Due to near hysteria-pitch joy at having couriered off the dissertation - together with complete exhaustion - I folded at the crease at 4pm today and retired for tea.

I like to think I batted the odd six over my innings but I'll stop with the cricket references right now as I'll be stumped soon *shut up, that was funny*.

Having made Oxford Road for 5pm I got to see the Palace Hotel smoking refugees milling about by the bus stop - and they were legion today.

It was clearly some St George's Day fest was running for a horde of suited and booted middle-aged blokes, all sporting red rose button holes, all smoking like cooling towers and all looking like someone had blasted their faces with sand for a thousand years and made them fret about it - a lot.

Man, smoking really messes up your face.

God knows who these guys were: a convention of B&H reps? Tobacco is Good For You lobbists? I don't know but if there was one thing those spluttering gents weren't, it's fresh faced. I could hear wheezing, I swear!