I discovered that goat's cheese is low in cholesterol from a man I bought some from, round the back of the shopping centre (makes it sound slightly seedy: I assure you it wasn't).
My pals came round and we ate it with toasted fresh bread, followed by bowls of strawberries and raspberries, and then we took ourselves down to Underhill to watch Arsenal thrash Barnet.
Was I the only Barnet fan there? I think so! There were authoritative Arsenal knowalls all around, especially behind us, blasting out their opinions on what a crap team Barnet are.
Excuse me, but isn't a friendly supposed to be friendly?
Of course a game like that is going to be won by a Premiership team!
Three goals were scored in the first half: poor Barnet were doing that desperate thing of passing the ball from side to side instead of taking on the defenders, getting through them and focusing on the goal.
It's so frustrating to watch players doing that, and I tried to think up remedies: games to sharpen their minds, even dancing lessons to make their footwork better.
After half time, they'd obviously been given a pep talk. They came out energised and I was pretty impressed by their playing, especially little natty-dreaded Number 13, who zipped about hither and thither, and managed to keep the ball even after he fell over, giving it 100% right to the end of the game. Number 21 who was substituted in the second half was good too, gangly and far-reaching.
Arsenal scored another goal in the second half.
Scornful, the knowalls carried on opining. It must have been so hard for the Bees. I looked round the stadium and the whole thing seemed to be a sea of Arsenal shirts; the problem is that a lot of Barnet fans support Arsenal too. I had to suppress my cheers and keep my involuntary miming of ball-kicking to myself and stopping my legs from twitching.
Before the end, lots of the the Arsenal fans (shall we call them the Arses?) went to the pub in disgust, muttering about the game.
Once more: isn't a friendly supposed to be friendly?
Why did they come?
We bought ice creams and walked back home to sit round the kitchen table and talk about the music business: one pal works for the record label 4AD, and both are musicians.
Later, I went to see my friend Rowen Bridler play at The Barfly. She is due to emigrate to Prague, and this was her goodbye concert. She looked and sounded beautiful, and I appreciated the music even through the sea of tiredness that engulfed me almost as soon as I got there.
So now I am slumped in a heap, too lazy even to watch TV.
Somebody put the kettle on and make me a cup of tea!