Adrian Mole.

So I've not done much over the past four days, which is pretty much the central idea of (my) Christmas. I've left the house to go to the pub, go for a walk, and buy a camera. I can live with that, I've had man-flu!

It's after two and I'm still awake, thanks mainly to a combination of The Lives Of Others (ace film) and Adrian Mole & The Weapons Of Mass Destruction (ace book) which have consumed much of my evening. (Was meant to be at In The Trees tonight but I refer you to the above man-flu.)

Part of my evening has also been taken up by the BBC adaption of The 39-Steps, but I'd prefer not to dwell on that because it was A: pitiful, B: features Rupert Penry-Jones (who slid far too easily into the role of a right wing, militaristic toff/twat who is borderline Bond at the very best) and C: the admittedly good looking bastard kept his clothes on.

Frankly, the only decent Christmas TV has been Wallace & Gromit and Dr Who. The films have been sub-par selections, The Royle Family was disappointing, and most of the rest of it was forgetful. But at least I got to read The Tales of Beedle The Bard, which are a miniature joy.