Dave has just emailed to tell me that I should be with him in Thornaby, as the noise generated by all the fireworks must make it very like an occupied Iraqi city on a rough night.

I shall not, however, be heading over there. For a start, the standard Friday night occupation for Thornaby's upper middle class is to hang around outside Spar wearing shell suits and Burberry caps, immediately prior to finding the tasty MX5 of some visiting country-dweller and nicking the alloys or sticking a screwdriver through the hood. As to what their chavs get up to, God only knows.

Anyway, no work on the play tonight, as it's Simpsons night on C4. Whoo-hoo!