The phrase "pulling a Melbourne" was coined by me ma when, the day after a ferocious birthday drinking session in Melbourne 2 years ago, Abs, me and mumsy couldn`t move from our respective beds. It was easily the worst hangover in human history. George Best and Oliver Reed would have been proud. I`m in that pit of despair right now, where you can`t focus on anything and need to eat twice your own bodyweight in crisps to have any chance of feeling normal again.

It all started so innocently. Met up with the boys across town, in a cool bar called Platipus. As well as us Brits, there was a guy from NZ, a couple of American girls, JC the Canadian and a really cute Ozzy girl who unfortunately for us lads shares the same allergy to sausage. After a few beers, we hopped in a couple of cabs and headed to Bella Vista, a cool suburb with loads of bars and clubs and late night eateries. It all gets a bit blurry from then on. There`s memories of dancing to majorly cheesy 80s pop, surrounded by Chilean girls. Really. As a European bloke, you`re the beau of the ball. Felix, Jules and me got on the dancefloor, and immediately we`ve each got 2 girls dancing with us, one in front and one back, giving it the proper hip gyration thing and grabbing you in the boy region constantly. Seriously, it must have been "bag-a-husband" night; total hilarity. Even my hideous dancing technique, which resembles the uncontrollable shaking of a defecating dog didn`t put these girls off, with their predatory grins and wandering hands.

After that, it`s really hazy. What I DO know is that I woke up at 7am, slouched on a wall in a suburb I didn`t recognise. I looked down, and saw a hand that wasn`t mine gently lifting my wallet out of my trouser pocket. Confusion reigned, then I realised what was happening. I was being carefully and methodically mugged - no violence, just after my cash and cards.

I looked up and stared my assailant, a little tanned scruffy guy with no teeth, in the eyes, at which point he looked as though he`d seen a ghost (maybe he smelt my breath - pure beer-laden morning breath, the sort that can strip chrome) and started to run. Well, I say run, it was more of a hobble. His gait looked like Kevin Spacey playing Kaiser Soze, that sort of shuffling limp which doesn`t get you places very fast. My foggy head cleared very very quickly as you can imagine, so I jumped up and ran after him. He`d only got about 10 feet away, so it wasn`t exactly a chase worthy of a Bourne Identity film. He didn`t put up a fight, and immediately gave my wallet back after I`d "cajoled" him into doing so with my right fist and expressed my displeasure in the form of some extraordinarily colourful language. Impressed with the situation I wasn`t, especially when he got on the next passing bus and extended the middle finger of his right hand in my direction. Cheek.

Caught a metro train after this incident, and got back to the hostel at 9am this morning. Although it`s not eactly the smartest thing I`ve ever done, I really didn`t feel in any danger. Not that I`m going to start sleeping on walls in strange cities all the time, but there were quite a few people around and this was clearly the reason why the little scumbag used the softly-softly mugging approach, rather than the family favourite user-friendly knife-or-gun manoevre. I was way taller (I know I know, hard to believe) than him, and judging by the terrified look on his face I`m a hundred percent certain he was more scared than I was. Good.

Just chilling in the hostel now, watching a DVD of Led Zeppelin and cramming crisps into my mouth constantly. Jamie and the Scots arrive from Portillo on Saturday, so that`ll be another few beers. This is a cracking city, lots of fun - keep you posted gang. Tonsa love x