...The Walrus to his favourite hostelry last week, and stopped for a drink when I picked him back up. He was sat in the part of the pub that is known as 'The Departure Lounge', where all the real oldies sit. So I was the youngest in the group by an entire score. I wanted to offer to light this one fellow's pipe, so shaky were his hands - but I'm sure that would have seemed rude. The gents were all as sharp as tacks, mind. Despite being hilarious wise-crackin' ole sorts, I realised that I missed my own friends. So I went back to my home town for the weekend.

The degeneration of the weekend is another story entirely. But a few bits and bobs jump out at me :

• One of my best chums from school got engaged over the Christmas period. I have since been badgering him about being best man. I think he is torn between chosing me and another mutual friend (plus Busty Farm Girl is also petitioning; but I'm not sure how closely they plan to stick to the traditional interpretation of the word 'man'). We worked out that the problem could be solved if I got ordained as a minister, and married them myself. I have thought about this before. But now I HAVE PURPOSE. I want to be able to marry people. That would be fun. So that's wot I'm gonna do.
• Myself and a buddy decided to see how many different pitchers of cocktail we could get through on the Wetherspoons menu before falling over. All I can say is - bison grass vodka and apple juice. Oh my god. It's like apple pie IN BOOZE FORM. Double lush!
• I found myself in a busy town pub. I used to know every face there. That was about a decade ago. This time, I knew none. Ho hum.
• Why do people wear ALL WHITE tracksuity outfits, with white caps and white trainers ? Fucking WHY ?

That'll do, I think.

...Busty Farm Girl's house, and her brother pays a visit. He has not long been a father.

Farm Brother : The boy has started making this face a lot - [makes spazz face].
Lemonsquash : What does it mean ?
Farm Brother : It means 'Auntie [Farm Girl]'.
[Busty Farm Girl stares daggers at her brother]
Farm Brother : I say 'a lot'. He's only done it the once so far.

...subideal in many respects. I haven't got a definite place sorted out in The Metropolis yet, so now all my admin stuff (bank details, car registration, subscription to 'Wabs') is addressed to Chez Walrus. The upshot of this is that I live with my parents OFFICIALLY. Gnaa! Sproo! Flee!

But, in this shiny new virgin year, I have decided to always be POSITIVE. So rather than dwell on the cessation of adventure and death of my soul that all this would normally bring; or look wistfully through the window, wondering wot all my friends are doing (probably at work); I am going to list the GOOD POINTS of living with Mr and Mrs Walrus :

• They are nice, and only nag me about what the hell I plan to do with my life when I'm awake.
• I am taking over the role of chef from my mother, which I enjoy. Not in the least because now I have twice as many ingredients to choose from ('Shall I make this pasta sauce with basil OR oregano ? The choices are ENDLESS!').
• I don't normally watch TV, so doing so here is novel. I delighted in watching the response of my folks to the gay snog on 'Torchwood' last night - my mother giggled hysterically, and The Walrus peeped at it gingerly through his fingers.
• I get to blog.

Actually, I am finding the respite from the real world mildly relaxing. So I think I shall put off dusting my armour and polishing my arsenal until tomorrow. There'll still be a world to take on then.

...the holiday period :

Lemonbrother bought his wife a book on etiquette for Christmas.

Lemonbrother : Have you started reading your book yet ?
Lemonbrotherwife : No I haven't, you fucking cunt.

...Eve was a peculiar one. I was introduced to my Doppelgänger. I was roundly lambasted for not wearing fancy dress. Hell, my Mr T impersonation last year was sufficient effort for two years, I thought.

And I didn't get too drunk until an Irish chap started feeding me with moonshine that he had smuggled into the pub; and the decline was rapid.

Earlier in the evening, I had met a rather lovely young lady. In one of our first conversations, she went into some depth as to how much she appreciated Sally Phillips - to the extent that her performance as Cinderella in the recent 'Jam and Jersusalem' had left her awash with drool. 'Hmmm,' thought I.

Just after midnight we hugged. A little while later still, I was talking to Irish chap, and the sapphic stunner pushed her way between us mid-conversation, to steal an unexpected snog. Carumba!

After a protracted bout of rather shameless public passion, it suddenly became time for a serious chat. Blee!

"Now. You are very lovely. But it's important that you know that I'm gay."

"Yes; I can tell."

"No, seriously... I am gay. Gay with a capital 'G'."

"Ok."

"But you are very lovely."

"Thank you!"

"But I am gay."

"Are you trying to tell me something ?"

I reassured her that I wasn't about to get hung up or stalkerish, and that I understood that we stray from the path sometimes. Blame drunken high spirits. I wasn't about to be too pushy. This is possibly where I'm going wrong. There, and everywhere else.

I texted my chum Busty Farm Girl, and told her that - amongst other things - I'd kissed a lebannon. Or rather, she'd kissed me. Her response :
Well, one finds love in the most unlikely of places. Maybe she was attracted to your moobs? Maybe it was your secret fanny? Maybe it was your girlish walk?

I think 2007 will herald a new confidence.

...at a loss as to what to get your loved ones for Christmas ?

Are you struggling to find that perfect present ?

Don't be a flange! Let LemonSquash Diversions Inc provide you with gifts that are guaranteed to temporarily distract your family and friends from your other failings!

This year's range includes :

• Totopoly - become a property magnate down in Africa! If you can place a hotel on Kilimanjaro (which rises like Olympus over the Serengeti), then you'll be quids in!
• Bin-It Extreme 2 - another infuriating noisy piece of junk that you will be wrenching from your wretched offspring's hands within twenty minutes! *All parts guaranteed recycle-bin friendly!
• Frictionary - highlight other players' shortcomings and issues to advance along the board! Extra points can be gained by triggering angry swearing/walkouts/physical assault!
• i-Crabs - your very own virtual pubic infestation!
• Connect Two - Connect Four for the MTV generation!
• Scatz - JUST IN! - Muddy Makeover Jade, 'Salò' Dinnertime Yasmin, and Glass Coffee Table Sheridan.
• Hungry Hungry Children - neglect to make Christmas dinner!
• Fuckaroo - the game popularised Down Under! You'll have to be quick to stand a chance of dumping your entire load on this angry kanga!
• ...and lots more!

So don't just stand there, scratching your head and looking gormless - make this Christmas an LSD Inc Christmas!

...of quizzes, the wolf-criers from last week returned to the quiz on Monday. I tend to go round the teams to ask if they want any questions repeated before swapping papers for marking. One of the young ladies from the team of six asked for a question about EasyEverything repeated.

Lemonsquash : 'EasyEverything is the world's biggest what ?'
Young Lady : Can we have a clue ?
Lemonsquash : 'Fraid not.
Young 'Lady' : Go on... If you give us a clue, I'll give you a blow-job.

The rest of her team seemed even more aghast than me. Sans shame! A short while later, I passed a bloke member of her team going to the gents. I bid him "Hello," and all I got in return was a Bash Street Kids-style dagger stare. Guessing that's her chap, then. Not my fault your girlfriend's a slut, old chum.

...out of a suitcase for a month or so. At the moment I'm with my parents in deepest Welsh Wales. I went out with The Walrus to a pub quiz yesterday evening. It was entirely unlike my quiz. It was a league match, the questions were answered verbally, and I was the youngest participant by a good decade. We picked up a chap from our team on the way, who proceed to reel off a list of folk who had transcended the departure lounge in the last week. It's a different world.

After a very narrow away defeat, we went back to our home pub for last orders. I was forced to bite my tongue as a couple of corpulent locals vomited some bilious tabloid opinions like they were their own. We had a tirade concerning foreigners being forced to adopt our customs, which stemmed from "And now they're going to ban tinsel, because Christmas decorations offend the muslims and whatnot. It's ridiculous!" So they're going to ban tinsel are they ? In the same way that those filthy slug-eating shitsticks on the continent took away our Prawn Cocktail crisps ? The cunts! But hats off to the tabloids for achieving almost total proliferation of their insidious xenophobic hatemessage. If I got to send anything to Room 101, I know what I'd put in first.

Now that I've got that off my chest, I have enough breathing space to tell you that, other than that, I had a very pleasant and jolly evening. Hooray!

...spent mainly drifting in and out of consciousness. Then I went to The Rag Christmas party. I perked up due to (a) an office turbohottie sitting next to me, and (b) cider. Sadly I had to sit out the passing of a sack around for Secret Santa, as no fucker had told me we were doing it. Humbug!

What was quite good fun was writing down three little-known facts about ourselves, having them all read out, and guessing whose belonged to whom. I wrote the following :
1. A recurring nightmare I used to have.
2. My porn name is Spitz Williams.
3. I once had a set of handcuffs confiscated at Dublin airport.
I was told by one of the reporters that she had guessed me for no less than four of her answers (there were about fifteen of us); which led me to believe that people must take me for some kind of degenerate. One of the people's facts was 'When I was being potty trained, whenever my mother went to answer the door or the phone, I would eat my own excrement'. I do hope no-one chose me for that one.

The evening ended with a jaunt into town, where we got everyone to dance individually (based on the hypothesis that people have sex in a similar fashion to the way they boogie), got more drunk, saw a fight, got drenched in a deluge whilst waiting for a taxi, and had a kebab. Go archetypal Saturday night!

...party. It was whiskerrific. There's nothing quite like carousing at a local hostelry with a handful of glamourous fillies and chaps shamelessly sporting fine bushy 'taches, what what.

We retired to The House Of Rock for the latter part of the evening. It was the last chance to wreck the place before throwing myself at the mercy of my (now ex) landlord. Smiley Surf Shop Gal wrote her name in Marmite on the kitchen ceiling. Using her nose. This was no mean feat, as she is by no means a tall girl. Then, later in the evening still, we fought. An inflated airbed was used to smother the opposition, and pile ons ensued. I battled on the same side as Nooma, which was a smart move, as she is not afraid of fighting dirty. At one point, she unpotted a couple of my plants, and dropped them clod-first onto her opponent's head. Übermess!

At four in the morning, Nooma felt compelled to sit on me and cuddle me a lot. This pleased me. Partly because her boyfriend hates my guts, and would have *hated* that this was happening. But mostly because she was warm and cosy. Mmmm.

I should leave more often.

Separately and unrelatedly, I am trying to find the right term of endearment. I may have asked this before, but please humour me. If you were a girl, and a boy was going to call you something that made you feel a bit wiggly, wot would you want to be called ?