I am on my way home from a bar in Smithfields and as I swerve between the traffic I remember meeting Sugg's mum on Sunday. Immediately after being introduced to her as "a lovely fellow" I managed to insult her and her friend. They sat there glowering at me through inches of make-up. Now on my way home I find myself haunted by visions of Suggs lurching out of the darkness and plunging a knife repeatedly into my torso. His face is contorted and he spits "cunt" into my face. I wonder why I smoke pot sometimes. It can ruin a pleasant walk home if you give it a chance. I cheer myself up by imagining Matt Lucas sing really bad songs that I've written for him.

Walked a good eight miles today. The Real Slim Davey.