Jesus is a winner

So this girl I know has got a boyfriend and I see them together every day. I can't figure out whether I'm more jealous of him or her.

I now have about 20 mp3's but I only want to listen to this one track... but I've forgotten the name of it or who it's by, so I can't download it.

I'm leaving this job in three weeks time and people keep saying they'll be sad to see me go. I think I'll be sad to leave. I like being with all the adults and being the joker. Oh boo. I wasn't meant to be nostalgic about leaving. Anyway, the man who is a god is meant to set me up with his son before I leave.

There's a girl who says she is my friend but actually dislikes me. I don't care though, cos her boyfriend is well boring. He's an accountant who doesn't like films with subtitles and his trousers are far too high-waisted. I don't know what I'm supposed to have done. She was the one who betrayed me (as such). Though she may have read my emails, in which case I am fucked.

I read someone elses emails. And forwarded them. I am a bitch. And I laugh at racist jokes.

"Give her a hub"

I think my cat should breathe a sigh of relief that he lives elsewhere, cos if I had any money, this is what I would spend my hard earned pennies on:

http://www.petoffice.co.jp/catprin/english/

I well love Japan.

Jesus was a hero to most but he didn't mean shit to me

Alright, so I've given up drinking for a month. Yep. Early onset alcoholism (ah fuck it, it was fairly well developed) and liver disease were beckoning and I thought "errrr wasn't I meant to be a high achiever once upon a time? wasn't I meant to be the girl who was going to go far?" So yes, that's me off the sauce for a month. It's going alright so far though I have replaced booze with tea and I now drink more tea than my mum, something I didn't think possible. The reasons for this bout of sobriety are many, but here are a couple:

- my insides hurt and I think I have bowel disease
- bearing in mind it's been two months, that means I have wasted the entire summer getting hammered, which isn't great
- when #1 suggested not drinking in the house, I thought to myself "maybe I could just not drink in bed, and I could drink in the kitchen instead, a bit more civilised, like" and then I realised that drinking in bed every night (and some mornings, okay I admit it) = alcoholism
- while it's fun to have memories of a night out come back to you in bits and pieces, having large blanks is not so cool
- my brother knows a guy who has to sleep upside down in a special harness cos that way the toxins start to drain out of his liver, and not only would this be a bit of a bummer, man, but it would be impossible cos of my hip
- also, enough is enough

I have in fact managed to waste my entire summer moping and drinking and crying. Oh my god I have cried so much and I am so sorry for everyone. It's like I've lost all my passion, the thing that made me so different. I have cried and cried about a situation I could never have done anything about and which I should never have gotten into. Why I didn't see some sort of sense back then I really don't know, but I will blame a general lack of common sense with what Mariella Frostrup calls "relationship goggles". The funniest (in an ironic, not an actually amusing way) thing is that when I split up with cockface (come on, it's funny to call him that!) I thought never again will I get into something where I am at a disadvantage, this is not what the suffragettes suffered for etc. And I even convinced myself that I was being well feminist and ooooh look at me, when actually, it was all on his terms and I should have run away at the first possible opportunity, as all it got me was hurt and lied to (yes, lied to, for all his protestations).

But you know what? I am so over that. Seriously. Enough. I don't need that shit, and you know what, that shit doesn't need me. I have a hundred different things to be getting on with, thanks very much.

The final obstacle between me and my masters has been removed. Yes, that's right. I got my loan sorted out. Six grand. Eeeek. Now it's money, check. New shoes, check. Pencil case, check. Pens, check. Books, check. Paper, check. Right now go to school. Yes boss.

Sobriety began on Saturday morning, which means that I could complete my week of carnage. On Thursday I went out for what was ostensibly one pint with someone from work but turned into five and then a trip into Soho to meet some other people, though not before there was a suicide on the underground and then me wandering around Soho pretending I knew where I was going and getting irate that people were asking where I was. Anyway, met up with the boy that I'm seeing and far too much wine was drunk and garlic shots consumed, and by the end of the night I think everyone had retched at least once. I nearly got knocked over by some pushy Americans and I lost a hoop, but my friend got his phone stolen when he fell asleep on the tube. You see? You see why I shouldn't drink?? Sobriety is the new grey which is the new brown which is the new black.

Nevertheless, I went to Clapham on Friday to have a few with Wolf. Some proper sheep shearing rednecked Aussies tried to start a fight with me. I got called a thieving wench. I laughed so hard that staropramen came out of my nose. We had wanted to go to an old mans pub, something like the Holloway, but Clapham is rather thin on the ground when it comes to such establishments, mainly cos it's populated by tossers. Wolf and I ended up feeling old and jaded and the most important thing I took away from the evening was that low rise shoes are the thing right now.

Saturday, the day of sobriety, heralded a day of cleaning and generally sorting my life out. I went round to S's and we watched Clueless. On the way home a man tried to touch me at the bus stop, so I moved to another bus stop. He followed me. I moved again. He followed again. He stared at me and tried to touch me again. I stood up and shouted at him: "What the fuck is your problem? If you try and touch me one more time, so help me god I will stamp on your fucking eyeballs!" Then I went and stood with some hard looking people cos I was well scared and thought "please don't rape me, please don't kill me". But twas all good.

On Sunday my middle brother came round. Middle Lamb diagnosed my computer as being basically FUCKED so we went into town and bought a new hard drive. I have lost all my music and photos. I well miss my music, but I have downloaded the only song that really matters (The Undertones). It was cool to see my brother though, it's like a proper Lamb convention in Camp Mansions these days. I should really go to Leamington to see him soon. The upside of the whole computer thing, however, is that yay I have a working computer in my room again, which means I can write my blog lots and annoy people on msn and myspace and watch dvd's in bed. It's a good life.

Today I got me a bit of cultural capital by going to the V&A to see the Islamic art, and I wore a mini-skirt into town and then drank lots of tea and did silly things. THAT'S IT.

Oh yeah, and I'm not judging, but hahahahahahahahahahahahaha. You know it.

life 'o' hats

Leave work. Go to shop. Buy some lipstick that will never wear. Wait for bus. Listen to walkman. Get on bus. Stop at next bus stop. Fucking Neelesh gets on bus. Feel like have actually died. Try and make polite conversation. Want to cry. Feel like gods must be punishing me for some past life. Get off bus. Get on different bus. Start crying. Get hysterical. Go home. Find lots of journalists in kitchen. Tell #1 that I might go and meet N. Forced to sit down. Told that if I meet him I will get a slap from all the journalists in turn. Cry. Get given wine. Drink wine. Drink beer. Text N. Drink more wine. Show off stolen goods. Invent interesting stories. Drink more wine. Eat shepherds pie. Drink more wine. Have a beer. Go to shop for more wine. Smoke some fags. Announce that I did a nine-second long fart the other day. Drink more wine. Get told I have an arse like a wind sock. Decide to text G and tell him this. Drink more wine. Have conversation of pure filth on the balcony and thus in hearing of the whole street. Drink more wine. Smoke more fags. Kick journos out. Send completely wrong text messages. Drink wine with #1. Bitch about people. Call #1's mum and talk to her about cocks. Drink more wine. Listen to bhangra. Bitch about the over-zealous tidying. Drink more wine. Put #1 to bed. Fall on top of her. Sing "don't squash me now, I'm having such a good time, I'm having a ball". Clean kitchen. Drink more wine. Call S. Whinge incessently. Drink more wine. Listen to Crash Test Dummies. Pass out at some point.

Wake up. Hear #1 shouting "you snooze you lose" as she steals the bathroom. Wander around in pants. Make tea. Get dressed. Fall over. Get train. Go to work. Decide not to think about N anymore. Have coffee. Do something very very bad.

Quote of the day: #1, this morning - "I tell you what Hats, this has got to stop"

put some clothes on and call me

Quotes of the day from yesterday:

#1 - What is it that they say about bald men?
Me - They've got no hair.

#1 - I am living proof that wanking doesn't make you go blind.
Me - Dunno about me then cos my eyesight's getting better.

This morning #1 started banging on the door and asking who gave me back my music privileges, and I was like whaaaaaat? But then we did some naked ironing and I stumbled into work, having been informed that last night I promised to write a story about a giant paper clip and then fell off the bed. I don't remember this but it might explain why my hip hurts so much. Sobriety was never going to happen, really.

Just how much sweet chilli sauce can one girl have?

I've been well rubbish at updating this, because I feel like I am going slightly insane. I feel genuinely depressed, and not just situationally. Which sucks, I don't want to be depressed again. I'm so over that, I've been doing that for feckin years now. Part of me thinks I should go to the doctor and part of me thinks I should just get on with stuff. At the weekend I lay pretty comatose on my bed (on a goddamm Saturday night) actually thinking about killing myself. This isn't good. Of course, I am too apathetic to do anything about it, but it's not a nice way to feel. To compensate for this, I have been very hyperactive. Like, silly hyperactive. If my hip wasn't really painful then I would be running around, but I can't do that. One sure sign that something is seriously wrong with me is that my sleep is all wrong. I can't sleep properly at all, and part of this is that my hip hurts a lot, but part of it is that dreaming is a very dangerous thing when you feel like nothing is anything, if that makes any sense at all.

The worst thing is, I'm sure people know something is wrong, but I just ignore it and talk about stupid stuff, and then send panicked text messages at 2 am because I feel like I'm destroying myself. I love all my friends. They are putting up with a lot.

All that said, the past few days have been quite eventful, in a lazy Sunday afternoon kind of way. On Friday night I went out for a few drinks with some people from work, which was nice. Saturday daytime was cool as I went shopping with #1. I bought some new shoes, a pile of stuff from Holland and Barrett, and some books. Actually, in the bookshop it was quite funny cos the guy at the checkout (is that the right word?) said that there was a 10% discount for students. I told him I wasn't a student (yet) but he gave me the discount anyway. I suggested to #1 that it was because I was buying academic type books, but she said, quite loudly, that it was because I was a "dirty vegetarian tree hugging hippy student" but that's cos she's a filthy omnivore.

On Sunday I went to R's birthday celebration thing, in a pub in Ravenscourt Park, which was cool. I realised on the way home that the reason I act like such a complete twat (yeah, I know I said I'd cut down on my usage of that word, but it's too apt on this occasion) is because then people will laugh at my jokes, and hopefully then they'll like me. And if they don't laugh at my jokes, maybe they'll just think it's my jokes that are crap rather than the entire essence of my soul. I suck.

Yesterday spawned the line "it's like being in a room with one hundred Seth Cohen's" and today I found out that my friends dad thinks Marks & Spencers is called (seriously) Marks Expensive, and he genuinely thought the phrase was "next of skin", and for this reason, I love this man. Though not as much as the man at work who I swear is actually some sort of god. Yesterday I went to see some bands with S, SB and #5. I like it when my friends get along. It was a very nice evening. #5 and I got the train part of the way home with two of the boys in Esiotrot, who were possibly the sweetest boys ever in the whole world. It all went a bit wrong though cos me and #5 had to get another train afterwards, and there was a woman on the same carriage as us, talking INCESSANTLY about how her mother used to beat her, with her friend, a grossly overweight man from Paisley with aspirations to be some sort of psychologist. As I got off the train, I announced to #5 (slightly too loudly) that I'm not surprised the mother had beaten her, I was tempted to do so even now. Poor #5 had been trying to sleep but it was akin to sleeping next to a pneumatic drill.

I decided that I was going to become a nicer person (leading S to tell me that she will get me institutionalised before I can fully implement my admittedly rather stupid plan). Thing is, I decide things like that, and then spend the whole day at work laughing at people getting stuck in the revolving door.

Things that I need to do

1. Find some decent painkillers because it would be really nice to get some proper sleep.
2. Sort out my loan.
3. Get a haircut unless I fancy the mullet look.
4. Spread a particularly 'interesting' rumour around work in retaliation for what's been said about me (childish I know).
5. Make sure my brother is okay.
6. Stop saying "twat" quite so much.
7. Try not to laugh so hard that coffee comes out of my nose.
8. Equally, try not to laugh until I cry when I am a) at work and b) wearing too much eyeliner.
9. Stop walking in on my housemate when she's half naked.
10. Be a bit more subtle.
11. Get my photos developed.
12. Stop looking so guilty. It's giving the game away.

Fuck me! A happy post???

Basically, everything is hilarious. G called me up and was running late, so I was like yeah sure come to my house and we'll go to the pub. But I started drinking with #1 and #5 (who has become a complete tidy freak and kept tidying everything away, including the plate I'd just taken out, my phone, the cigarettes, etc). G finally rocked up and we were already all a bit drunk and I hung my shoes on the washing line cos we're fucking ghetto like that. We went to the pub where I made loads of really loud and really inappropriate comments about #1 doing the horizontal hokey-cokey. She wasn't annoyed though cos I'm her bitch and we're going on a well lesbian holiday. Anyway, G missed his train and had to stay, and I got ridiculously drunk, and asked him why he fancied me in the first place. His answer: "Cos you were an easy lay." I laughed and laughed and laughed and then thought, "what? really?" The real reason, apparently, was because of my passion, but that made me laugh even more. And then #1 was like "oh my god, you look the same, you look like pixies and you should have little pixie children!" which was possibly the funniest thing of all. #5 chatted up the barman and I chatted up the bargirl cos she's hot and I'm feeling well gay.

I was really nervous about my x-ray today but it was so much fun! The hospital is staffed primarily by sweet old ladies and I got to wear a hospital gown, which was hilarious in itself as I was wearing socks and plimsolls and I looked like a chavvy invalid. So much fun. I asked for some ovary protectors but they were like nooooooo so now I am going to have x-ray children. They asked me to sign a form to say I wasn't pregnant, and asked if there was anyway I might be pregnant and I was like "huh, if I was, it would be the immaculate conception" cos I'm a comedy genius like that. I like that hospital. Then I went to the Greek shop because oh my god I am so moving to Greece for a whole host of reasons but mainly cos I only eat Greek food and I like Greek comedy shows and Greek people fucking love me, so yeah.

Then there has been a rather pleasant development in my life and I'm pretty happy about that. And I'm seeing SB tonight, so it's all looking pretty darn peachy if you ask me.

Coffeespoons and T S Eliot

So apparently this blog makes me seem normal, but I don't believe that for a second. I reckon it makes me seem incredibly stupid, but whatevs, this is my giving-a-fuck face. I'm sure that in real life I'm so much more well-adjusted than the drivel I write here. Having said that, people keep telling me that that there is something "dark" within me. So maybe I don't disguise it as well as I should. I don't feel well today. Yesterday I smashed my head against the bathroom shelf and I have a proper lump on my head now, which makes me feel particularly special. It has transformed into a migraine and I feel rough as fuck.

The weekend was quite hilarious really. I went out for some pints after work and found out that people (from work) have been bitching about me behind my back, which is always quite amusing. I'm not really bothered, as what they're saying isn't even true, but it's quite annoying how everyone talks about stuff they have no idea about. Like, what the fuck, where did these stories even come from?? I heard another story a couple of weeks ago and was like WHAT?? I think these people need to get a life or a hobby or something. Their lives must be so devoid of excitement if I am the hot topic of conversation. Anyway, the pub was cool cos there was good company and I had a really good time, but that's all I'm saying about it.

The shit kinda hit the fan later on when I went to Crush and my friend was selling us four drinks for £2.70, and me and S got pretty damn pissed and took emo pictures and at some point I started crying, like actually weeping about N's ex-girlfriend (who, let's face it, is blatantly so inferior to me) and then I have very vague recollections about the rest of the night but I think it may have included me vomiting and having my picture taken with a whole load of Indonesian kids and me telling people I was so happy to see them when really I didn't give a toss and getting a stamp on my forehead. And telling one of my secrets but the vast quantity of alcohol consumed means (hopefully) that all this is forgotten. I went back to S's, but not before getting the worlds nicest sandwich and some vodka and some (stolen) jaffa cakes.

I woke up far too late and with such a pain in my hip, and legged (ha!) it home to find mini-Lamb sitting on the front steps of my house. A pleasant day was passed eating and chatting and finding out my pc is pretty fucked (Windows apparently needs reinstalling as it seems to have corrupted in some way, god knows what this even means), then we headed into town and wandered down to the South Bank. Next to the National Theatre, there's an open space where there's different music/drama/dance performances every day, so we watched a real life version of a silent movie, which was cool. We also went in a caravan that is an art gallery. After that, we strolled up to the Tate Modern and saw some frankly rather bizarre "art". That evening I cooked some food (and introduced my brother to the delights of chickpeas) and we watched Vanilla Sky. I've seen it before, but that was four years ago, and I cried all the way through it that time, so it was cool to watch it without being such an emotional ruin. I was reminded of how I was feeling back then, and the reasons I had been crying and I just thought "what a dick" (that being me). It's like, how to fuck up your life in one simple step... But I don't know if I'd do it any differently. Actually, fuck that shit, of course I would. But hindsight is a beautiful thing.

Yesterday we woke up quite late and went over to the Imperial War Museum, where we met up with the kids I used to look after and their mum. We saw the Animals at War exhibition, which the kids really liked, but I just thought meh, a dog with a parachute, whatevs. It was cool to see them all though, they're such a charming family. Afterwards mini-Lamb and I went back to Herne Hill and I took him to the Commercial, because a visit to Herne Hill without going to the Commercial is hardly a visit at all. A storm broke out and the roof started leaking. We headed into town and met up with S, which was cool. Apparently me and mini-Lamb are very similar and we have expressions that are the same, which is a bit odd as we never really hung out together much when we were growing up, him being five years younger than me. I like spending time with him though, he's a nice kid. After he went home I stayed out for some more and ended up falling asleep in a chair (that's what happens if you have a nice blanket!) and being grumpy, for which I must apologise.

I have so much stuff to do and I haven't done literally anything in so long. My room looks terrible and I need to do sensible stuff like clean the windows and do all my hand-washing. I need to sort out my loan. I need to find someone who knows about computers to come and re-install Windows. I need to stop sleeping the wrong way round in my bed. But instead, I make arrangements to go out. Tonight, I should really go home as my head feels like it might explode. But instead I'm meeting up with G, and then tomorrow I'm seeing SB, and the next day god knows what, and the next day and the next day... But I think I need things to cheer me up. Tomorrow I go for my hip x-ray, which I'm a bit wary about. Also, the radiographer will think I'm a skank as I'm not going to shave my legs. But that's okay, right? I think it's the least of my worries, to be honest.

Sooner or later, this house-of-cards existence I have created is going to fall to shit.

baby I got your money

I have cheered up somewhat since yesterday, which is good. I bought some wine on the way home, and got home to find SB already there with a box of chocolates and some wine for us all, to say thanks for letting her stay. I offered to go with her to her new house (which, incidentally, is in Hackney, about a three minute walk from the first house she ever lived in, bizarrely enough), but she said she'd be fine, but I went to the station with her anyway, because she had heavy bags. It was just as well really because the train was cancelled and we went to the pub and then went to see the baby foxes. I was quite sad to see her go. I'd got so used to her being there, having one of my best friends at home. I mean, I have #1, but she always has stuff to do, because she works so ridiculously hard. Me and SB are slackers through and through. She once had a teacher say to her "it's a shame there isn't an A-Level in Idleness, because you'd really excel." I went home and hung out with #1, and said something witty that #1 put in an email to some guy but I've now forgotten what it was. I called my brother, mini-Lamb, for a bit. After talking for a bit, I asked to speak to our mum (or "my mum", as he insists on calling her). "Do you not remember our conversation the other day?" he asked me. Hmm, vaguely. "Do you not remember what I told you about mum?" he asked. Again, vaguely. Turns out she's in Devon and I was told this. I asked him about the empty envelope she'd sent me, and turns out that middle-Lamb got one too. Why would you send any empty envelope? I was so excited to get post that wasn't a bill or similar, and saved it until late in the day, and it was bloody empty. I was so annoyed. I threatened divorce. I want proper mail.

Anyway, after all of this, I'd had a bottle of wine and I was a bit bored. #5 came back from some spying mission and we sat in the kitchen and ate caramelised onions and talked about spread-betting and other corporate finance stuff. She was like, wow, you know way more than some of the people who invest with us. And I was like, well, I have read 'Principles of Corporate Finance' you know, and one day I'm going to make a fucking killing on the stockmarket, even though I find the whole thing immoral. I'll be a goddamn millionaire and I can buy some fucking shoes, finally.

She went to bed about midnight, and I thought to myself, well, I've just opened this bottle of wine, it would be a shame to waste it. Being already very drunk, I decided this was an excellent plan, and I sat on my bed and listened to Daft Punk and read a very interesting article about fuel correction. At about 2, I was really bored and wanted to talk about Chaos Theory, so I called up G and we ended up getting in trouble with his dad, and I finally passed out in a drunken stupor at god knows what time, but not before writing a story that I might put up here (if only because I write such bollocks when drunk but think I'm being well creative cos it's red wine, innit). Yeeaaaah.

This morning I went to the doctors and they think I might have dislodged something in my hip, and I'm going for x-rays on Tuesday. I am very unhappy about it, as it might mean no more ballet. But the x-rays and MRI scan will surely tell me, though in the mean time it means me having to take off my clothes of yet more doctors and be prodded while they try to diagnose me. Still, I'd rather be prodded a bit and feel faintly stupid than be in this pain for much longer. Amusingly, as I was taking off my jeans, my tobacco fell out of my pocket, and the doctor was like "do you only smoke tobacco?" Errr, yes, unless you count all the crack... Do I look like a stoner? Admittedly I looked pretty hungover this morning, but still. He asked if I had thought about quitting. I said yes, I had, but to be honest, there was too much crap in my life at the moment and smoking was one of the few solaces I had, and if he'd like to sort out the train wreck that is my life then I would be more than happy to stop smoking.

I miss the aeroplanes.

I am so over this.

It seems like I am incapable of having a nice straightforward time. Like Monday, I go out, and I find out that lots of things I took as a given were in fact a big pack of lies, and that actually, I was right to be worried about being abandoned, because (and yeah yeah this sounds paranoid) it was actually part of a plan! Ho hum. Then on Tuesday, what was meant to be a nice glass of wine with (admittedly a fucking delicious) supper turned into two bottles of wine and me and SB sitting on the balcony in the rain going "it's so mild, isn't this pleasant?" but then realising we were cold and wet. But more headfuckingly weird was the incessant "you should be together, he's really lovely, he really loved you, why don't you get married and have some babies together", which although well-intentioned, is messing with my head.

Last night, which was meant to be a quiet drink after work, ended up with all sorts of stuff I won't detail, but then me leaving early so I could go home and meet SB. I went into #1's room and she told me something that wasn't even bad for fuck's sake but I started crying because I just started thinking that I'm no ones favourite, I'm no ones special person or whatever, I'm just... well I don't know, but it's not great. In the end she kicked me out of her room and I waited for SB but she didn't come until 8am. Then today at work, which I was kind of dreading, I find out a whole new level of shitness and I just think, fuck this shit, I want to cry. Part of me thinks 'a friend wouldn't do that', and part of me thinks 'well actually they just did and are you that desperate to hold onto anyone who says they're your friend that you'll let them do that and make out like you don't really mind', and unfortunately I kinda say yeeeeaaaaaahhhhhhh to the last one.

But, and this is no consolation, however shit work is, I'm going to feel awful when I go home. Not only is there an unfolding 'situation' I need to think about, which doesn't really affect me but bothers me anyway, but #1 is having some problems I need to help her with. And SB is moving to Hackney, so I am a bit sad. Why? Because GUESS WHAT STOP PRESS (and all that) - I am being abandoned. Again. Or I'm not, but it feels like I am, so I am going to get hideously drunk.

One good thing is that with this new terror alert, the planes won't be flying. I live under a flightpath and I sit outside and watch the planes and think about where the people are going and where they have been and what they have to tell people on arrival, and whether they're happy about it or worried or completely ambivalent. I wonder whether any of them are as precious (and I'm aware this sounds ridiculous) as N, and I think no, no, they can't be. And then I cryyyyyyyyyyyyyy. #5 found me doing this the other day and she was like "oh, are you thinking about a certain air steward, perhaps?" and I just started babbling on about Heathrow and promises and ex-girlfriends and why I would never forget that he wouldn't even look at me.

I saw a pigeon trying to eat a rock and I hoped it would break it's break and then I felt really guilty. G went to Jamaica and all he could tell me was that he saw a chicken standing on a pig. I am so over this.

Revelation

So yeah, oh my god, he's such a liar.

I want a blonde one!

What could have been a terrible weekend, when you consider it, turned out to be pretty fun. Though I could probably win a prize for acting like a complete cock. I don't know why I have started to do such stupid things. Last night, for example, I was carrying loads of stuff to the kitchen, and had balanced a plate on top of a big pile of washing, which obviously fell and smashed, right outside #5's door, who was trying to sleep. #1 was really drunk and ran out of her room shouting "are you alright man, did you try to slit your wrists?", which was rather bizarre as a plate is indeed often the method of choice.

So on Friday I managed to completely fuck everything up. I lied and pretended I wasn't going to go and meet N, but, errr, I did. We went to the Spitz and saw Leaf Cutter John as well as some girls singing and this really horrible pretentious man whose songs sounded like this: "I wear stupid clothes cos I'm like on the edge, and I keep a straight face telling my really banal stories as there's nothing to laugh about, but if you'd like to think I'm really witty that would be awesome please thank you." Tosser. Anyway, me and N had a row... Hmmm, that's not true. I got upset and angry and called him a liar and all sorts, then cried all the way home. Boo. I called #1 who said I was a silly but I should come and get into bed with her. I planned to, but I drank all the spirits I could find in my room and the kitchen and then passed out on my (wooden) bedroom floor with my glasses on and a beer in my hand and classic fm playing on the radio. Yes, I'm classy.

Saturday morning, I woke up feeling very bruised, thanks to the floor, and also had these really awful memories of not only sending text messages at 3am, but deleting things from my sent items folder, which is a terrible habit I have been trying to stop myself from doing. I took my glasses off and examined the now pretty mangled wreck I try and see out of, got a beer from the fridge (I figured it was nearly 9am, and I probably needed it, so allow, it's not alcoholism), then got into bed. The first task was to find out whether I had indeed been sending drunken - and probably deranged - text messages. I knew that the first person I would have texted would have been G, so I asked him if he had got anything from me. He said no: I breathed a sigh of relief and took a big swig of beer. All good, twat status somewhat alleviated. Then I texted N to apologise (again - I had already done so the night before, before the drinking began and the passing out and god knows what), and he said it was okay and I was so happy that he doesn't hate me that I literally bounded out of bed. Having said that, he hasn't been in touch since, so looks like he might hate me after all.

SB (my friend who is staying with me at the moment) came round about 1, and we drank tea and chatted and caught up on everything. She's so cool, and the weirdest thing is that even though we haven't seen each other in 2 years, it's like it's only been 10 minutes and we can talk about anything. I've known her since the first day at sixth form when she came in really late and got told off by our tutor, the fantastic Dr Holmes. He was a proper legend. He used to come out with the students and get really drunk and try and cycle home, but would end up going round in circles. He was awesome. But yeah, SB is amazing. And even better, she's moving to London properly, so it will be back to the good old days. She got on really well with #1, and we all went off to the pub together, although SB couldn't stay long cos she had to go and meet a young man. #1 and I got a bit pissed and decided to go on a date together next weekend and to go on holiday to Helsinki, which should be awesome. Scandinavia (from the little I have seen and what I have read/heard) is cool - in more ways than one, haha. And Finland is the land of my heroes (ie Mika Hakkinen and Kimi Raikkonen), so it will be wicked to actually go there.

Having got home and eaten a corn on the cob, I read the papers while lying on the sofa. Inevitably, I fell asleep and got newspaper print all over my face. I looked like a proper steet urchin. I then managed to explode some sausages in the microwave before eventually leaving the house with a now much more sober #1. I went up to Denmark Hill to a barbeque, which was very nice, and quite civilised until we all started talking about pissing in public and I got told that I ran the risk of being a very bitter person. I'm like, "I'm not bitter, I just think men suck". This girl I work with came up with a great idea to make sure I don't get ANOTHER boyfriend who decides to marry their cousin (seriously, it's becoming something of a pattern - that, and that I seem to only go out with people who really like steak, which as a committed vegetarian, I find a bit puzzling). Basically, what I'm going to do is look at the register of an orphanage or something and find myself a foundling. Heaven - no parents saying this that or the other, no bullshit. Obviously I wouldn't tell said foundling that I had deliberately sought him out because he had no family, cos that might be weird. He'd be all "isn't it amazing how we found each other?" and I'll just think "shut up and love me forever". #1's idea of how to avoid this is to go out with a nice British boy, but I was a bit pissed when she was saying this and just started going "haha, skinny white boys with guitars... hey, did I tell you the story about Johnny from Razorlight?" which of course I have, more than once. Anyway, Saturday night was very nice, many interesting conversations, and the fact that I walked straight into a lamp post didn't seem to put a damper on things at all. Fun, nice, good, yes. But this time I did send drunken text messages and I got told off, and then fell asleep with my glasses on AGAIN. I need to get them fixed REALLY BADLY.

I woke up feeling quite refreshed on Sunday morning and read the papers in bed for a while, before getting up and going to Brixton for a swim. As I'd finished my last length, I was shaking the water out of my goggles, and a girl started chatting to me:

Girl: It's tiring, innit?
Me: Yeah. I considered staying in bed this morning but I'm glad I came.
Girl: How many lengths did you do?
Me: 40
Girl: OH MA DAYS!! (grabbing her friend) Guess how many lengths this girl just did?!
Friend: I don't know, how many?
Girl: 40 lengths!
Friend: OH MA DAYS!!
Me: Errr, I'm going to go and have a shower.

I am, quite clearly, a living legend. Anyway, I did a bit of shopping (really domesticated stuff like new sheets (old ones all have wine stains) and towels) and went home, where I read trashy magazines (S and D would be proud!) and took the piss out of Cheryl Tweedy, who apparently was heard, while getting out of a private jet, shouting "you can't take a fucking picture of me like this man, I've got sick on ma trousers!" I went up to Fruitstock instead of tidying my room, and sat in a field with lots of strangers, which is becoming more and more of a problem to me, as I am becoming more and more scared and prone to freak out if there are more than 10 people in one place. It's not fun and I don't know why it's happening (maybe because I am actually a bit mental? After all, it was only last weekend when I was told by three seperate people that they thought I needed therapy). But it was okay, cos SB was there, and we had a chat and listened to the London Community Gospel Choir, who are very good and I would recommend.

Oh - the most random thing!! SB and I were chatting about people we used to know, people from school and from Cambridge generally. A whole load of weird shit has gone down, that's for sure. Anyway, we were talking about B (who for those of you who can remember that far back, or can be bothered to scroll back to November or whenever the fuck it was, is a boy who I went to sixth form with and then really randomly we had this, errr, liason, and we ended up going out for all of about eight hours (and we were asleep for six of those), but we're still very good friends even though I have to try not to laugh when I remember some of the stuff he was saying to me that night, but that's because I'm a pervert), and then saying that London isn't like Cambridge at all, it's so anonymous here, and you don't bump into people like back home. We left the park and crossed the road, and who do we see? B, with his new girlfriend, who incidentally is his old girlfriend. It was so surreal, but lovely to see them both.

SB and I went home and made tasty tasty food, then looked through all these photos from when we were at school and listened to a mix tape she'd made me when we were 16 and I thought to myself, actually, this is pretty fucking ace.

But of course, the feeling didn't last thanks to communication with the outside world and going back to work and a GODDAMN FUCKING ALARM GOING OFF FOR 20 MINUTES! And I have totally managed to miss out the whole thing about why I might be getting married. I'm going to the pub.

Your mother tried to abort you but you JUST WOULDN'T DIE!!

I don't know where to begin on this one really. But I feel I should write something because I won't have a computer all weekend. I have managed to spend the entire day today sorting out my emails, which basically means that I was finding any excuse to obsessively check my email. Why? Stop it! No one is going to email you! But I have so little to do, apart from think up "witty" comments to put in all-staff emails, or read the magazine that comes with the Evening Standard on a Friday, or have possibly slightly too animated discussions about how hot Zidane is. Why all these conversations end with me saying something completely inappropriate just as people walk into the room (leading to one of those tumbleweed moments) I don't know, but at least I have not done anything quite as bad as that circumcision conversation.

Anyway, so what have I been up to lately? I have been battling through my shyness and have chatted to the new housemate, but I kinda spazzed out at the pub yesterday and had to run away, but it's okay cos I think people were laughing at me. On Tuesday G came round and we accidentally took ketamine. I ended up completely naked pinned against the bathroom wall, which sounds kinda sexual, but seeing as I was in the bathroom alone, it kinda wasn't. Got completely shit faced, managed to unplug everything in my room and put the shoes out of the window. On Wednesday we woke up late and went to see Pirates of the Caribbean 2 (not as good as the first, but worth it for Johnny Depp in eyeliner, and anyway, the tickets were only £3.99). #1 came back from the north east and amongst all the drama of me and her and G and the spy and everything, she informed me that I had jinxed #5's relationship by going to the Commercial, which is a whole other story I can't be bothered to explain, but yeah, that pub calls time on any relationship, let's put it like that.

Yesterday I was moping at home because #1 had gone away again, G had gone home, everyone else was in the pub, there wasn't much vodka left and I couldn't be bothered to lie to anyone and be all like "hiya, I'm not actually a headcase, nor am I a complete cunt, will you be my friend?", but then my friend from school called and she's coming to stay with me from Sunday until Wednesday! Woo! I am seriously excited, cos she's ace, and I like having guests. Yay!

Finally, I'm making two resolutions for the next few weeks:

1. Stop smoking in bed - it makes my room smell of death. Should perhaps stop drinking wine in bed too, but it's not going to happen.
2. Stop meeting people and seeing them as some sort of salvation. It's just lame. I can't help it.