, if they're feeling particularly vindictive, they relabel clothes of the lower size at my size and then watch me suffer as I struggle to get into something which, according to its label, should be too big for me. It's very frustrating and it's a punishment for obesity.

After our day out, I had to head back to Newcastle. I was leaving my girlfriend behind as she was preparing to go to Glastonbury. We were to face one of the longest periods of separation in our relationship so far. This was not something I was looking forward to, but I'm a big boy now and I can look after myself for a few days.

I drove back home up north in what I termed, at the time, weird weather. It turned out that the torrential rain actually managed to wash away a small Yorkshire village, and flood various places. Some friends of mine were doing a gig in a basement Durham when "the waters came". It's a good job they were on bar stools! Weird!

As I drove, I noticed that the debate on Chortle, about whether I am some sort of comedy Pariah, was pootling on without me. There's only one thing worse than being talked about, and that's being bitched about by a bunch of disgruntled fuckwits who have no respect for anyone and dare not even put their real name to their ramblings. I'm not bitter, though. I feel like I'm building up some sort of a head of steam in my comedic career.