I'm looking for a sign and a haircut.

My hair has reached the point of no return. I can no longer show off the fringe without being blinded by it. This is what happens when you go nine months without a trip to the barbers. The little voice inside me is screaming "get a cut, you bum", but the other half of me is concerned I'll lose my sway with the prettier gender. That sounds a bit ridiculous, but I've enjoyed far greater pulling power with the mop than I ever did without it.

I'm gonna keep it for the good karma, regardless.

Respectfully, I can now say that I know what women mean by the term "morning hair". It's a terrible thing and it emasculates me to admit it, but I honestly dread how my mop's going to look come sunrise.

My first instinct when I wake up is to reach out daintily and survey the damage. Then I'll roll on to whichever side is worse in a last ditch attempt to flatten the waves before my alarm goes off.

My Mum's finding it impossible to wake me in the mornings. I pity her.

"Martin, are you up yet?"

"Come on, time to get up."

"Martin, it's half seven."

"MARTIN!"

"It's quarter to eight...are you awake?"

"...Martin? Are you even there?"

Then my bedroom door opens and I shoot my head off the pillow, nodding vigorously and giving it the best "been up since half six, I 'as". It fails miserably, of course.

My brother's girlfriend doesn't even have an alarm clock. She's simply woken by the sound of Mum trying to get me up. It's my own fault when I'm so late that I have to blow a tenner on a taxi to make it to work on time. But the hissy I throw! Jesus! You'd think that I'd been a victim of theft or something.

"Two-one, to the sheep shaggers! Two-one, to the sheep shaggers!"

A nice self-derogatory chant from the Swansea fans last weekend - as they took the lead. Don't mind me, just remembering with a smile.

I went to work with a massive crown today (...still talking about the hair). It was like the raging pineapple effect. Can't believe I didn't notice it before the sniggers on the tube. I say sniggers as if I heard them chatting about it. I didn't. But we all get a little paranoid in rush hour, don't we?

I'm living for the weekend at the moment. With a massive hangover from last night, a thinning wallet and a bad case of the snifflies, I'm feeling a bit blue. O'Neills, our likely destination for the Rugby World Cup Final, is the sort of bar where if you don't pull something, you might as well retire from the sharking business. So either the nose clears up, or some poor broad's gonna be taking a Monday sickie with my name all over it. That's assuming I can find the inspiration to actually care for cheap thrills.

I had so many opportunities to enjoy a fondle or two last night, but I've never felt so distant in a club. It was like some warped scene from an MTV video, fleeting from girl to girl with eyes only for the crowd. I'd like to think I was paying homage to Bunny Ain't No Kinda Rider.

Did anybody else get the incredible irony on Channel 4 tonight? I found myself watching the Dispatches documentary, "Searching for Madeleine McCann".

In one of the ad breaks, directly before returning, they threw on a promotional vid for another show..."Michael Jackson: What Really Happened"

No kidding. It had Wacko Jacko cradling his young child and evading the snappers. I couldn't help but laugh at the suggestion of it all.

How long until Portuguese detectives pin the blame on Mr Plastic Fantastic himself? I know he'd be my prime suspect from day one. Different country? I don't care, mate. He's guilty.

Amazingly enough, the girl from the Bournemouth bus ride actually bothered to get in touch! I know, I could have done it myself but I was surprised to see the email all the same. It's strange how I've only spoken to her fleetingly, but as a complete stranger, I've dumped more secret fears on her than I have on the rest of my friends put together.

It's nice to be able to have a deep conversation, talk about your worries, and not get too bogged down in providing light hearted giggles. I've felt burdened by that quite a lot recently. I'm either blessed or cursed in the sense that lots of people come to me expecting a few laughs and a non-too-real take on the world. Unfortunately I've had my own troubles, so it's nice for somebody to put put a little direction on my compass.

I'm glad I used the replacement bus service after all - and how often can a Londoner say that without gritted teeth?

Anyway, finally, I leave you with a riddle.

The riddle is this.

Turn it upside down, shake it all around, tell me what you've found.

An obvious one.