Wonderful high jinks at the Grocer Golds last week. Not so much on the stage, which looked like a reject set from Blake's Seven, but in the pit among the B and C-listers.

Admittedly the evening got off to a bit of a muted start as I pitched up in immaculate Jermyn Street DJ, only to find my table host wearing a tie like an explosion at a bagged salad factory and the hoi-polloi having been instructed to wear "lounge suits" - this is code for shiny-arsed Primark couture as worn by Kleeneze reps everywhere.

But things picked up as the cava flow ed and there was great sport to be had . Some wag had put the Tesco and Ocado tables next to each other, so the Boll y-swilling, investment-banking hoorays were in tremendous form baiting the Cheshunt apparatchiks with their Appletize, right up until the online grocer award went to - Tesco.com. I haven't seen such a rapid exodus of chinless wonders since the Delta Two bid for JS collapsed last year.

But the Tesco titillation was short-lived once Asda starting raking in the tin pots - cries of "fore" reverberated in what might just have been a reference to Andrew "Laddie from Lancashire" Higginson's "one-club golfer" swipe at the Leeds louts earlier in the week.

Prize for the second-worst speech of the evening went to Marc Bolan for his incoherent ramblings as he collected the Jonathan Ross Award for Showing Up. Tip for the future, Marc: when you self-effacingly begin your speech by saying how poor your English is, you're supposed to go on to prove yourself wrong.

But this was not nearly so tedious as the wittering of my old friend Archie Leighton, presumably contracted on the cheap when Keith Harris & Orville fell through. Happily, I was well into my ninth pint of Château Aggresseur de Femme and the second hour just flew by.