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.