I'm not allowed to stay up for long tonight, because Nick and I are going to London tomorrow, on a coach.
Whilst I'm looking forward to Frank Skinner's Credit Crunch Cabaret, and to a lesser extent to seeing whatever museum Nick fancies, I'm mostly worried about travel sickness. the only way of making the day affordable was to get the coach. The only thing is I may well be horribly travel sick. I've had times when I've had to get off the bus half way to Birmingham, about six miles. Will I go twenty times the distance? I've got the special dozy tablets so I can only hope.
My enjoyment of the BAFTAs this evening was much enhanced by watching various comments appear on Twitter. Graham Norton's jokes sunk badly, awful delivery, but Andrew Collins tells me he won't have written his own stuff, so he will have to be forgiven. My favorite thing, The Inbetweeners, didn't win anything, but hey, there's always next year.
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