My wife burned our house down in early 2005. I was out of the country at the time, so I know it wasn't my fault. Nobody was hurt. All photographs & videos of the kids growing up were safely tucked away in sealed metal containers in the basement, missing the worst of the fire & so miraculously escaped damage. My wife got to replace her wardrobe on insurance & the kids replaced worn out toys with new shiny toys. The house was rebuilt & they made such a good job of it that it looked like a Victorian showhouse & subsequently sold for far more than we could have expected pre-fire (when it looked tatty and kid-bashed). So, in the medium term, all worked out rather nicely.

In the first instance, however, my wife took the kids to her parents oop north but left me kipping on a mates couch so that I could keep working.

After a few nights I checked into a hotel with the insurance company picking up the tab. To be honest my mate & I had gone out every night so I checked into the hotel for a bit of a rest. I'd been up to see the family over a weekend and came back down to spend my first hotel night on a Monday.

After work that day I got to the impersonal travelling salesman type hotel & suddenly the delayed impact of the fire (& what might have happened to the family) finally hit me. I felt absolutely terrible: quite down & alone. I sat in my room and stared at the tele for ages then shook myself awake and made myself go out.

I couldn't face the rubbish hotel restaurant, but luckily there was a row of promising looking restaurants close to the hotel. The restaurants were across the road from the Swiss Cottage pub in London which is right in the middle of a busy road and looks just like a swiss cottage (not surpisingly). I had always wanted to go for a pint there - so to cheer myself up, & feeling not unlike Bill Bryson, I did just that, crossing the busy road & enjoying a pint.

Afterwards, and much happier about the world, I crossed back to the row of restaurants and walked into the first of them; a very busy looking Indian Restaurant. The food smelled great and I was really hungry now. I asked for a table for one and was shown towards the only free table by a charming waitress. I was just three feet from the table when a fast moving, slightly perspiring, manager intercepted me at pace to tell me that, actually, I was unable to have the table. It was Valentine's Day and he explained all the tables were for couples that night. I asked whether it was booked & he said no. But he said no to me having it. I offered to buy two meals & he still said no. All tables were for couples only & he did not want single people in the restaurant that night.

Feeling deeply disciminated against in my singleton state & quite angry I left the restaurant complaining bitterly about my treatment & that I would never use the restaurant again (&neither would my many local employees). Of course I then found that I could not get into any of the restaurants on the row, nor even the rubbish looking hotel restaurant. All were booked out completely with dallying couples. My only option was to return to the Indian, tail between my legs, to ask for a takeaway.

So feeling miserable, humbled by the Indian restaurant manager & by now missing wife & kids terribly, I stopped by a corner shop and picked up a 4 pack of Stella and a magazine (not from the top shelf) to flick through whilst eating my meal & returned to my lonely hotel room only to be confronted with the dilemna of how to eat a curry without a knife and fork - eventually resorting to using a cup and a tea spoon from the teasmade.

Shaking my head st the sheer unfairness of everything, I cracked open the first can of Stella and turned the page of the magazine to find Mark Ellen's cheery editors note. Very funny. I checked back as to what the title of the magazine was..."Word". Not sure about the title I thought.

But by can two I was tittering & by can three I was hooked. Getting quite pissed as well. But definately hooked by the quality of the writing and the sheer interstingness of the articles. My black humour had departed. By the end of can four I had given the magazine a good filleting & was chipper & even ready to sample the hotel bar. Which I did.

I am now a subscriber to both the magazine & podcast and am amazed that the quality of the various entertainments very rarely dip below excellent. Happy 5th anniversary & keep the good work up!