A self-imposed restraining order and tomorrow's tragic jogger.

You know you've had a bad day when you walk straight past the burger van and spend your lunch break sinking a Stella in the nearest public house.

I'm having a rough time of things at the moment. So much so that I forced myself in to a positive shopping haul after work. Just a cheap one, mind you. It distracted me from my woes, but I still fancy a good vent.

Primark, Topman, Next, Burton, River Island...I tasted them all and bought nothing.

Personally, I see Primark as a bit of a double edged sword. If you come away empty handed, you're obviously skinter than Larry. Whereas if you exit with six bags and a new jacket, you're the tightest Christmas shopper in Hertfordshire or God forbid; a father of five.

I, however, have reached a comfortable middle ground whereby it's possible to shop on a tight budget and maintain my healthy reputation for sassy fashion (comments turned off for a reason). That's right. I buy my socks at Primark and nothing else. If I'm feeling brave, I'll go so far as to chuck in a pair of those comfortable grey joggy bottoms.

You might scream chav, but I say - great to wear naked and friendly on the twins. Whatcha gonna do about it?

I'd also like to thank Primark for changing their carrier bags to a more generous tone of pale blue. It's now possible to turn the bag inside-out, thus removing all traces of the logo - and your budget spree. This, naturally, allows you to waltz off the train hands 'a packed like you've West Ended it up Knightsbridge with the rest of the WAGS.

Fat wallet, hungry stares and 72 pairs of white socks for £13.99. Who says men can't shop?

Believe it or not, I may have good reason to venture upmarket by the end of the year. I've been offered the chance to nail a freelance stand-up comedy script for a rather flattering £2,000. This is an opportunity that I'm actually quite excited about. I've always wanted to write humour, even if I'm far too shy to get up on a stage and do that kinda schtick myself.

So, I now travel with a notebook in my pocket making little observations whenever I see anything that could be moulded in to a funny set-piece.

I have some material penned down which I think is genuinely quite good, but that's the struggle with writing to get a laugh. It can fall flat on its face and you have no artsy saving grace to roll back on. We'll see how it goes.

On a slightly unrelated note, what kind of lunatic goes jogging through Cassiobury Park now that the clocks have gone back? I was on my way home from work this evening when I caught sight of a mentalist in shorts barely touching his knee caps jogging calmly in to the darkness. When I say darkness, I mean the utter wilderness.

Cassiobury Park is massive, disorientating and more recently - pitch black by 5 o' clock. It's the sort of jogging route that you only take if you're stopping for some dogging along the way. So to see a complete nutcase happily toddle off down the shrouded footpath, I was tempted to jot down his description for the inevitable police enquiry in the morning.

To his credit, at least he wasn't causing harm to anybody but himself.

Which is more than I can say for the festive chap on the bicycle with flashing CHRISTMAS LIGHTS chained to its rear.

Have you considered that you're not the only one on the road, mate?

A flash to the right, a flash to the left. Might go this way, might go that. Who knows? Indicators be done with, let's all enjoy the season to be jolly and cause utter chaos for drivers across the land.

It's getting quite hard to be tactful where my, err, lighter feelings are concerned. In the sense that I find myself about to say something, only to rephrase or reword it completely so that there's room to escape from the meaning if it all goes a bit belly-up. Does that make sense?

The trouble is, I know what I'm like. I'm just six or seven Stellas away from unleashing the cat amongst the pigeons and reeling off all the things I've wanted to say. Nice things, admittedly. Very nice. But ultimately, comments that can only be interpreted in one way. And from the impression I get, she relies on the double meanings to deflect the false expectation that she might actually have to respond to them.

It's just ridiculous. I have no sexual or physical intimacy to judge it by, just the way she makes me smile every day and how increasingly so I look forward to it - oh well alright, her being gorgeous might be a factor too. I really don't know how to deal with that predicament, whether it's attraction or admiration, I just don't know.

The clock has ticked past Midnight and Halloween is upon us.

If you're reading this, have a good one. I will be ghostbusting my way down to the Middlesex Arms later and please, if you see me down there, keep me away from those God damn christmas crackers.

They'll be the barring of me, they will.