I was going to introduce myself but the sight of this blank box for me to type in has just caused the writing equivalent of pee shyness. I can't go. I'm trying but nothing comes! So, in the Blue Peter tradition, Here's one I made earlier... These are little pieces which have appeared in my zine, Radium Dial, over the past few years.

Getting drunk on the cheap

I realise that teaching you lot the Secrets of the Cheap Drunk is akin to enrolling my grandmother in an egg-sucking evening class, but humour me. I am the featherweight drinking champion of the world, and am thus highly qualified to talk about how to get legless on £5 or less (and with me it’s usually far, far less).

1: Yep, the ole ‘empty stomach’ play. An oldie but a goodie: skip dinner and get straight down to the best part, and after one glass of house white you’ll be on the corner table in the Two Brewers belting out a karaoke version of ‘My Sharona’.

2: Paracetamol. Or, the champagne of soft drugs, para-codeine. This ‘lil beauty is my friend and yours: available over the counter, cheap as chips, and gives you a nice fuzzy high. Taking any sort of painkiller with alcohol is pretty much a no-no (and, disregarding the essence of Trick 1, do make sure you eat before you try this), because one sniff of booze and there you are, sat on the lap of Dirty Bob, sobbing about how you just want to meet a nice man – not necessarily good looking, or smart, just nice – and settle down…Not recommended by doctors, but have you seen medical professionals having fun? It’s pretty scary and usually involves dressing up and/or body parts stolen from the hospital morgue.

3: Go for pikey drinks: Lambrusco, scrumpy and Mad Dog 20/20 aren’t the exclusive province of thirteen-year-olds, you know. They say kids get all the good stuff, and when it comes to screw-top alcohol and kiwi-flavoured anything, they’re right. Park bench or playground swings optional. Careful who you let tag along while you’re reliving your youth: too much of the fizzy and before you know it Chazz the Spazz, king of the 6th form geeks, is rubbing his acne all over your damn face while his tongue traces ‘erotic’ patterns on your tonsils. Shudder.

This is old stuff, but today has not seen much of interest taking place (is that even a correct phrase in this context?) in the world of science fiction publishing. I got up. I made chocolate chip pancakes for me and the boy, and we walked to work via Lower Marsh, and I bought three giant nectarines. And the day has pretty much flatlined from there...