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.