Fuck THAT shit, blates!!

Turns out one of my uncles died and my mum and brother went to Ireland to the funeral. And no one told me! I would have liked a brief sojourn to the emerald isle. Certainly more than I like being at work, even if it did mean hanging out with all my crazy extended family and having small children trying to throttle me. However, the trip sounds pretty funny, what with my completely loopy aunt getting my brother shit faced. I actually wish I’d been there. Although said loopy aunt last time gave me so much food that I thought I would be sick. She has a frying pan the size of my kitchen table.

I am trying to think of an adjective to describe last night. However, I am really very inarticulate these days. My knowledge of the English language is going downhill very fast. Yesterday I said that I had court hair, as more and more I mix up French and English. It’s like the older I get, the more retarded I get.

I have a bit of a dilemma. I think my friend is an alcoholic. And when I say “friend”, I do actually mean that, it’s not a euphemism for myself. She promised me she wouldn’t drink last night- and said that even if she wanted to, she couldn’t, as she doesn’t get paid until Friday, and has approximately 5p until then. Then late last night I get a text from her saying that she went round to her neighbours’ house and drank their wine (with their permission, obviously). I am worried. I don’t know what to do. It’s not like she will listen to me as I’m a proper kid (she’s much older than me). I suppose I will just have to be supportive and wait until she wants to sort it out. It’s more than a bit tricky.

Back to yesterdays events… I got home, intending to just have a shower and leave, but I was slightly distracted by something on the kitchen table. The gas bill. A £400 gas bill. Yep. How on earth have we got through £400 worth of gas in three months? I went straight to the thermostat and turned it down to 18 degrees. That’s plenty warm enough. Then I went to the living room and asked #2 what the bloody hell was going on. I told her that the heating was going off as of now. On a nicer note, I saw #1 for the first time in ages. We had a huge hug and ate salad together, which was lovely on both counts.

Went into town on the tube thanks to some fuck up on Brixton Hill, despite being too poor to really take the tube. Where on earth am I going to find £100 to pay my share of the gas bill? What’s most annoying is that there are five of us in the house, and the bill will be split into four. I don’t have a spare £100. I probably don’t have a spare tenner for god’s sake. Being poor is absolutely rubbish. I could rant on and on about this. Back to the story…

Went into town, wandered around for fucking ages being lost, as I had been stupid and not written down the address of the place or looked at a map or anything. Retard. The inside was filled with alternately really lovely people and wankers. There was a great deal of pretentiousness. I sat in the same place all night as I was- surprise, surprise- a bit shy. It was all a bit odd. I had a long chat with A, who I’ve only met once before, but get on with really well. She’s so cool. The bands playing were cool. One of the singers looked like a foetus and had a funny voice. It was fun. N was there. A girl from my sixth form was there, which was surreal and I felt really self-conscious. I am a social retard.

At about half twelve me and S decided to leave and we ended up walking back to hers, though not before being accosted by two of the sleaziest men ever to walk the earth. We talked a lot. I told her the big bad secret I had never told anyone before. How we laughed. Well, I laughed. She thought it was shocking that people like this existed. Because I’m so used to it, I’d forgotten how absurd it is. But really, it’s completely insane. We drank tea and ate shortcake and talked about boys and discussed PMS (Pakistani Man Syndrome, a peculiar phenomenon found among British Pakistani males). We tried to think of rational solutions to the situations we have got ourselves into but failed pretty miserably. I well love talking to S, she makes me laugh and makes me happy.

In the end I turned down the offer of sharing her single bed and set out to make the trek home. Some arsehole on the bus sat down next to me and asked me how my night had been. What is it with people on night buses? Why do they think that I would be in any way interested in talking to them? Jeez. I hardly talk to people at the best of times. I’m not going to start talking to some pissed wanker who can’t even hold his head up straight. I looked pointedly out of the window until he pissed off and I got a crick in my neck. Still, London at night is pretty. I was weighing up the pros and cons of the city being lit up at night. It looks cool but think of all the wasted electricity. I did lots of thinking on the bus and decided that I overuse the words “really” and “very” and decided to improve my vernacular. Got home about three, sent some texts (cos I’m a 21st century girl and therefore glued to my phone) and then lay in bed for a while, thinking about things. I finally fell asleep about an hour later and woke up pissed off that I hadn’t taken my make up off as my pillowcase is now officially fucked.

Work today is well boring and I just had a ninety-minute interview. I yawned about fifty times. It was being videoed. Argh.