Tonight, I tried to fill in my tax form, but got stuck on the first question, which was "Tax File Number". It appears I've lost mine.

Fuck.

So, failing that, I went out, had a pint and a half of stout with the old skool, and ended the evening rolling down Parliament House Hill with a mad American.

There should be more evenings like this.

However, there seems to be a problem in the fact that in order to take my spanky new boots off, you have to be sober. I am not. I might just have to go to bed with my boots on.