We moved Tor this morning, this beautiful morning - everything is coming to a close, tapering off to a relieving end. I was going to make a cheap analogy but I'm sure some of you will be able to make that one for yourselves.

I think the dish known as divorce should not be cooked for more than two months. Advice generally offered to those getting divorced never includes how long it should take. Two months, give yourself two months and let it all go, in one tapering relieving end.

Yesterday was Manuela's birthday. She invited a group of her friends to a bar in Clapham for drinks and a curry. I still had a gift that Mike sent back from Venice for her so I thought accepting the invitation would be a good opportunity to finally hand it over. As usual Manuela had a fantastically strange mélange of people there. There was a slick French sales consultant who thought London was a very friendly city and didn't like Paris. Three hair-cutting queens from South Africa provided light relief. There was an engineer who's speciality was sugar, he worked in a sugar refining factory and was able to tell me in great detail about the chemistry of sugar, how they extract it, cook it, crystalize it, pack it and sell it. The twist to his tale was that technically it wasn't sugar, although it has the same chemical make up, it has been extracted from wheat and is then subject to a fantastic chemical process. Don't ask me, I was nodding and smiling letting my thoughts pour into the pint glass in my hand.

The sugarman's wife was instantly taken by the three queens. She was a petit blonde with short hair and elvish features. In amongst the queens, she looked like Tinkerbell with the ugly sisters.

There was a group of quite mad Danes there. I took an instant liking to them, the Danes are fantastic, the Danes got the humour gene, of Scandinavia at least. They set the pace for drinking, which was hardly surprising, and that was fun. We spoke about wine, beer and malt whiskey, I was pleased to hear the Danish girl who could have been Hagar's daughter trying to order a Highland Park. No doubt no one got their Highland Park.

I got to bed late, and drunk. At 3:30 I felt a terrible pain on my arm and in the dark I saw something and began frantically flailing and brushing and in the panic I tried to stand up. Still pissed and half asleep I stumbled and grabbed on to the darkness for support. I found the sofa and sat on it, switched on the side lamp and saw the wasp. In the confusion I was trying to get to the light to see of there was a sting that needed removing, but the wasp claimed the lamp as its territory and seemed to be offended when I tried to get close. The wee bugger stung me in my sleep. I rolled up a newspaper and it took me half a drunken hour to successfully swat him, dead.

I went back to sleep and set off into a wonderful dream. I was at a party when the saucy Shell from the telly got closer and her curly blonde hair, deep and gleaming sweet honey was draping itself on my shoulder - she leaned in and whispered into my ear that she loved my porno art. At that moment I was tapped awake by Tor telling me that the man with the van was here and I had to move heavy cases and boxes. That hurt. I'd just like to add that it's the first I've heard of my porno art.