And it was all going so well...

Except that last night, I found myself in an empty house, and instead of doing the sensible thing and stretching out with a new book, I rang Maria to see if she fancied a pint. Despite being Ikead up to the eyeballs, Maria was keen - As soon as I get home I'll call you to come round, she said - and I've got a friend with me. With hindsight, there was a whiff of urgency about it.

As soon as I knocked on the door, Maria was out in a flash to the shop to get fags. I'd barely introduced myself to the friend, and within moments was knee deep in Maria's IKEA purchase pile and up to my neck in Avril's life story.

I couldn't possibly - but it can be tagged thus: love, death, police, ripper, fraud, fire, insurance, breakdown, harrassment, inspector, father, Gambia, gnome.

Avril is 62, she's an ex-cop, and she talks. Maria seemed to be smoking a great deal of dope - so out of loyalty I joined her. Avril didn't mind the green fug - she was hell bent on wringing the sweat from her life story, so I did the merciful thing and picked up the instruction booklet for the bathroom cabinet. Maria made her excuses to head out to the shop again. I know for sure, she nipped into the pub for a brief respite.

I've always maintained that Ikea holds the alum key to continued male domination - as long as we have flat pack furniture, women will never rule the world. Still, they were desperate moments at 10.30 last night, so I got started (the pic is proof). Avril carried on and Maria gazed into the middle distance.

Avril doesn't go home to Yorkshire till this evening, and she wants to get on the London Eye. Maria wants to get her new curtains up. I've done my bit, and smoked like a lunatic in the process.

I will now retire to the sofa with that book.