"Yeah" - the Meg Mathews column"

You know how Liza Minnelli managed to get the world to spell her name correctly by singing "Liza with a Z"? Well, my name is spelt wronmgly so often (it even has two T's on my passport), and my mate Fran is always referred to as Cottrell instead of Cutler, that we are thinking of joining a girl band and becoming Meg M and Fran C.

I haven't seen much of Noel this week as he has been holed up in his studio. Even though it's at the top of our house, you still don't see him for days. It's so loud in there - pink leather 1960s chairs, a purple shag-pile carpet - that even the ctas give it a wide berth. Benson, Hedges and Rosie have been sulking as they are too fat and the vet ahs put them om a diet. I tried them on mackerel, but they turned up their noses and started to gaze pointedly at the aquarium until I relented and opened a tin of tuna.

We went to a secret gig by Sheryl Crow at Abbey Road studios - I had to hold up the traffic while Noel kissed the zebra crossing. We then went to see Nellee Hooper and his new band, Furslide, at a club called Improv. They are definitely my favourite band of the moment, excluding ones populated by members of my family.

My mum came down from Norfolk and I took her to the National Gallery and on for dinner at Mirabelle. We had delicious food - I can't stand picky eaters - and a good old gossip with Marco Pierre White. I'm afraid I was a bit under the weather so I missed the leaving do for Ben, who used to run the Met Bar, which is unfortunate as I am in there so often I'm now known as Met Mathews. Cheers, Ben, and good luck in your new job!

I had rallied by Saturday, when Noel, me and Jess (Kate Moss's booker at Storm) headed over to the London Lighthouse for Stephen Fry's charity night on Channel 4. The alcohol was flowing nonstop, and we all sat in the green room getting completely plastered. I was manning the phones with Les Ferdinand, David Ginola and the Le Bons, among many others. Noel was so excited that he was going to do a sketch with Alan Partridge that he missed a Man City match to make the rehearsal. How he kept a straight face as he said "A-ha" we will never know.

Then everyone came back to Supernova Heights (Noels house party) for even more booze, and Steve Coogan entertained us with his impressions of Al Pacino turning into a Manchester drug dealer. We were so hung over on Sunday that all I could do was call a cab to pick up two roast dinners. We kept having flashbacks of a man in a green blazer saying he'd missed the last train home to Norwich. I haven't been in the spare room since.

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c 1998 Andrew Turner

aturner@interalpha.co.uk

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