Where do we go from here, is it down to the lake I fear?

Miserable weather today.

It makes me feel grumpy just looking at the grey sky.

I spend the evening round at Stewart’s. The sweetheart has cooked a roast dinner, which given how arsey I was to him on text earlier in the day I almost certainly don’t deserve.

Accompanying the meal a little wine perhaps? No, tonight it's Lucozade for him and water for me. Now I know my diet coke habit puts me on dodgy moral ground here, but surely it’s not good to drink 12 bottles of Lucozade in the course of a weekend is it?

We’re both knackered, but get sucked into watching Bands Reunited on VH1, until late. Basic premise: pick an 80’s band that has long since disbanded, track down the members, hijack them on their doorsteps, find out what they’ve been up to and try and persuade them all to meet up and possibly do a one-off gig for fans.

It’s car crash TV. A fascinating glance at what happens once fame has left and how people react to having it come back calling out of the blue. Some are keen to meet up with old friends, some never want to meet again, some are eager to experience once more the high of performing to adoring fans and some still feel cheated and exploited and don’t want to go there again, or at least not on someone else’s terms.

I’m blaming this trash TV watching and the Lucozade overload as being the catalysts for Stewart trying to engage me in incoherent, sleepy, conversation about Haircut 100 at 5.40am when I’m trying to sleep.