What a rather bizarre day!

We woke up at about midday, had some breakfast and tidied Jon's flat. After that, we hopped into Mildred to head up to London (well, Essex really) to take Nicola home.

Just as I was pulling out of Newbury, I received a phone called from some guy called Ian Gomeche claiming to be an 'investigative journalist' (although he didn't seem particularly adept at investigating) writing an exposé on Dodgy Steve! Remarkably, he seemed more interested in my "sordid fairy lifestyle" than anything concerning Steve, save that I might've slept with him. He kept us occupied up the motorway (a few phone calls round people revealed him to be little more than a nuisance caller) so I entertained Nicola and myself for the most part by playing with him a little bit.

I dropped Nicola at Chez Drew to find Jon looking a little disoriented and hung over. Alas, in my decision to stay in Newbury for the weekend, I missed Liam being duct-taped to the side of his van with no clothes, save for an inflatable sheep over his genitalia. One of the stag party decided that DJ Dave at one of the pubs should be told it was a stag night for Liam and Barry's gay marriage, so they were subjected to plentiful Communards throughout the evening.

When I'd said my goodbyes, I headed over to Scott and Owen's for dinner, only to receive another phone call from my new mysterious admirer enquiring whether I knew Scott or not. It was all we could do to stop ourselves from descending into fits of giggles. Our investigative journalist seems to have little staying power as it would appear I can amuse myself with the conversations for longer than he can. I think he keeps on running out of things to say so just hangs up after five minutes or so of taunting. A later mail check revealed a handful of bizarre emails apparently penned with the sole purpose of keeping us smiling until we got round to watching Buffy - which despite the budget was nowhere near as entertaining.

He seems fascinated by the diary, almost in an obsessive way. Amongst the shirt lifting abuse (I'd be offending my school peers if I said it reminded me of the insults I received at school) were a couple of guarded complimentary references to my culinary skills. Bless the little cutesie poppet!

Attentions have now moved from an obsession with my relationship with Steve and jrg (as if!) to a genuine unhealthy News of the Screws desire to unearth "the truth of my relationship with Steven (sic)." Popped Stephen an email just so he was on the case.