I am NOT drinking any fucking Merlot!

What a great day! How on earth did I fit it all in - as the actor said to the bishop. It started early, with Jude's jaunt across frosty fields where llamas shivered as they contemplated their frozen beards. Then it was off to South Kensington for me, and the V&A museum where I met two of my new art student chums. They were both late - that's students for you. I think that my suggested time of meeting at 10.30am was considered to be some kind of superhuman challenge. We were there to visit the At Home in the Italian Renaissance exhibition. A whopping 8½ out of 10 for this one. Beautifully curated and full of fascinating artifacts. Talking of which, I bumped into my lecturer from a course I attended at City University last year, so we had a high-brow discussion. Anyway, if you get a chance do go and see this.

Back to Russell Square courtesy of the Piccadilly Line, and I sat and shivered in the square munching my lunch before spending the afternoon studying in the library. I am embarrassed to admit that when one of my fellow students crept up to say hello, she actually woke me up from quite a deep sleep! I don't think she noticed. I hope I wasn't snoring.

This evening's lecture was entitled 'Victorian Babylon' and we looked at Doré's etchings and considered how the darker, more sinister plates had come to shape our own mental images of what Victorian London was like in second half of the 19th Century. We also looked at some images by a Victorian artist who I find fascinating: Arthur Boyd Houghton. So, yeah. All good stuff.

Next stop, Wimbledon. I took a train from Waterloo and was soon esconced in the Alexandra Pub supping ale with Tim (who I thought was in Bristol - oh my) and Rich, freshly arrived from Zurich. Time flew, as time has a tendency to do under these circumstances, and as I was planning my dash to the station to catch a train, Tim suggested curry. I said, Tim Curry? We laughed until our socks popped. I threw caution to the wind, but a nice man brought it back. Next thing, the happy triumverate are merrily tucking into poppadoms and mango chutney in Ahmed's Tandoori. Good old Ahmed. He was so efficient the food arrived before we had decided what we were going to have. The bill arrived shortly afterwards, but no arrests were made.

Back to Tim's most comfortable flat in...er...I think I should say Wimbledon Village? We swilled merlot and talked bollocks until the wee small hours swelled to four which is when I yawned so hard the top of my head flipped back. Sofa beds are handy things under these circumstances.

The title? If you haven't seen Sideways then I suggest you do without further delay, and if you have, well, why not watch it again? G'won.