It's such a glorious day today, which starkly contrasts with the rain-sodden events of the previous two days. Which I don't mind, much - I actually quite like the rain. But when you're stuck in the house with nothing to do and no-one to do it with, it does get rather boring.

So yes, last night I went out on my first date in almost six months. And it was disastrous. In fact, to call it disastrous would be a compliment of the highest proportions. For a number of reasons, largely.

Firstly, the girl smokes. Now, I don't despise smokers - indeed, my grandmother has smoked for the best part of 60 years, and it's probably the only thing keeping her going these days (there's an oxymoron if ever you saw one) - but I find that going with/dating someone who smokes is a complete turn-off. Anyone who has eight cigarettes in the space of a three-hour first date sends across the wrong message in my book. It's probably just me in my foolish, idealistic ways, I suppose.

Secondly, she informs me that she likes to pop the odd pill or two - with the chemical of choice being ecstasy. I don't know if this is true or not (I often glorify my own drug cocktail habit of sniffing Vicks Inhaler and the occasional beer), but I don't find druggies particularly attractive, as it goes. "It's no' big and it's no' clever", as some might say.

Finally, she spoke for about 85% of the night about her friends, of whom I know nothing about, in a manner which assumes that I've known them for years. Having a weekend in a caravan with a bunch of strangers smoking, drinking and popping pills isn't my idea of a future bride-to-be. Especially when it's in Dumfries. Sheesh.

So there's the story of my night. When I took her to get her train home, I think she was expecting a full on snog. However, I refrained, gave her a quick peck and told her to let me know she got home safely. Am I a bad person? I think so.

I guess the moral of the story is that I'm not cut out for this nonsense. The process of finding a girlfriend to put up with me sounds awfully difficult, really. I'm too demanding, far beyond my relatively average (I'm being generous here) personality, looks and humour will allow. And the search continues...

In other news, I'm heading down to London next month, for a training week at my new job. I have a strange mixture of emotions about this, including nervous anticipation, partial excitement and sheer dread. I hate doing things myself - I'm possibly the least independent person I know. Yet I'll have to go down to London and meet these people, with whom I probably have nothing in common (except a job, of course). On the plus side, it's a week away from everyone up here, and there's a swimming pool and jacuzzi in the accommodation that's provided for us. I can't wait.

I was just informed by my mother not more than thirty minutes ago that Franz Ferdinand tickets for Edinburgh go on sale tomorrow. So, hurray! I should hopefully be able to break my concert duck for the year (hard to think that my last concert was nearly six months ago), and see the boys back in action (just before their second album comes out as well). As you'll be aware from my highly insightful previous entry, Franz provided me with my most memorable gig last October. It'll be grand to see them in the capital, I reckon.

Well, another uneventful Friday night awaits, watching Des Lynam host Have I Got News For You, and maybe catch New Order on Later...With Jools Holland. I'm not a big fan of Jools Holland, I have to say. I find him to be a bit of an obnoxious little man, far too caught up in his own self-importance to be amiable. Sound familiar?