Hors d'oeuvres: Fresh Bruni melons (no dressing); rather delicious. Served with a rather poor choice of apéritif wine from a previously unknown Austrian cellar.

Entrée: Fillet of Russo-Georgian contretemps with British medallion potatoes a l'Olympique and a zesty Obama jus; a controversial first taste, sitting lightly on the palate. A pleasantly warm summery aftertaste. Served with moose salad a la Palin; fundamentally rather hard to stomach.

Dessert: Crise de économie pudding topped with a rich housing-market crumble, sprinkled with large hadrons; a tad crunchy for my liking. Very expensive - could potentially leave a small black hole in your wallet.

The verdict: Slightly disappointing overall, but with several moments of genuine pleasure for the connoisseur. This reviewer hopes that the new management (who are rumoured to be renaming the business "2009" imminently) will build upon the successes of their predecessors and make it the fine dining experience it is capable of becoming.

I have just had an accident involving a cup of coffee (Crazy Gino's Hypercaffeinated Discombobulator), a desk, and an errant elbow. The spillage is extensive and puts me somewhat in mind of the notorious Exxon Valdez oil tanker incident, which it resembles both in terms of public outcry (in this case, unwarranted mirth from my adjacent colleagues) and in terms of environmental damage (the environment in this instance being the front of my trousers and the precious cargo within). I'm now awaiting the arrival of a Greenpeace team armed with detergent foam and a large mop; luckily my pants are not especially well-furnished with gulls, seals or other easily-unamused seaside wildlife, so their job shouldn't be too hard.

In other news, Christmas 2008 went off without excessively numerous hitches; having 1.5 hours' sleep the previous night (on account of restless progeny) was not in my game plan but didn't seem to put too much of a dent in the seasonal merriment. I got a miniature remote-controlled helicopter, which is, as I believe you youngsters say these days, way cool.

Additionally plus also, I am moving house. A horde of in-laws is scrubbing the top six layers of molecules off the surface of the new abode as we speak (I asked for seven, but they would have insisted on overtime payment). This evening I shall be boxing up whichever of my worldly possessions The Missus hasn't yet consigned to the large bonfire in our garden. I'm not even going to think about the decoration; I look forward to living out of a suitcase for the next three months, as my wife gets to grips with such weighty matters as what shade of purple to paint the kitchen walls, whether we really need fitted cupboards in the attic, and which variety of hydrangeas would best complement the colour of the shed.

Madness.