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.

Chump is my new favourite word

I don’t feel very well today. In fact, I feel quite crap, and my arms hurt thanks to last night's misguided decision to do some press-ups. What I’d like to do is go home and get into bed, preferably with a nice cup of tea and the paper. However, what is actually going to happen is that I will sit at work all day and get progressively more miserable. Home is a bit weird at the moment because #4 has moved out (which is good) and #5 has moved in. She is very nice, but I am not good at adjusting to stuff like that, hence the hiding in the wardrobe scenario. #1 has gone up to Newcastle for a few days and this is when it will become really apparent how dependent I am on her. I feel completely abandoned. She’s not meant to leave me, and look, I’m all alone. That sounds so lame. But it’s how I feel, like nobody loves me and I’m going to die alone and blah blah blah shut your face.

The weekend was pretty eventful actually. On Friday, I finished work, went to a leaving “party”, ate some amazing carrot cake, then sat in the smoking room and talked about obscenities, which was predictably overheard. Then I went to the Market Porter, which was cool. Me and a guy from work had a very animated but frankly quite filthy discussion on the tube. He’s ace and his hair smells nice. I finally got to Harlesden and drank copious gin and rambled at length about how my life is going nowhere and I’m going to die alone (can you see a theme?). finally S and D both went to bed and I stayed awake for a while reading Heat magazine before falling asleep and getting stuck to the leather sofa.

Saturday really was just a lesson in how to fuck things up. For example, if you need to get home and you go to Cricklewood station, it probably would be a good idea to make sure you get the right train. I was a bit concerned when the train pulled into Mill Hill, thinking “I’m sure Mill Hill is further out of London than Cricklewood… but I did check the departure board, I wouldn’t have got the wrong train… I should stop being so paranoid… but B said that paranoia is just increased awareness… no no no, I’m sure it’s fime, just chill out…” and I kind of dozed off. And woke up in St Albans. Fucking St Albans! I knew it was the wrong bastard train.

I got home to see #4 moving his stuff out. He was being very obnoxious, but I was just so grateful to see the back of him. #5 turned up and I helped her with her bags and boxes. The best thing was, she had a dog with her! It’s not hers, she was dog sitting, but it meant there was a dog in my house - and a massive dog at that. Anyhow, by about 3pm, #1 and I were sitting around, bored. I suggested a bottle of wine. We drank that. She suggested the pub. Four pints later and I’ve agreed to fly to Newcastle and I can’t stop laughing. Which didn’t bode well for the rest of the evening as I had to go out for dinner. I guess being pissed helped a little as I was able to talk to people (including such a lovely girl), but it did mean that by the end of the night, when we’d eaten and been around lots of bars, I was eating the mint leaves out of my mojito and I think at one point I actually said “Mike Skinner, where have you been all my life?” and ripped the head off Johnny from Razorlight and slated everyone elses music and then started saying stuff like “her son is going to get my daughter pregnant”. My friend took me back to his house where I burst into tears and whinged for literally an hour, before then spending the next half hour saying “I’ve ruined your birthday! I’m so sorry!” and drinking more gin (this time with tonic, in preparation for when I am a housewife). Ever the great conversationalist, I said “let’s talk about our exes”, which in retrospect was a bit silly, but then again, he said “when I touched your leg, I almost died”, so I win.

On Sunday I went to the Brixton pool and managed 40 lengths – not bad with a hangover that large. Then I headed off into town and went to a ballet class. What I didn’t realise was that it was an advanced class, and I left feeling not only horribly fat (everyone else there was really skinny) but absolutely shit. It’s so demoralising when you’re the worst in the class. On Thursday I’m going to another class at the same studio, but a different level, so hopefully I will not feel so much like a dunce. And maybe not everyone will be so thin. Anyway, after the class I went shopping with my friend, and I saw the world’s most perfect dress. One day I will buy that dress and I’ll have a proper job and stuff and a beautiful man will love me forever. I’ll also learn how to walk in high heels and I won’t do my make-up on the bus. And I'll be thin.

What I wrote on the back of an envelope at 2am last night

You know that scene in 'True Romance' where she's like "and all I could think, was, 'you're so cool, you're so cool, you're so cool'" - well, all I could hear was "but Hats, I'm in love with you!" It was like I could see the whole thing from birdseye view. Me having puked at the bus stop, him holding my bag, me going on about some drunken shit, and N saying that. Out of the blue. Like he'd thought about it. And I honestly thought he meant it. Maybe he did. And that might be worse.

I am sick of lying to people. I never told huge lies, apart from the time of the "bad thing", the thing I don't talk about. And to G, who I treated abysmally, but he says he has forgiven me (and why?). The past aside - I am lying to everyone I know right now. Aside from the "how are you?" "oh, I'm x" (insert suitable adjective to sound convincing - "fine" or "alright" will not do), I am lying about two distinct things to seperate people or groups of people. And I hate myself for it.

Hats : will fuck for an ipod

I got told to update this but I don't really know what to write. The heat - and our broken air conditioning (or "AC" as I call it, to #1's vast amusement) in the office - is getting to me a bit. I don't mind sweating, I really don't (though I don't like other people sweating), but I can't think in this airless box they call my office. I seem to have given up wearing normal clothes at home. If I have to leave the flat I wear a red sundress that I'm fairly sure is quite indecent (this might explain the man chasing me around Sainsbury's the other day, but I think actually, he's insane and it was nothing to do with that). If I don't have to go out I wear these really hideous purple boxer shorts. They're truly awful, but I don't care. Yesterday I was chatting to a guy from work, who was recommending going to the Lido. I told him I hadn't shaved my legs and that I looked like I was recovering from measles (some fucking insect has made a tasty meal out of me). He said he didn't know about the measles, but I should just avoid rubbing my legs against anyone. I told him that I wasn't going to rub my legs against anyone, and that in fact, if anyone touched me or my legs, it would be a violation of my human rights because I just don't want to be touched, okay? Which was precisely the moment someone else wandered up and gave my friend a look like "why are you trying to molest this girl?", which is all quite fun. I have been mainly entertaining myself by acting in inappropriate ways and saying stupid things. My neighbours overheard (deliberately) me yesterday describing the really depraved sex I wanted to have. I think - though I can't be sure, as I may have just thought about saying it, as I was really pissed - I announced to #1 the other night that I was going to go and have a really big wank. Doing stuff like saying "cunt" in confined public spaces is not big nor clever, but I'm seriously bored and I can't think of much else to do. Oh yeah, apart from drinking. And sweating.

The French government have started advising people to take three showers a day to keep cool... and at the same time telling people to conserve water. I told this to the postman at work and he was like "yeah, but it's not like they'll use soap, the French smell!", (I would like to point out that he's not an employee here, he's the Royal Mail chappy). R tells me that last year the GLC put up signs and things telling people to have a shower before getting on the tube because the smell was so bad - I don't remember this, but it made me laugh.

On Monday (though it quite feasibly could have been any day) I went to the Commercial with #1 for a "treat" before we checked out the new improved Sainsbury's (which is shit - though #1 was funny as she went straight to the tills and demanded to know what was new. When they said nothing, she said: "well that's a bit shit then"), and anyway, we saw Jenny Eclair. Have you all heard my Jenny Eclair story? I sold her a jumper once when I worked at that exploitative-scum-shop (aka Gap), and went in the changing room with her and everything, yeah get me. Anyway, there she is, in the Commercial, and me and #1 are having some pints and being a bit stupid. #1 said, quite loudly, "I think I'm bored with shagging now" (clearly my tourettes style sex talk is contagious), causing Jenny Eclair to look over. #1 went bright red, and started spluttering, but Jenny (I think I'll be informal and just call her Jenny) said she was just eyeing our cigarettes enviously, as she'd just given up... Then proceeded to eye up our cigarettes for the rest of the night, though I personally think she was eyeing up #1.

I'm sure there are lots of other exciting things to write about but right now all I can think about it having a shower. That and an ipod. I have become completely obsessed with the idea of having an ipod, to the point that I genuinely believe my life will be complete if I have one. Which of course is ridiculous, as I can't afford to get one, and I am not having a good track record with technology at the moment anyway. But they're so cool... The little tiny ones... I would be scared of breaking it, but I would love it so much. Almost as much as I loved my cat. Maybe more.

Oh yeah, I was going to write about something that happened the other week. I was in the pub with G and he was taking the piss out of my "peasant fags" (as in, roll ups). G has never bought tobacco, only ever real cigarettes (though this is the boy/man whose parents gave him a credit card to their account when they went on holiday "for emergencies" and he racked up three grand in three weeks). I told him that I knew that I would have arrived in the world when I could buy real fags and shop in Waitrose, and some guy sitting near us, who I had never seen before in my life, turned around and said, "I'm sorry, but that's fucking pathetic - what kind of an aspiration is that?" I don't get it. How is that a bad aspiration? I've been really poor for ages, and I would just like to be able to buy fancy food and not have to roll every cigarette I smoke. What's wrong with that? I think it's perfectly reasonable, hell, it's reasonable to dream about chocolate brown labradors. Part of me thinks 'fuck it' cos I only have another six years of this - as in, in six years I will be 28 and will just want to have kids. That's how it goes, I am learning. You get to 28 and you just think "fuck this shit, I want some bairns". I have already arranged that I will have kids at the same time as S and D, though D's kids will probably bully my kids and S's chavvy kids. It will be a sweet existence until someones husband starts shagging the au pair and I get hooked on the kids Ritalin.

This is different, this is business!

I made a promise to myself last week that I would try to be nicer to people, and in particular, I would try to be more pleasant at work instead of sounding like such a mardy cow. But it just seems that events conspire against me. Firstly, I seem to have a bit of a golden touch when it comes to technology. My computer, my CD player and my mobile - oh yeah, and my housephone - are all broken to some extent. The radio can only get really shitty reception, so the only things I have to listen to are a Pink Floyd tape and a mix tape this guy from my sixth form made for me. He was a funny one, he once locked me in his house, and he arranged to get transferred into my tutor group. It got a bit scary and people were a bit worried he might rape me and my friend started screaming at him - while my tutor was taking the register - "fuck off you bleach headed freak, why don't you just fuck off and die!!" A year or two later I was having a drink with this guy called F (who I went out with for 2 weeks when I was 16 until I realised that you can't go out with someone just because they're hot, especially if they're a Jehovah's Witness and have irritating tics and write really terrible poetry) and he said that he'd seen this guy at some inter-university debating competition, and that they'd had to compete against each other. F seemed to be losing the debate, so in desperation, he shouted out "yeah, well, I had sex with Harriet!" and the other guy's face was like, oh.

Anyway, so my pc, stereo, mobile, phone... all broken. Then I get to work this morning and yet more technology fuck ups await as the phone system is broken AGAIN. It's this stupid phone system, probably second hand, but from Israel - which means that no one in this country knows how to fix it when it breaks down (and this is a pretty regular occurance). So some engineers come out, try to unplug the other computer, faff around, go to the basement where the system is housed, blah blah blah, and I'm thinking HANG ON A SECOND! It's Israeli! I don't want to use it! (and as I was writing that, it broke again...)

I am so tired of this. I am so bored and constantly on the verge of tears. I cried because I didn't like the engineer. I cried because I went past the park on the bus. I am so sick of myself and I am so sick of being sick all the time. I am scared to eat because I'll be sick. S reckons my insides must be made of Teflon to deal with the amount of alcohol I drink, and my very poor diet. Teflon hats. That's me. But my insides are messed up. And my head is all over the place, and I am generally unhappy. Yay me. I'm so tired.

I had a good weekend though. After work on Friday I went to the Slug and Lettuce and discussed travelling and vegetarianism with people from work, which was really nice. Afterwards I went to the park with T and we got locked in, which was pretty funny. A park ranger is meant to come round at kicking out time (ie sunset) but no one came, and we had to climb over the fence. When I was younger (like 17 or so) I used to climb over the fence of Hyde Park and go to the childrens playpark, but my fence climbing skills have not been utilised much recently. Anyway, it was fun, but when I got home I realised that actually I talk way too much and I should shut the fuck up. So I cracked open another bottle of wine and, er, called #1. By this point I was really drunk and I was rambling on about "poisonous venom, he's just venom, snaking around, y'know, I don't like it, I don't like the venom" while falling off my bed and generally being a buffoon. I also told #1 that I was so sweaty that if I was to die at that very second, I wouldn't need embalming, they could stick me straight in the mausoleum. Why I say things like this, I don't know (other than the simple explanation that I'm a complete twat).

On Saturday I woke up having been dreaming about auto-cannibalism. Cannibalism eh. There was a boy at my school who cut a bit of flesh off his leg and cooked it and ate it. But that's by the by. I went to meet R at the Vauxhall City Farm. It's really cool there, everyone should go. We took a picnic and ate it under the awning of a little house. A black and white cat - a large kitten really - sat with us, and children were running around. I like the City Farms, for all the inner city children who otherwise wouldn't see animals other than those dangerous dogs that seem to be everywhere. Vauxhall Farm is tiny, but it's like a proper oasis, as you don't realise you're only 5 minutes away from the station. The animals were cool. There were some ferrets, and initially I thought they were a bit gross (they go up your trouser leg, given half a chance) but one of them was trying to climb up to where I was, and had such a cheeky little face, that I just liked him a lot. I'm going to go to some of the other city farms, I feel so distant from the countryside nowadays. I grew up surrounded by fields and now I can't tell one crop from another, or different types of animals or anything. I don't know whether I want to know about the countryside per se, I guess I just don't want to not know things that I used to know. If that makes sense. In the evening I went over to Harlesden and had fancy food and talked lots. Hot gossip and all that. S is a really lovely girl, though she hasn't seen the Lion King. She told me that she maybe knows this one particular girl and now part of me wants it to be her and the other part of me doesn't, and the whole thing makes me want to cry/vomit. Why? I'm not sure. I can't pretend she doesn't exist... but I'd like to. Oh hell, I don't want to think about her. How can someone I've never met be messing with my head so much?

Yesterday I had another nice day, although I got completely freaked out on the streets of Camden. I really suck sometimes. I always feel so nervous. I was on the train and I had this knot in my stomach, and then walking along the street, I was actually terrified. I used to be able to cope with all these sorts of things, but now I can't. But it was okay, cos I met up with B and we went to a nice cafe/gallery place where they had rock'n'roll deckchairs. B is such a sweet girl. I smiled most of the way home (until I started reading my book and then I cried).

I got back about 9, because N said that he would ring at 9. Then I sat and stared at my phone for three and a half hours. Nothing. I tried not staring at it, but I couldn't help it. I drank some wine and read my book. But nothing. In the end I switched the phone off and on again, and it said I had two voicemail... So he had rung. This is what I mean about technology. It hates me. I liked listening to the voicemail but it made me sad - or, more accurately, even sadder.

#1 told me about a conversation she had with #4. It went like this:

Him: I just thought, before I move out... You know I went on holiday? Well I've got loads of cheap fags, if you're interested....
Her: Are you kidding me? I don't even want to talk to you.
Him: But this is different, this is business!

For some reason it has become the funniest thing ever and it is used as the answer to everything. I desperately want #4 to leave. I will feel so much better when he is gone, and I can maybe try to relax a little bit in my house. That would be nice. I have just written such a pile of shit. Can someone give me a hug now please? Thanks.

We're not in Kansas now, Toto.

I think I must be the only chump in the world who is actually cold in this weather. Our air conditioning has been fairly icy - though I think it's on the brink now because it's getting quite warm. Last night I woke up because I was so cold, which is frankly quite bizarre. I have been adopting the "stark naked starfish" position to get to sleep, but I normally wriggle a lot, which makes me a pain to sleep with. This morning at about six, I woke up shivering. Also, I was very hungover, thanks to downing a bottle of wine on the back steps in a fit of misery, and then going to the pub. So it wasn't a great start to the day, and I have managed to convince myself that the only thing that will make it better is diet coke, which I don't have.

I still haven't been to the GP and now my hip is painful not only when I'm walking but when I'm sitting down too. I should really make an appointment to see my GP, but I know I'll just be back at Kings getting physio again - wooo, I'm going to be a lifelong member of the mangled bodies society. Get involved. Also, through not eating properly, I have managed to lose some weight since the day of doom (ie 2nd July), which isn't a bad thing, but annoyingly a lot of muscle strength too. For example, at ballet, I've recently been doing triple pirouettes - really nice ones. But yesterday I couldn't do them, and it was really irritating. My legs are still strong (barring falling over a lot) but my back and stomach are just like bleurrrgh.

Things in Camp Mansions came to a bit of a breaking point on Tuesday and I feel hella guilty because it's quite clearly - although no one will say it - my fault. Here's the story of how my house turned into the poor man's version of the Alton Tower's Haunted Mansion. To set the scene, do you remember how #1 and #4 were always flirting and I was advising her not to shag him? Well, they did - which was the day before efftits came round (odd in itself, surely). And then again on #1's birthday, where it all went wrong. He lost his temper and got violent, and generally nasty. #1 told me about it that night because she was so scared, and he was trying to convince her that it was her fault (saying things like "you made me do it" and "every other girl I've ever told to shut up like that has just done it, why couldn't you?"). She tried to reason with him that she didn't want to be physically threatened, let alone thrown against a chest of drawers, or have marks round her wrists, or have him grab her face to forcibly make her be quiet. She was once hit by an ex boyfriend (haven't we all, it seems?), and when she tried to explain this to him he said, "What? Am I meant to believe that? Poor stupid blonde girl gets hit? Fuck off!"

So it was about three in the morning, she was crying, I was shaking with anger and ready to call the police. She made me promise not to say anything to him or to #2, and that I should act like I knew nothing. I agreed. In the morning they had another row because he wouldn't accept responsibility for what he'd done, but it was decided that everything should go on as normal. #1 really tried to act as if nothing was wrong, and I did try too. It's just that the thought of having someone like that in my house makes me feel physically sick. I don't agree with violence per se - not on a grand scale, such as the armed forces, nor on a smaller, personal scale - and I really object to domestic violence. #4's argument has been "it's not like I actually hit you", which is, from a moral and legal point of view, completely irrelevant.

I tried to act like there was nothing wrong, as did #1, but inevitably I fucked it up. He obviously suspected that she would tell me, as we tell each other everything. That weekend, #1 and I came back from town, quite pissed, to find the whole house stinking of ganja. We grumbled about it to each other in the kitchen while we made a pizza (read: put pizza in oven, wait 10 mins, hey presto - Jamie Oliver we are not). #4 came into the kitchen, and I asked him to remember, if he insisted on smoking in the living room, that he should shut the door and open the window. He told me to get off my moral high horse, and that I'd smoked in there before. "Yes, one cigarette," I told him. "The whole house smells." Because he's such an arrogant fuckwit, he couldn't just say sorry, and he replied that he couldn't smell anything in the kitchen, which is just ridiculous, as of course he couldn't, he'd been in the living room. He lost his temper and I told him to get out, and that I wouldn't be spoken to again like that. We haven't really spoken since. I think he should say sorry, he has been saying that I "went psycho" at him. But it all means that he accused #1 of telling me what had happened on the night of her birthday, and telling #2 that as well. If I had just kept quiet, or been more placid, then maybe things would have been okay. But I didn't, because I couldn't, and I am a huge part of this messing up.

#4 went away for a week or so, but came back and continued to act sullenly, and on Tuesday morning, #1 asked him when he was going stop this. He said that she'd told me, and that he hadn't done anything wrong. His actual words were: "for the first time in my life, I know that I did nothing wrong in this whole thing." He accused her of ruining the whole house dynamics, though she pointed out that he'd done that when he'd gripped her face like that. He stood in the corridor shouting "shut the fuck up you stupid bitch" for a while - all this time, I was in my room, "not knowing" (how am I meant to not know if something like this is going on - please, will someone credit me with some intelligence? I am sick of being lied to). That night, we asked him to leave. Since then, I have overheard him trying to bring #2 round to his side, and the whole thing makes me sick. Is #2 so stupid to believe him? And so insensitive to act like this in front of #1, who blames herself for the whole thing and is now worried that #2 doesn't believe her, or that she thinks badly of her.

The whole thing probably sounds really trivial to anyone reading about it, but it's really bothering me. #4 is leaving next weekend, but until then I feel like I can't go in a room if he's already in it, and I need to watch what I say in case he goes mad. I don't like living like this. People shouldn't have to live with the threat of violence - I thought I knew that (I do know that) but here I am again. Admittedly it's not as bad as it was the last time, or at least, it's different to the last time, for a plethora of reasons. But it's really got me thinking. I'm terrified that he will say something, like one of those awful comments cockface used to come out with, the ones that sent me rushing to the nearest lockable room. I am meant to be this strong character but really, I feel like a little girl, and I feel like there is nowhere I feel safe. I wish N still loved me because he could hold me and everything would feel better. But if I start thinking like that, I start feeling so sad, and I miss him too much.

I need to concentrate on the good things in my life, but sometimes I struggle to think of what these things are. My body appears to be falling apart, from the inside out. I love someone who I am slowly realising never loved me. My house (see above). I am baffled by my loan application and worried about not getting it, and not being able to do the Masters I dearly want to do. My job is unfulfilling and I think members of staff should not get away with shouting at me simply because I told him to look on the intranet (this man is not only the rudest man in the organisation, but probably the rudest man in Britain - I guess I got away lightly seeing as he made one of his colleagues cry the other week... such a horrible man). Oh yeah, and my PC seems to be up the swanny, so does anyone want to come round and fix it?

But those are all the negatives. The good things in my life... well, my family and friends. I am very lucky to have such good friends (although a little perplexed as to why some of the other people I count as friends seem to be ignoring me completely). I have recently got in touch with various people I haven't seen in ages, in some cases years, and that's all good. My close friends continue to be amazing. I complain about my job, but if it weren't for the people there, I would go mad, as there are some lovely people here. I got a call today at work that made me smile a lot. I have nice things planned for the weekend.

Is it bad that all the good things in my life are completely dependent on other people, and that I run a risk of losing everything if they change their minds? Because, let's face it, people can say all sorts of things and change their minds, and even if they're really sorry, it doesn't make it any better. I think I need a hobby, or something that doesn't remind me of everything that's come before.

Anyway, in other news, the situation in the Middle East gets worse, and I have been reading about what happens if you make a pizza in the shape of Palestine.

Rock the fucking casbah

My life SUCKS. And I'm not saying that in a comical way, like "ah, I suck, never mind", but I actually seriously suck, and thus my life does too. Bad things happen to good people, but more bad things happen to bad people. I really bore myself, though thankfully for everyone else, I am quite forgettable. Ach, I am so lonely and I can't decided whether it's better or worse knowing that he is not giving me a second thought. Can we just pretend I didn't do those things? Thanks.

On Friday I went for a pint after work with R, who made me laugh lots, as well as being really nice to me. I am trying not to be cynical around everyone (or at least, not TOO cynical) but when people start talking about relationships or love or stuff I just want to shake them and shout "It's all lies! They'll say all of this and then they'll change their mind!" but that would make me the girl in Legally Blonde. When I got off the bus I announced as loudly as I could, in my best West Country accent (I have been slating the West for comedy effect, though seriously, I could give you a list of reasons why the whole region is shite), that I would find her a cock shaped carrot. I love saying "cock" in public. There's a real ring to it. I also like saying "cunt" a lot, but that's because I'm crude.

Hmm, anyway, then I went to Holborn and got some un-asked-for faux-sympathy from N's housemate. Fuck it. I saw this guy from my sixth form who was like "hey, you should go and work in the film industry in Beijing, I'll sort it out for you" and I was like hell yeah. I went over to the Knights Templar (a pub I swore I would never go in again after what happened the last time I was there), drank some wine, saw my old next-door-neighbour, almost got trapped in a toilet cubicle, felt meh. We headed off to Soho and got a bad phone call (not really my place to write about this though), and went to the club. Some randoms came to sit with us (who S has since described as "astonishingly ugly") and there were some arguments and all the normal stuff, but D beat a 34 year old man in an argument, so I think we win.

Having announced to everyone on the N98 that between us we had every STD possible (doing my bit to enforce the stereotype that gora girls are slags), we got off the bus on the Edgware Road where the crime spree began!! I had no idea that I was actually friends with the Artful Dodger. But I am, and we amassed: halloumi, hummous, bread, lemonade, mars drink, jaffa cakes, and (the piece de resistance) breakaway bars! Ace. Finally we get to Harlesden, and we're seriously on the right road and I get threatened with arrest. Yay me!

After a couple of hours sleep, none of it good for the normal reasons plus some new ones, I went to meet my parents, who were in London for the day. We went to the Lambeth Country Fair, which was AMAZING. There was a dog show and an owl display and carniverous plants and a man with a proper bee hive and sheep being shorn. But the best was the animals- alpalcas and giant two-foot rabbits and a goose who couldn't swim or fly and some fucking shit hot geese- and the best, pygmy goats. I am in love. I want a pygmy goat, they are possibly the coolest thing I have ever seen. I would have two, so they wouldn't be lonely, and they would be well tame. Sweet lord, they were the cutest things ever, no lie (or "don' liay" to quote everyone's favourite north London rudeboy). I am contemplating volunteering at Vauxhall City Farm just to hang out with these goats, though a number of reasons would stop me- not least that fuckface used to work at the farm. But seriously, those goats would break your heart.

What else happened on Saturday? I hung out with my parents and it felt really nice, like they were my friends. However, I couldn't stop thinking about the conversation the night before, and I felt so guilty. I don't deserve this. Blah. We went to the Tate Modern and I started retching on the Millenium Bridge. I can't deal with that bridge at all and I don't know why, as I can walk across other bridges, even other footbridges. It was high tide and my mum was like "oh, look how high the water is!" and my legs just went. Then in the evening I decided not to go out as I am too poor and couldn't face the journey to Harlesden, so I stayed in and drank two bottles of wine, listened to The Clash a lot, tried to fix my sunburn, watched Mean Girls, and tried to ignore the feeling of unending sadness.

On Sunday other stuff happened but I can't be bothered to write about it. I've been writing this entry bit by bit, but I can't face writing any more. Last night consisted of me forcefeeding myself a bottle of white wine even though it was making me retch, because otherwise I wouldn't get to sleep. And now I feel sick, as too much white wine plus all the beers I had plus not eating plus a sense that I have been destroyed is not good.