Three solutions to the financial crisis: the love of Christ, the body of Eri-chan or the small-cap tracker fund of Nomura Securities.

So with the usual anaemic apologies for absence of service, Urban Dirt returns with the curious parable of the terrible Sunday hangover, the morning missionary visits of the three great "isms", and the Holy Trinity of  "magic" cures for the global financial crisis: god, sex and cash.

Picture the scene. To crown a week in which dozens of Tokyo chums were made redundant (and dozens more have a similar threat hanging over their heads like the winnet of Damocles) the survivors naturally found themselves in Roppongi toasting the safe homeward journey of a dejected pal from RBS. Things dragged on a bit with a liquidity now sadly absent from credit markets: the last remaining bull in town (works for Instinet) was buying drinks all round for the crowd at Geronimos; the beer was flowing freely on the shooting range at Point Blank; the trans-sexuals of Motown House were being plied with gin by the out-of-town Lotharios who still don't know an Adam's apple when they see one one.

The party finished, as usual, at around 5am with everyone well deserving of a gentle snooze. Impossible. Nobody, be they religious hawkers, flesh-club shills or side-parted stockbrokers, was prepared to allow that luxury.