The word of the day is "Ugh".

Actually, it's rapidly becoming Word Of The Year (beating out "Freedom", "roadmap" and "embedded"), but I digress.

I went to bed early, but due to the fact that I don't need much sleep, woke super-early, before 3am. Just as I was getting back to sleep, sometime after 6am, the alarm went off.

I resisted the urge to punch said alarm clock to the ground, in the knowledge that it'd be me who came off worse, and the thing would still be going off, only it'd now be out of reach. Heaven forbid I'd have to get out of bed to switch the alarm off.

After waking in a haze sometime later, I got my shit together, and got ready to head out to the station. The plan to make a pot of coffee (Daz Bog, French Roast, weapons-grade strength), fell through due to my usual early morning faffing, which was ably assisted by a very squawky Benny, who's grasp of the concept of "Dinner Time", involves the following theoretical questions:

• Am I awake?
• Is anyone rubbing my tummy?
• If not, shouldn't they be feeding me?

So I set off for the , stopping at a 7-11 for coffee and the Breakfast of Champions: a large hot-dog, in a stylish and real classy Incredible Hulk box (can you say merchandising?)

The show went well, and was the usual slick and flawless event.

At the end of it, I'm left, a former shell of myself, drained after three hours on-air, standing up, being charming, and the following off-air drop in adrenaline, and wondering if those burnt crunchy bits under the station's microwave would be tasty, or if I should venture outside, with less than caffeine in my bloodstream than seems wise.

But still, I love it, and would not give it up easily. In fact, you'll get my microphone, when you pry it from my cold dead hands. Something which shouldn't be too difficult to do if I don't get some coffee, real soon.