Tom Womack

I'm not religious, but beneath the inordinate appetite for chocolate puddings I hide some vague kind of ascetic tendencies; I give things up for Lent.

This year, it was coffee - I'm not habitually fuelled through the day by gallons of the stuff, but I was getting through a couple of cups a day, and felt this was maybe excessive. I've the great good fortune of liking hot water (provided the temperature is right; 1:20 in the microwave for a small cup, 2:00 for a large one; lukewarm water is obviously no fun), so switched to that: I possibly do get through a couple of litres a day, I chain-drink at times, but with hot water this is a less culpable habit than many.

This evening I went to see Syriana at the Arts Picturehouse with Mum; a popular film, we got seats B2 and B3 and so got to see George Clooney's failed redemption and Jeffrey Wright's slow corruption in glorious trapeziumovision. Also, it being what one does at the Arts, I unthinkingly had a latte beforehand. It was a good latte, which I'm sure says something about expected blood levels and receptor desaturation.

That was four hours ago. I still can't get to sleep, I've that feeling that I used to get after deliberate over-consumption before an all-nighter, where my eyelids itch slightly and would much rather be open than my brain would have them closed.

In other news, work's pretty good: small company, smart and friendly colleagues, working IT, interesting problems to handle, and it gets me out of the house. And on Monday I get to give them my P45 form and bank details, so that at the end of the month they'll pay me.