The weekend, The Running Man, Tuesday.

After a slightly stressful Friday evening maniacally tabbing contract documents where the person who'd set it up hadn't bothered to name any of the layers, I escaped about half seven to meet friends in the Theatre Bar on Charing Cross Road, for Kay's Birthday.

We had a few drinks, then ducked out when everyone went for karaoke. Sorry, but I just can't go for that, even if they do have Hall and Oates.

Saturday met up with Ben at the corporation in Shoreditch, who was over from Ireland to see his gran. Alright place the corporation. Interestingly shaped first floor bar, anyway. It was very busy, and there seemed to be quite a few lesbians there, though not the lipstick sort who write advice columns for mens magazines such as Loaded.

Wound up at It's bigger than, where we were regaled with a set of squidgy house by a DJ in a trucker cap. I couldn't be bothered shelling out for the after party, so caught the 35 home. A couple of my housemates were up, and I sat with them for a while in Marv's room. He managed to get an inky oil paint fingerprint on my Adidas jacket when giving me a drunken hug, which is the second item of clothing of mine he's managed 'clart up' in as many weeks, along with my Stussy shirt he splattered with red wine just before New Year *sighs* "Ma-arv..".

On Sunday went round to Helen's new place in Brixton for dinner, which Will cooked. We popped out for a drink at the pub round the corner – The Effra, which is one of those places you would probably never stumble across if you didn't live locally or get taken there, sitting as it does just off the beaten track. Interesting mixed crowd and gloriously down-at-heels pubby-ness. Dan Sarabji was over from Cypress, which he's planning on leaving soon for Paris, having decided to leave the Archeological profession. There are only so many things to dig up, in so many ways, it would seem.

Watched Verrhoven's 'The Running Man' last night, which I always enjoy. There's something crudely effective about his films, a streak of visceral nastiness he doesn't attempt to disguise, and rather glories in instead. It pushes buttons for me. Big early nineties ones.

Tuesday now. London's rush hour traffic is back up to speed, or lack of, and now costs more than ever to participate in. The servers are down at work. All of them. Which isn't really surprising as this is the land that IT forgot. This sort of gives me an excuse to wander round the internet, idling away the hours, but I'm also aware that there's loads of work lurking in the wings, which I'll just have less time to do – or more time to do in the evening, which in spite of overtime, I can't really be bothered with right now.

Film night tonight, which the Sun and Doves website tells me is a Jean-Pierre Melville film, Le Doulos. I may go, or might be working on Point of Sale. Couldn't really say, though I know what I'd prefer to be doing.

Anyway. Anyone got any tips for removing oil paint stains from acrylic sportswear? Answers on a postcard to the usual address..