BE CAREFUL what you wish for, as my dear old mother used to say.

No sooner had I finished writing about the lack of bodies in the friends department last week, a chain of events unfolded which made me realise that perhaps it was not a bad thing after all.

With impeccable timing, Fred the Dread made his presence known last Friday.

It wasn't so much unannounced this time - his dad rang me up to tell me that Fred was home from Cambridge, and was currently making his way up the M6 to my house. Some 45 minutes later he duly arrived.

As a matter of pure coincidence, my other good pal the Muppet - also mentioned in last week's column - had work matters to attend to in nearby Preston, and rang to say he would 'pop in'.

It's always a pleasure to see your two best mates, and on any other occasion it would have been a delight to see them both together. The three of us make quite a team.

But the next day, Saturday, I was working. And, not to bore you with the details of life in a newsroom of a busy evening paper, my duties had assumed extra responsibilities for that one day only. Suffice to say that my well-laid out plan for that Friday night, involved a cup of tea, perhaps a slice of toast and an early night. Try telling that to Fred the Dread.

Armed with more alcohol than Booze Busters, and a weekend's worth of clothes (an extra T-shirt), Fred duly camped himself down.

The Muppet's arrival was soon after. He knew I had work the next day and was just going to stay for an hour, and come back when it was better for the both of us.

Until he saw Fred was there.

He decided to stay the night. The Muppet's opening gambit as he walked into my house for the first time ever, set the tone for the weekend.

Strolling his way across the wooden floor, the Muppet somehow did not see huge goblet of blood red wine in his path. With his usual aplomb, he sent it flying showering a cocktail of wine and glass over my record collection - Frank Sinatra copped the bulk of it.

It was an horrific scene and looked as if Ol' Blue Eyes had been in a car accident.

This was not a very good year.

The alcohol flowed - of course I was being moderate - when it was decided I should take them to the local pub. Although I was being headstrong, my resistance was less than futile.

At 28-years-old surely peer pressure was a thing of the past? A nasty part of my life which had been left behind rusting school gates, along with detention, designer trainers and the dreaded brutality of death square, where the unlucky soul who kicked the ball out of the square became the ball itself (not for the faint-hearted).

Obviously not.

I was back behind the bike-shed again, being offered my first cigarette while chicken noises were being aimed at those who refused.

Coughing and spluttering I led them to the pub.

I sipped on my pint, while Fred and the Muppet knocked back theirs, revelling in the fact that I was being held back by work.

Having weathered the taunts in the pub, it was all back to mine, where Fred dipped into his seemingly never-ending bag of beer. Again I refused, and the only way not to be the butt of their jibes was to make my excuses and leave.

With taunts of 'lightweight' ringing in my ears I went to bed.

Work went well and on returning home, I was in the mood to make up for lost time with Fred and the Muppet.

The Muppet had gone - work called him back. Fred was rough from the night before where the pair of them had emptied the beer supply, ate all my food and - or so it looked like - ransacked the place.

Saturday night was tea, toast and another early night.

When you have friends like these, who needs friends!