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It's 2am and in one of those unsensible mucked up sleep patterns you can fall into when you haven't got a proper job I am wide awake, quilt-wrapped, with a half finished bottle of cheap Aussie white left over from Thursday's book group by my side. I've been through a sociably drunken drama of Blackpool's tragic own goal self-relegation against Manchester United, before foolishly deciding to have a little nap. Four hours later and I'm wondering where the party's at.

I've got a train to Leeds tomorrow at 10ish, partly in order to see the witty, potty-mouthed and sexy Kim, one of the best-looking women in Leeds (there's quite stiff competition, being "good-looking" "in Leeds"). We're going to Bedlam, properly known as The Angel. In a precipitate but what turned out to be a well-advised move, I also invited Tina.

Tina you (and I) don't know yet, but in the section where you list your likes she put Thomas Hardy and Father Ted, and in the one where you're invited to mention your favourite book she put "Gödel's Incompleteness Theorem". Well, that was like an overclocked LED shining off the page. If you've never come across Herr Gödel, you're missing out on a fabulously subversive intellectual journey, and a good way of making yourself look even more geeky than you might already appear is to buy any of the numerous exegetical works in which it is discussed and work through it, dismissively ignoring your lover's entreaties to sex, a cheese and onion sarnie, or a gripping end of season David and Goliath relegation battle, while you concentrate on a fatal inconsistency in the axioms of number theory.

Anyway, Tina. I immediately wrote to her. With the disinhibiting effects of drink, I mentioned that I was meeting Kim tomorrow in Leeds, and asked her along. She can't come tomorrow but wrote back saying that, due to a couple of unwelcome stalkerish knobheads, she's lied about her location. She actually lives in a small town with a mainly ovine-based economy, nearer Lancaster. I probably should have waited a decorously restrained interval to mention it, but I asked her to a reading of Thomas Hardy's poetry in Lancaster next month, slightly worried whether I'd come across as overkeen as the men she's avoiding.

She replied (this is all in the past hour) with a most intriguing message saying "...I know you have a bit of an aversion to that site [Facebook]..."

How does she know that? Just a week ago I came off Facebook. Have I got a stalker from Settle? Am I being virtually investigated by a goodlooking fortysomething into Thomas Hardy and problems in the philosophy of mathematics? Is she reading this? Because if she is, she can "investigate" me any time, wha-hey!