Tonight will definitely go down as one of the weirder nights I've had in London yet.

Envision this:

Me, dressed to the nines, sick as a dog, after a day of interminable partner meetings, sitting at a fancy dinner on the top of BT Tower next to my boss, trying to make converstation with a Welsh rugby player of whom I've never heard and from whom I only understand every fifth word, while the room rotates to show us a lovely but somewhat nausea-inducing view of London.

The lamb was delicious, but I just wanted to crawl into bed with a couple of Tylenol PM.