Despite the fact that I have a ridiculous amount of work to do and very little desire to do it, and I'm going through a bit of an "Help! I'm not really a goth! I just like black clothes and New Model Army and Suicide Commando! I dare not set foot amongst a multitude of proper goths, for they will seek and destroy me with their corsetry and glowsticks!" phase, I decided to go to Dark City Festival in Sheffield on Sunday, if "Henry" shooting times allowed, on account of its cheapness. £5 for eight hours of two floors of good bands and DJs = truly bargainous, even incorporating cost of getting to Sheffield.

"Henry" shooting turned out to be on Sunday, but I thought, well, if I help out in the morning, that will suffice. So I agreed to meet my fellow film makers at 9.30, to give us at least two hours before I had to depart.

After parting company from them, I remembered that I'm going to a rock club in Hull on Saturday night. Which means I'll get home at 3 at the earliest, and, after this poor night's sleep, stand up for a further eight hours.

I could just not go to Hull . . . but I want to, and I probably won't get another chance to for quite some time. And I couldn't get out of the shooting, even I wanted to, since it's being done in my room.

(This will also involve tidying it. Argh!)

Ok. Bed. Now. Even though I'm not tired enough to sleep and, of course, I really feel like working on Great Novel #1.