Well started The Weekend That Was with a visit to HSBC's latest retro cashpoint -- heard about these things? -- which, having asked it nicely for £50, coughed up ten fivers. Much like my college days but with eight more notes.

Weller chez WHSmith's cute Costa Coffee: ordered my usual extra medium white Americano from the girly barista, who then said the words every man wants to hear: Did You Want A Free Extra Shot Of Espresso? Oh yes. Took my tray, took over a table, and sipped: FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper would have approved. Then watched as the unsuspecting folk of the town, some en route to that afternoon's match, also succumbed: if it's free, I'll have it. Pitied the anxiety levels of these spectators a couple of hours down the line as they surveyed the less than mighty ITFC crash at home to Stoke.

Wellest over the border in Colchester late pm: after a most agreeable feed in the Dutch quarter (not to be confused with the French fifth or the Egyptian eighth), off to the Arts Centre, once a church, to pay homage to the always entertaining and headmasteresque in appearance Mr John Hegley. A dozen years have passed since we saw him at the same venue on National Lottery night: scary. To quote him:

Poetry can be fun
(pause)
But not tonight.

After a brief limerick about Bracknell came a short poem set in Ipswich: boo!, said some of the Essex crowd. Sensing the mood, JH asked if there were any other nearby places that people disliked: two minutes hate ensued with Braintree, Chelmsford and Messing cited. Turning it around, he asked where folk loved: Fingrinhoe!