The Hate All Men stage

Wednesday night - Out to dinner with Keryn. Dinner was 2 bottles of wine and a small bowl of patatas bravas. The waiter winkedat me as he served the calamari. Think I loudly rubbished all men, and then volunteered to join a triathlon team.

Thursday – after work drinks. Met an Aussie guy that moved to London and shagged some girl so he could stay at her place rent free, but then dumped her for another girl who loved closer to his tube line. What kind of man is that? Believe I told him what I thought of that, so not winning any friends in the office. Of course, his boss is a woman and he's doing pretty well at the firm. 'You give me a raise and I'll give you one.'

Friday – bizarre. Was on way to gym, but ended up in pub. Next thing I know I'm in a hip hop bar called Trash and Treasure in Brick Lane. There is a rumour that David Hasselhoff is in the pub. Excellent hiphop but lots of bad bald geezers in flouro dancing like it'sManchester 1990.

Met a girl that had been to an Advertising Firm's Asian themed party and got a t-shirt made up that said 'Ming Vase', but due to a printing error the t-shirt actually said 'Minge Vase'. This is why copywriters and sub-editors are important!

Jumped in a minicab home with a short Indian man called Harsh, who tried to kiss me goodbye and I spun around so fast to avoid it that I smashed my head on the car door. His name means 'the one who brings love and gifts to the village of Arshta' – but not to the town of Putney.

Saturday – horrendous hen's booze up from hell – all day at Brighton. Got told by some obese whiskey nosed geezer that I look exactly like someone's sister – except she's prettier. "I mean, you're alright. But this girl is really pretty. I mean hot." Thanks mate. And you look like Rodney Dangerfield, except more decrepit.

The bride to be gets horrendous text message from fiancé stag saying 'I don't hate you but…' (what an opening) 'you are on the brink of losing me'. Spend night hugging her and telling her she's awesome and men are rubbish.

Decided that by the time my hen's night comes up, all the hens will have zimmerframes and dementia.

Return to London at 1am. End up stranded in city due to train strike, with girl from work who tells me about the end of her long distance relationship (LDR), and how she thinks about it. Everyday. Every minute. 'When was that?', '10 years ago'. She is now a bitter mid-30's chain-smoking lush with a voice like a gurgling ashtray. So there is hope for me.