Last weekend was characterised by the triumph of English Summertime plans over vile weather. Well, almost.
On Saturday a friendly rounders tournament had been organised on Clapham Common by the (surprisingly militant) boyfriend of my Fashion Icon friend Fi. Embarrassingly keen for any competitive sporting event, I dashed from Old Man Squash in Pimlico with my squash scalps - only to find that torrential rain had hit.
As the rain died down we acquired sugary provisions to prep ourselves. Fi pimped me out to a team by making bold promises about my rounders skills that I knew I'd be unable to fulfil.
In fact, my incompetence was only intensified by my enthusiasm. The same seemed true of my very enthusiastic adoptive team. We didn't do very well.
Pressing on regardless with summer-specific fun, Mr Blondie unleashed the barbeque to set fire to some halloumi and an unlucky tea towel, while inside we gorged on spinach and small cakes. Separately.
Mr Blondie was to appear on Sky later probably to discuss Sally Bercow, on whom I suspect he has a secret, extremely well-repressed crush. He paced the room, making calls to producers and taxis and tweeting emotionally.
'What I want to know is why you never write about us in your blog?' demanded Blondie, from one side of their expansive capitalist sofa. (This is a sofa that knows nothing of DFS. It's probably padded with dead duck.) 'Way more interesting things happen when I'm around. We went to a ball once! And look at today: I made eggs with spinach in!'
Everyone else agreed. We praised the eggs. And then we sat in our own squalor for the rest of the day.