On this grey Monday morning, with a body and soul battered from the weekend there is nothing more tempting than this.

Honestly, sometimes all I want is some hens, my husband, a gingham pinny and an Aga. Where once I fantasised over 4 inch heels and haircuts from the creative director, I now dream of a successful and fully stocked vegetable patch.

However, the weekend has been great fun and there is no way I am truly ready to leave the city yet.

Friday night consisted of sweet burner reunions, gifting glitter balls to gurning Kings Road trustafarian idiots, a top notch drum and bass set and a trip down the K-hole for some small, lively Scottish elements of our party.

The rest of the weekend was a snuggle affair, ensuring that our bodies remained well oiled with whisky and irn bru (McCollins) to match the gentle swaying of the boat and culminating in some (successful) Banksy hunting followed by a roast leg of lamb. Mmmm.

Much love was evident as usual. It is such a shame that more time can't be spent together. I've said it before and I'll say it again, the only bad thing about being a burner is the fucking geography that is involved in our networks.