There has been little to no chaos in recent weeks, which I think has been due to the fact that I’ve done fuck all of any note. Last week I received a call from Mrs Gloop, a ‘mother’ from Son’s school, asking if I could take her kid to a party (which was today). ‘Of course’, I said, ‘I can do both ways, so don’t worry.’ Needless to say, she was delighted. This afternoon I took a look at the invitation and to my dismay, found it to be in Hertford, which for a dual-carriageway/motorway phobic driver/passenger, is a complete nightmare. The mother duly dropped her kid, Augustus, over around 4.00, by which time my route was planned and I was feeling confident. As I was driving along and darkness was descending, I felt nauseous, my heart was pounding, I couldn’t breathe, I was hot, my hands were gripping the wheel and my head was saying, ‘Stay calm, you can do this, everything is okay.’ I managed to find the venue (which was actually a very long way down a country lane) and then I began my journey home. I recognised where I should have taken a right but was uncertain if it was actually a one way and so I kept driving and driving and driving … and driving. I eventually started to follow Hertford (which seemed sensible given the options) and some time later started following Hatfied and found my way home. But of course now I’ve got to go back again in the next two hours – although Honey has agreed to risk his life and accompany me, so I feel a bit better – and all because I was too fucking stoned to look at the invitation and make a sensible arrangement in the first place.