The Copenhagen Choir

So I've done my first work trip away. A lack of sleep and beer on the company expense account; all in all, quite a success and good fun. There wasn't a lot going on that I didn't expect: too many people fretting over minor points; I work well with late nights and very badly in the morning; beer tastes better after a long day's work; free minibars are brilliant; air conditioning leaves your eyes drier than a desert. The best night out – the last (obviously) – involved everyone in the team embarrassing themselves in the karaoke bar. Not that we all sung, just that some of us (clearly not me) revealed rather too much of their knowledge of Meat Loaf, Britney and Take That lyrics. Still, if you have no shame it doesn't really matter.

The week before that, I was embarrassing myself in Duckie thanks to The Boy. It's all well and good, but going south of the river, with its feral population and smell of decay, is always a worry. And almost two hours home on the night bus just spurs me on further to pay off my debts and be able to afford a cab. Having said that, it was a rare pleasure to have a long night out on less than £20 (expense accounts notwithstanding). I'll try and do the same this Friday when I have a considerably less camp night out at Northern Boy's leaving do in London's Drug (and Tourist)-Addled Camden (home, unsurprisingly, of The Boy).

The further emptiness of my life is shown by the fact that the only other thing I've done in the past couple of weeks is start another season of 11-a-side football, for which I am woefully underprepared and unfit. But we won, so I can get fit before the next match. Meh.