Extraordinary (in the proper sense of the word) sight tonight on the way back from Robin's tonight (two or three of Brenda's lights were on again - how does she afford the electricity at 2.30 in the morning?) after spending a great evening with the Evanses, my surrogate family (not that I need a surrogate - my own is wonderful - but how often do you meet a whole family of non-blood relatives with whom you can feel totally relaxed, utterly confident, and love unconditionally?).

There were, in the middle of the night, literally thousands of men and women (though mostly the latter) walking alongside the Thames to bring aid and awareness to breast cancer, in the hope that what they were doing may fund the financing of a cure. What magnificent people.

Not wishing to make a gender issue of it (men get breast cancer too) but where are the marches for prostate cancer? And testicular cancer? And, for that matter, ovarian cancer? Why aren't the men out there on the streets? There's no shame in admitting you only have one ball, or that a medical doctor's stuck his finger up your arse to check your health. So why don't we encourage more to do it?

This predominantly young crowd had given up their Saturday night to bring the public's attention to the sreiousness of breast cancer. Men should get off their backsides and do the same, or face the consequences.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm really quite drunk and have to sleep...