I don't consider myself a pessimist at all. I think of a pessimist as someone who is waiting for it to rain. And I feel completely soaked to the skin

It’s funny the things that can affect your mood. For example, the thing that has pissed me off the most today (or in the last couple of days) is a really sarcastic email from this woman at work. I really dislike her. I set up her department, with all the knowledge management consultants and I made her bloody database, but she has not once thanked me. She knows that she has taken my job. She came down to our office for a few days a couple of months ago to “pick my brains” but was quite rude to everyone. Then her team of half-wit advisors came to the office for a week, and we taught them everything. But they’re equally rude, and when we saw them at the staff convention, they totally ignored us. I just think it’s fucking rude. Fair enough, they don’t give a shit that they now have our jobs, and are being paid more to do them. Why should they give a toss? They don’t know us. But would it really hurt to be civil? I said, a few weeks ago, that I thought she had an attitude problem, and my colleagues laughed and said I was silly, but it’s fairly unanimous now.

In other news it turns out that I am a bit thick, as I forgot to pay my debt repayment last month, and the debt recovery people keep calling me up. Once I give them this £270, then I don’t owe them anything more, which is good. But it’s a lot of money and I kind of begrudge paying it to them. For the last six months, a fairly hefty proportion of my salary has gone to them, but y’know, now I am slightly less in debt, which is nice. Of course, come September, I will be more in debt than before. Meh.

Today I have been mainly amusing myself with this website: http://www.amirtofangsazan.blogspot.com and the follow up: http://tofangsazan-the.blogspot.com Haha. And he’s from Barnet as well. I have been laughing so much I almost don’t mind that I can’t leave my desk for another hour, thanks to my inconsiderate colleagues, and really want a cigarette.

On Saturday me and N (and S, briefly) went to the Bonkersfest on Camberwell Green. I didn’t realise at the time, but it was apparently “glorifying mental illness”, which, if you ask me, is fucked up. Amy’s comedy was really funny, and we had some cans of beer and chatted to her and her boyfriend, who looked like Dr Who, and some girl nearly got burrito on me. N managed to coerce A into going to the pub and we ended up drinking Kroenenberg Blanc in a (quite fittingly) schizophrenic pub. It’s schizophrenic in that the front half is quite yuppie, and they serve things like Kr Blanc, but then you go through a door and it is a proper old mans pub with real Sarf Lahndan people and a stain on the pool table that looked like Gorbachev’s birthmark. It was very very much fun. Until of course, the vomiting began, but y’know (and I need to stop saying that), that’s what happens if you don’t line your stomach.

For some reason we woke up far too early on Sunday, but then we had a nap, and I made my trademark dish: scrambled eggs. I am fucking amazing at scrambled eggs, which is weird because I refuse to eat eggs. They gross me out. So my trademark dish is one I have never tried. But I know it’s good. Actually, I did a lot of cooking yesterday. At home, I cooked a huge amount of ratatouille, rice/vegetable type pilaff thing, and more tabbouleh than you can shake a stick at. Because I am more domesticated than Nigella bloody Lawson, I have brought to work with me today: some olives, a small assortment of cheese, a Tupperware container of ratatouille/rice, a brioche (with nutella, of course), a jam jar full of tabbouleh as all my Tupperware containers have gone missing, despite me buying loads only a week ago, and – and this is the piece de resistance – a pink, flower shaped plate with matching fork and spoon. I have icepacks keeping it all chilled as I write this. Hmm.

I have decided not to drink cows milk anymore. I told #1 about this, and she said she didn’t care if it’s 12% pus, she wants to believe it’s just “cow tits stuff, like, udders, milk!” because she likes it. I am trying to like soya milk but the fact is that it’s rough.

Speaking of #1, the tension between her and #4 has reached boiling point and they are so going to shag. They’re going on holiday together. She asked me for my advice and I said something along the lines of “noooooooooooooooooo”. The other week she said she wanted a husband, and now look. Last night I counselled her for ages on this but I think they will just get drunk one night and have rampant sex on the kitchen table and #2 will probably walk in and go nuts. Or anyway, it will be awkward. Still, it’s like proper drama innit. I don’t want this drama, I don’t have a hungry look in my eyes for these sorts of situations, and I would quite like camp mansions to not be some crazed sex house. Also I think I am miffed that I am not #1’s favourite anymore. Things between me and #2 are still shit. #1 says it’s because whenever #2 looks at me, she sees everything she is not. I don’t know what to do about that. She’s certainly very odd. For example, she doesn’t leave her room without putting on full make up. On Saturday she spent two hours taking off her fake tan with this special cream, and then reapplying more tan.

Oh fake tan. It is the bane of my life. #1 and I decided we would try to look more attractive instead of spending our lives looking like the guy with the two guitars who sleeps on the streets by the station. So we have some fake tan. And we are getting addicted. So far I am only just less pale than Caspar the friendly ghost, but #1 has a three week headstart and she had to tone it down as she looked like she’d been tangoed.

And then last night something funny but bad happened. I had lots of really philosophical thoughts and smiled a lot. I downloaded lots of Jewish music, and pondered whether I really do have Jewish eyes. What are Jewish eyes? I got confused and thought my friends housemate had had phone sex with some girl when my friend was in the room, which was not what I was told at all.

And now I just stole a piece of damn nice chocolate cake from the boardroom. Ha! A veritable feast awaits me!!