Blaze of glory

Apologies for absence yesterday, wasn't feeling too hot. Am slowly easing myself back to normal today though and am very excited about seeing Alistair Campbell in the flesh tonight on the South Bank. I will have to work hard to stop myself running up on stage and embracing him in some romantic version of Jarvis Cocker's Michael Jackson moment at the Brits all those years ago... how time flies.

Brief recap: Monday night was our choir rehearsal where we were taught a dance routine that revealed approximately two thirds of our number to be in possession of a deeply, deeply worrying cheesy side. They embraced the hideous routine, jumping in firmly with both feet, grinning maniacally and winking at each other during allegedly 'funny' lyrics. The remaining third of the choir stood at the back, some weeping in humiliation and others silently furious at the shame that will follow when we perform this in public. No prizes for guessing which third of the choir I was in. Halway through the rehearsal, I agreed with Deborah that we would rather spend the rest of that evening's practice naked if it would mean that the choir didn't do any movements in any of our concerts, but unfortunately (and, I think, wisely) our offer was rejected. However, a mutiny did occur afterwards and the number of numbers to which we have to do actions has been reduced from three to one, which is a definitely unPhyrric victory.

Last night I put on a reluctant brave face and headed out to the local pub quiz. Of my real-life freinds, I'd only managed to round up Ben, but I had also found out that another person who I know vaguely from an online forum would be in attendance with one of his friends, so we combined forces and made a rather motley crew of four. Sadly, our combined knowledge had a large crossover, so we all knew the answers to most of the questions, and none of us knew the answers to the few that would have won us the competition. I had been recruited solely for my promised expertise in the 'half-faces' round, where the top half of a photograph of one celebrity's face is stuck atop the bottom half of a different celeb's mouth and chin bit. Sadly, I was absolutely useless, guessed the top half incorrectly as J.Lo (correct answer: Kim Cattrall - livid) and was even less helpful in my contributions to the bottom half attempts. The boys all said it was George W. Bush and I said 'No, it's not,' but failed to supply any better suggestions. I thought it looked like Martin Sheen but I knew that would be too obscure. Sadly I wasn't awarded any points for correctly knowing that it was 'Not George Bush'. It was, in fact, George Clooney.

There was, however, a highlight - a shining moment in an evening that otherwise cemented my fear that my general knowledge is general noledge. Between rounds one and two, there is a quickfire question that guarantees the winner a small prize. It was a fastest-hand-in-the-air type situation, and the question was as follows: In which city is the Kentucky Derby held? Now, I don't know much, but half my family live in Louisville and if I'd have got that wrong, I would never have forgiven myself. My hand shot in the air and, like an unbearable swotty student, I couldn't help an involuntary 'Me!' escaping from my lips at the same time. I cringe at the memory. But the quiz master saw me - I answered - and won! My prize was two bottles of warm Russian beer that, despite its authentic seeming label, is in fact brewed in Edinburgh and was worryingly close to its expiry date. I 'generously' gave both bottles to Ben.

I had good intentions of gymming today but then someone in my office emailed round a voucher for 30% off at Gap, and one for 20% off at New Look, so I think I may go for a quick browse now and perhaps find something nice to impress Alistair. Although something tells me he might not be a New Look kind of guy...