I’ve spent the last couple of days taking advantage of my briefish stay in the UK to catch up with a couple of billion pieces of admin that were hard to sort from outside of +44.

Banks, credit cards, tax, phones – all are now either sorted or well on the way, which makes me feel a lot better, in the way that I imagine accountants must feel every day of their lives, right up until the day they commit suicide.

But the downside to this is that a fairly important deadline which I was supposed to have lashed down by this time yesterday, remains flapping in the wind.

And so I only have a couple of minutes while another pot of coffee warms to bash out today’s blog post – meaning that once again I’m going to have to resort to the twat’s trick of reblogging something someone else has said about me. Sorry about that.

A few days ago, the lovely Emma Mulqueeny emailed me to ask (and I quote) “can I offer you for supper at Adam Street on my blog?”

Now – as you can imagine, that caught my attention. Me? For supper? Either that meant that she was actually going to offer me as meat for some cannibalistic ritual being held at London’s premier entrepreneurs’ members club; or she meant that people were going to be invited to compete for the – um – honour of having supper with me. Either way sounded bizarre.

I was in.

And so… if you’d like a free supper, and don’t mind sitting opposite me while you have it, then click here and tell Emma why on earth.

(My current favourite is John who answered “because then I’ll know I’ve hit rock bottom.” Unfortunately John is disqualified because he sounds like a cunt works in marketing.)

Ok, back to it. My neck hurts.