I went up to the N1 on Sunday afternoon for a bit of shopping and some food with Khuong. Being the classy ladies that we are, we only bought things at Oxfam and Cancer Research. I found myself two pretty cool dresses. The one I'm wearing today makes me look very Christmassy, apparently. I was told this by some random guy who came into our office. I think he meant it in a good way. Some people are really hamfisted when it comes to compliments.

We went to a little Spanish restaurant to fill our hungry bellies. When the paella (vegetarian, of course) came, we didn't think we'd be able to eat it. But we managed, stuffing our faces with the stuff. True to form, I picked out all the mushrooms. There were a lot actually. Last Tuesday, on my date-that-wasn't, I'd tried to eat mushrooms. They were quite small, and I'd mixed them up with other things. I thought that meant I was over my strange and quite childish dislike of the fungus. Clearly I was wrong. I carefully sifted through my paella to make sure that there were none lurking, not that it was difficult to miss the buggers.

After strolling around for a while, I headed up to Stoke Newington to pick up my mail from my old flat. I didn't think anyone was there to let me in, but they were. There wasn't anything very exciting. Contact lenses. Phone bill. Letter from Nat West telling me that the Debt Recovery agents would be round soon. I folded that one up very small and put it at the bottom of my bag.

I headed over to Camden to see my old school friend. He'd sounded very hungover when I'd spoke to him earlier on, so I was pleased to see that he was actually still awake and coherent. We went to the pub and began drinking. We haven't seen each other in so long, but we still love each other so much. He told me all the latest news from back home and said how everyone had been missing me. His girlfriend has moved to Australia, via a hippy commune in Milton Keynes, so we were equally cynical about the state of modern romance.

He told me that one of my exes had become a trolley dolly. Now this was a rumour I had heard a few days before, but I didn't believe it. I didn't really believe it until I called him, and asked him. We chatted for a while and I promised to go and visit him when he moved to Brighton.

We got progressively more drunk. We drank some Sambucas: always a mistake. He got very tired and wanted to lie down but I sent him outside for some fresh air. When he returned he told me that he'd eaten a pizza. I finally worked out that he hadn't actually eaten a pizza, just a slice of a pizza.

At half past ten- so much for late licensing- we headed back to the tube, and were, on reflection, quite rowdy and annoying. Talking absolute rubbish, we walked from Euston, pausing occasionally to do stupid things like climb on things or twirl each other round to get dizzy. He finally got his train, and I began the long trek back to South London. By the time I got into bed, it was half one. I'd waited at a bus stop in Brixton for about 35 minutes, and I was freezing, so I made some noodles and ate them in bed.

This morning I woke up to a text saying:

"Some people say 'you don't know what you've got until it's gone'. I say, 'you don't know what you've got until it comes back and reminds you of a life that made tears run down your cheeks, a life when you felt understood and somebody cared'."