Honeymoon over, welcome to London

I can not begin to articulate how pissed off I am. With London, with a dodgy thieving bastard, and with myself. Last night should have been brilliant - and it was - and then it wasn't.

It started with the Hudson Softball team end of season do (with a bit of added spice given that K starts with me next week!), it was fantastic. We started with a few drinks, headed to a brilliant Argy steak house (400 grams of bleeding bliss), and then to a rather swanky nightclub.

Playing for that team was one of the first things I did when I got here and I have never met a nicer group of people. The evening was a pricey one - 200 pounds or so - but well worth every penny. And if the night had ended there - I would be a couple hundred pounds lighter, but hundreds of pounds happier - if that makes sense. The night didn't end there...

At about 2am I headed out to look for a cab - and yup - my body weight was 50% grape juice by that stage. But I wasn't stagger stagger boozed, I was just using my left foot twice as much as my right, progress was slow. I was then 'be-friended' by a fast talking Mexican type. A bit of 'chatter chatter just find me a cab pal' later - we parted company with a boozy type embrace.

And that was the point that I parted with my wallet, f*&king bastard!!! The prick had lifted it straight out of my pocket. I didn't realise it until I got into a cab - the guy asked to see the money up front (not unusual) - pocket check, bugger. The guy refused to take me.

An hour walking through London in the middle of the night with no cash, no ID and no idea where you are is my idea of purgatory. I finally talked a cabby into getting me home on the back of a 100 pound cheque pledge. So 4am and here is this highwayman in my house demanding his cheque and waking up Buzz. The mercenary got his cheque, and when he checks the back of his cab, he will find a 600 pound tip in the form of a Sony Ericsson T600.

I have spent today cancelling cards, sheepishly reporting the incident to the police and borrowing a bus fare from the guy in the corner store to get to the bank.

The best of times, the worst of times - 24 hours in London town.