Sorry - is your name Joachim?

My god I am well lazy, I haven't updated this in ages, or what feels like ages anyway. I have been spending a lot of time as my alter-ego, "Hattie Lamb: Super Geek" which involves going to the library on a Sunday night (and coming away despairing, though not at work), and which culminated in sitting in the library last night, LAUGHING OUT LOUD at passages from Fairbank. Why?? He's not even funny. In fact, only the other day I was reading a critique of Fairbank calling him an imperialist apologist. But I did find it genuinely funny, especially the bit about a Chinese warlord being known as Old Sixty-Three as his (and I quote) "virile member when erect equaled a stack of sixty-three Yuan Shikai dollars". Comedy gold, though maybe I should get out more.

So I did - I went to the gym! As G has told me, I must be the saddest person he knows. He's coming to stay tonight, actually, though I can't really be bothered, although I know I should be nicer to him (yesterday he told me that I sometimes make him feel so unwelcome... I asked if this was true, and he said no... I was disappointed). Anyway, the gym. I thought I was going to die. I also nearly fell off the treadmill again as I was talking to B and C and pretending that I wasn't knackered, and I started laughing and that was nearly the end. Afterwards, we walked over to the Mao graffitti and I taught them some cockney rhyming slang. I well love my coursemates, which is completely novel and totally surreal, given that I was pretty much scared of my coursemates at LSE.

I have realised that it's not so much that the boy I love doesn't know I exist. He does know I exist. It's just that I don't think he could even summon up indifference towards me. Not, of course, that I am doing myself any great favours, seeing that I refuse to talk to him. I am such a social retard at times. Last night #1 and I sat in the kitchen and we tried to formulate a plan, of which the summary was basically "don't act like a chump your whole life". Seeing as I managed EXACTLY that yesterday when I saw him, I wouldn't say the chances of success of any kind are high.

In other news, we had to read an article on Monday by a historian called Michael Hunt. Cue: "in Mike Hunt's passage; I really like Mike Hunt; Mike Hunt was a little dry; have you seen Mike Hunt?" We are possibly the most immature postgraduates ever.

"fancy a lie down?"

I remember back in the old days I used to write about everything I did in this blog. Now I occasionally write about how ill I feel and how much of a whore D is. I just find it hard to summon up any enthusiasm for anything anymore. I used to be so passionate but it's like all the life in me has been sucked out. I was trying to explain last night to #1 that although I should be happy, I'm just not, and that there is something wrong with my head. But that goes back to the whole debate about whether it's okay to admit you're depressed (and in my experience, I've had a whole load of shit from so many people - being called "defective", simply "mental", "stupid" and so on) but it's completely fine to admit you have asthma. At least my lungs work properly, mofo. One good thing about being completely emotionless (or having emotionless periods, as my mood is so cyclical) is that these things just don't matter to me. Or at least, I think they don't and then it all gets a bit much.

But anyway, what I've been up to goes a little something like this... I keep intending to stay in, I really do, but then I go out instead. I also intend to go swimming, but stuff keeps happening, such as forgetting my contact lens solution, or going to the pub with F instead. On Tuesday I decided I love my coursemates, but possibly made a tit of myself, and then came home and drank gin and definitely made a tit of myself. On Thursday I went to my friends leaving drinks (and not to Gay Against You), which was lots of fun. Though I was talking to someone and I suddenly thought "hang on a second, it was YOU, you two faced bastard!" You know when someone is nice to your face, and you just know that they've been saying stuff about you (and this idea is reinforced by being told that "an unnamed man in your department" has been calling you a slag) but you have no proof... And then you get proof. See, these are the things that used to bother me but now, I just think whatever, and with people like that I follow the policy of humouring them and milking them for all they're worth ("Oh, are you passing the bar? Get me a drink, will you?"). It's liberating knowing that you're going to be slagged off - you have no fear and, if anything, it's an incentive to act really badly. Anyway, it was nice to see everyone, and despite making a rather large social faux pas, it was all good and at least no one ended up in a bin.

On Friday I went to a BBC recording of some Brazilian choral music at St Giles' church in the Barbican. I know next to nothing about Brazilian composers, other than obvious ones like Villa Lobos. The first half of the concert constituted about seven Ave Marias, which was nice, but I preferred the second half as it was more folk-type songs, ending up with some Christmas carols! It's going to be broadcast on Radio 3 in the new year sometime. I liked the church too, actually - it seemed so at odds with the Barbican centre. Anyway, afterwards I went to Hackney with SB and her sister, and although I'd said I'd just have dinner and then go home, I ended up at the worst house party in the history of the world. Seriously, SO BAD. Are all UCL people so rubbish? A girl was sick right in the centre of the living room. I left and wandered through a council estate. Yesterday I fell asleep in the library, only to wake up half-choking as I couldn't breathe, thanks to my blocked nose. I had a gym induction. It was kinda terrifying and kinda gratifying, and I plan to get very fit and thin and pretty and then at least something will be okay. I went out with #1 and #2, and we drank far too much champagne, resulting in hilarity.

Today I am contemplating going to the library but seeing as I am at home in my pyjama's, I'm not doing a fab job of it. In mind there is a constant struggle between what I want to do (lethargy) and what I should do. Plus the eternal dilemma of how to get the boy I love to love me in return.

不舒服

I don't feel very well today. And I feel really miserable. One small consolation is that I have found out where I left my scarf and it is awaiting collection as I write. Yay me.

有问题

Why is it that when I swim, I can't see properly for an hour afterwards? Chlorine is the stuff of the devil. Are there any non-chlorinated pools in London? At least it's not as bad as the pool on Roman Road which made me feel sick even cycling past. Moral of the story - don't go to pools that people piss in. I need to stop associating with the underclasses, for the sake of my contact lenses at least.

I pulled a muscle in my leg when I fell off the chair laughing at naked #1. As if that wasn't divine retribution enough, my hip is so painful that I can hardly sit still in class and why oh why is co-proxamol banned now? That shit is good. Thank god I have a stash. Hahaha. And I have a cold. I am seriously STUFFED full of snot. I am going to die alone.

On the plus side... I dunno. I am trying to think of things but I keep being distracted by blowing my nose and the fact that the boy is sitting behind me. Oh yeah, plus side, my hanzi are improving and I translated some of a big long text today.

Other plus side: I am going to see an educational psychologist and I have been classified, courtesy of the disability office, as having multiple disabilities. I find this in some ways amusing, but in some ways quite galling. I am not disabled. I used to be ill, I'm not now (I'm just fat). But hokay, fine, classify me, go on, I dare you... Now can I have free photocopying and a laptop and a dictaphone? And a new print cartridge for my printer at home cos although my brother told me shaking it works, it still prints in a rather fetching shade of grey. I'm kinda telling everyone about my "multiple disabilities" because it makes it funny rather than desperately, desperately sad. In the same way that SB told everyone about buying the Britney Spears album - you have to reappropriate the negative images that are forced upon you. Though on the grand scheme of things, it's kinda different. Like, how do I tell my parents? (answer: I don't)

If I see that slut anywhere, I will kick her head. So I am not going to Gay Against You (sorry, JS), cos we don't want murder on the dance floor, now do we?

Hang on. What the fuck. I'm off to have words. Sort it aht.

ha ha hahahahahhahahahahahahah

Oh fuck I'm really pissed. But only because #1 and her new boyfriend-esque type person were tucking into my gin and I wanted some to myself, which of course meant hoarding it in my stomach. Bleaurgh. I don't like her new boyfriend but she just came in my room wearing only his shirt and I laughed so hard I fell off my chair cos I was like, haha I just saw your privates, and she was like, fuck off I want to drink your gin. Then I told her not to have sex with him cos I don't like him, even though I made that clear by throwing onion skin at him, and she said, yeah, I'll have sex with you, and I said, meh, it beats masturbation.

Quote of the day comes from the disability officer but I'm too pissed to remember. Meh, give me my disability living allowance, hell yes.

I texted my friend to say "come out, we have prostitutes" and then he said grow up. I saw the boy I love so much and he so doesn't know I exist. He's so pretty. Not to mention ace.

我不是同志。Get out of my fucking kitchen.

worst comes to worst my peoples come first

Last night didn't go as planned. In fact, by the end of the night, one could say that it was an unmitigated disaster, although I had a good time earlier on.

How can someone - let's call her D, shall we? - be so fickle and so blatantly uncaring to betray a friend like that? That level of insincerity in a person is frankly disgraceful. If you know that your best friend, who we shall call S, has kissed the boy that she has liked for ages and that things are all happy and shiny, you do not throw yourself at said boy every time your friend leaves the room. Nor do you then disappear to the showers with said boy and grope each other in a pathetic teenage way. Nor do you then deny it. Grow the fuck up. Clearly the fault does not entirely lay with one person as the boy shouldn't have done it, but his allegiances are clearly up his arse, whereas D, if she wishes to be considered as a friend, she should act like a friend. Competitiveness is not an attractive quality, especially if it means that you steal your friends boy. I mean, Jesus Christ, do you want to end up as the woman who no one will allow in their house for fear of you trying to hump their husband?

And another thing, honesty is quite a good character trait. I promise a no-questions-asked money-back guarantee if you find that lying through your back teeth is preferable. For example, if you've been caught in the shower, don't say that you didn't know that S had kissed him. You knew. We discussed it. Hell, we discussed it even after I got there, and I didn't arrive until 4 am. So you knew. But you made the decision that it didn't matter to you, and that you would pursue the boy anyway. That's selfish. But a step to rectifying the situation would be to admit it. Step up. Take responsibility. You'll be amazed.

My views on the boy, unsurprisingly, are pretty rock bottom. You could go so far as to say that I never wish to see him again, and I don't want him anywhere near S, a concept he hasn't quite gathered. He takes arrogance to a level that really is quite unprecedented. But whatever, like I say, he hasn't made a pretence of being anyones friend, possibly because he can't see any further than his own ego and penis. Spread the love, kids. And get herpes.

No one will believe a word you say anyway.

bridges

How do you tell someone that they're possibly the most irritating person I know? Without a repeat of last weeks "boooooooooooo hoooooooooooooo nooooobody loves me" - cos I can't be bothered with that.

I am in the process of burning all my bridges and have decided that the only way not to get ill is to swim 1km every other day and keep really busy. But I fell asleep on the tube and a very small girl held my hand.

And my new uni ID card makes me look like a hoodlum.

Music

I was asked a pertinent question today - "what kind of music do I like?" And it made me think. What the hell do I like? (as opposed to the altogether different question of "what do I listen to")

It seems that I listen to a lot of music I don't like all that much. And I listen to a lot of stuff just for the "comedy value" or because a certain song reminds me of a certain time or place. And other songs I can't listen to for exactly that reason (hence my only recently rectified aversion to REM - who I still think suck, not to mention whine, but at least I don't cry or anything anymore). But why am I so able to say what I don't like when I find it impossible to specify what I do like? Is it down to my inability to make a decision, my seeming lack of any positive views when it comes to myself and my interests? One thing that is sure is that I listen to the music I listen to because I have, in some way or another, been told to listen to that. That's what happens if you go out with music facists, which does appear to be a theme if you look at my relationship history (with the exception of G, admittedly, though he did know a lot about computer games, so you could say that he swapped one electronic format for another - because let's face it, there's no music without electricity anymore, unfortunatel). But I digress...

I have to say that the only music that makes me have THAT feeling inside (without the help of class A's) is classical music. Maybe because I was brought up on it, or because at one point, it meant so much to me. But that in itself is so annoying as I know nothing about it now. After everything started falling apart, I distanced myself from that, and once I moved to London, I was more interested in losing my mind than anything else. So although I love it, I can't listen to classical music without feeling sad. But it's not sad in a bad way, more a melancholy and a lingering sense of regret. I don't get sick of listening to pieces of classical music (with some exceptions) whereas I find that I go through endless stages and cycles with other music. I guess just an overall feeling of animosity towards it isn't that bad - you always know where you are etc. It just so happens that "where you are" translates as "in the shit".

So, what music do I actually like? Who fucking knows.

The Flying Finn fails to take off?

Is it just me or did Kimi Raikkonen get fat?

In other news, I have hurt my leg in one of the most comedy accidents of the year, and I am not looking forward to explaining to the doctor what happened. Hilarity.

I have so much work to do for uni. I think I might be a bit stupid.

Non, je ne regret rien...

I would like to extend my sincerest apologies to everyone in the Herne Hill area for being subjected to my singing last night. There really was no need for you all to have been forced to listen to me and #1 singing while tanked up to the eyes with beer and gin. Using a banana for a microphone. If it's any consolation, I have an enormous bruise on my leg at exactly table height.

I would also like to apologise to someone for the way I have been acting towards him. I shouldn't have ruined the night out by announcing "I feel so empty" in the middle of the dancefloor, and I shouldn't have been so generally mean. And I shouldn't have made him accidentally on purpose miss his train.

I guess I should also apologise for throwing that tea down the sink and I think I owe another apology for various other things. Right. Now on with a fresh new week...

Confessions

Hokay, some confessions... brought about as I am drunk and in a weird mood:

1. I actually really fancy Eminem. Say what you like, he is the sex. Though less so that Thierry Henry, who is the epitome of sex and va-va-voom all rolled into one.

2. I have signed up to an internet dating site. This has 2 purposes:
- I plan to get many, many a free meal out of this - "oh what, you want to go to the cinema... Can't we go get food first?" (this is part of my super ingenious dieting plan that is a) derogatory and b) vaguely familiar to anyone who has read the Bridget Jones books)
- it's blatantly going to be funny to read about... does anyone remember the last date I went on?? No?? That's because I didn't write about it. It involved me necking a bottle of wine, telling my date that he was never going to make it in either his career or his attempts with women, and then pissing off, leaving him with the bill. He was well boring though, so allow.

3. I am categorically nasty to people I like/who like me. For example, tonight I get a text saying "I can't wait to see you, I have a surprise for you, wish you were here" (and all that sentimental claptrap) and I text back "I'll try to stave off the excitement. I think I'm busy..." Why do I do this? I told the boy I like that sure he can stay round, there's plenty of space on the balcony.

4. Whenever I think about my ex I feel a bit sick. Today in Victoria train station I thought I was going to fall over because omg that's where we saton our suitcases, and that's where we smoked some fags, and over there, that's where we made some crazy plans, and you see that - that's where we thought it would always be like this. Every street in London (and beyond) is the scene of some falling out, some drama, some making up, something. I do a damn good job of not thinking about him but... Hmm. I don't miss him. I just miss "us".

5. I really like university. I really like all the people I met. I really like the boy I met the other day who I thought I didn't like but now I think is ace.

6. I am well and truly cracking up. I shake a lot and I say it's coffee but it's not.

Elvis was a hero to most but he didn't mean shit to me.

Less whining, more facts,

Enough of my whinging, this is what I have really been up to recently:

On Thursday, SB and I went to see The Alchemist at the National. It was really funny - like, laugh out loud funny that I forgot you got from Ben Jonson plays. It's been so long since I've been to the theatre (the last time, I think (other than some outdoor stuff), was in February or so when I went with lots of work people to see Playing With Fire, or something like that - it was terrible). SB got us cheap tickets (thanks, Travelex!) and amazingly the National seem to have sorted out their heating problem as it was possible to take off coats and scarves. Anyway, after stuffing our faces with Chinese food, we rocked up at the theatre and managed not to fall over getting to our seats (is it just me, or does the seating in the NT not seem very precarious? It might just be me...), and skimmed through the cast list to at least try and figure out something about the play. It took a good ten minutes to adjust to the language being used. Although I studied English Literature A Level, and even did Ben Jonson, this was a good four years ago, and my working knowledge of old English has regressed since then, unsurprisingly (indeed, my knowledge of English in general has been steadily declining though unfortunately this does not mean any other language has particularly gained...). I can barely remember the plot of Volpone, although I remember something about a tortoise. Anyway, the play was ace. The cast were excellent, and there was a live band, which is always nice. The only downside was that it was very long, especially the first half. I'm going to start going to the theatre more, I reckon. It's just laziness that means that I have no cultural capital.

Actually, on Thursday I managed a great deal of culture as before I met SB, I went to the British Museum and had a nosey around the China rooms. I liked the calligraphy but I'm not all that hot on bits of broken pot. Call me a philistine, but whatevs, it's a pot. To counteract all this culture, SB and I went down to Goldsmiths to what had been described as "bands and an indie disco until 2". What a pack of lies. For one, the band (singular, the others had cancelled) was shite - one song had the lyrics "liar liar pants are on fire", which would have been amusing if they hadn't been so dreadful. We were like the oldest people there - everyone was super trendy and the only people who spoke to us were two very endearing but no doubt intensely irritating 18 year olds. There were no hot men. The bar shut at 12. We left, via a toilet that smelt like a Glaswigan council estate, and beat a hasty retreat to the mean streets of New Cross, where it took us about an hour to get home in the pouring rain. A small Chinese man in an army helmet and goggles chatted to us.

On Friday I was woken up with a steaming cup of tea, which is pretty darn perfect in my books. I wandered over to uni later in the day and chatted to one of my new friends, and to a very lively American girl, before going to meet the people on my course. There's about 20 of us, including, bizarrely, a girl who I sat next to in A Level History. I swear, Hills Road Sixth Form is taking over. Everyone on the course seems nice, and our convenor is sweet though very odd. I saw him again yesterday and said hi but I don't think he knew who I was. After the talk, I went to the pub with some people from my course and I felt a bit inadequate as they're all very clever and know lots, but I guess I just have to not be silly as I wouldn't be there if I wasn't good enough, right? After a couple of pints I went to meet S and D at the Fitzrovia, where the night of abject silliness began. We had some drinks there and then went to Old Street, where we wandered aroudn trying to find a bar no one knew the name of, which turned out to be terrible. I was in a foul mood by then, and was muttering "for fuck's SAKE!" at pretty much every given opportunity. D had two of her friends with her. They were insanely posh, and I didn't feel like I had anything to say to them cos, y'know, I don't have a horse or like shooting things or whatever. I dunno, I guess they were nice. We left the lame bar and went to a Wetherspoons where I read Heat magazine and drank sambuca. Eventually we decided to go to Crush. We got there half an hour before closing so convinced them (or S did, rather) to let us in for free, and I then ran around like a stupid and I vaguely remember talking to people but I honestly don't remember all that much. On the way home I spoke in Spanish to everyone - according to S, I was saying something like "can I have your room for the night and can you make me breakfast?" - and some randoms apparently hugged me and asked me to come and smoke some spliffs with them, but I don't remember this either. We got back to S's and there was a fight, and I tried to invigilate and then we ate some food and then I stole the bed. For some reason I was convinced the whole time that I was sober. I clearly wasn't.

Waking up on Saturday morning was one of those moments... you know the sort: open one eye.. Am I alone? (check) Am I dressed? (check) Where the fuck am I? (errr, check??) Did I call anyone inappropriate last night? (thankfully, I resisted this one!) I had one of those hangovers that you only get from really mixing your drinks. S woke up shortly after and together we have formulated at least a partial story of the night before. Everything seemed to be getting better but then I ate a toffee yoghurt and got a phone call and was like, oh yeah, I saw that guy I shagged. I went home: was mocked. Mocked I tell you. I ate some soup. I spewed. I went into uni and signed up for societies and nearly spewed again and then went to Superdrug where I was mocked again. So I went home.

Saturday night was spent dealing with #1 and the hospital and the loveliest paramedics in the world and trying to steal from the hospital, and all sorts like that. I felt rough as fuck but managed to hold it all together despite only managing two hours sleep, and was quite organised. Sunday was passed in much the same way, with ghost writing an article for the newspaper being one of my duties - made possible god knows how, seeing as I at one point fell over with exhaustion. #1 is much better now though obviously still in lots of pain, but that's what painkillers are for.

This week I have been at uni and have got some reading done already, and chatted lots to people on my course. It turns out that my Politics class should be okay, but Anthropology.. well, that's a whole different matter. I had my first language class too, and although I was probably one of the better ones in the class, no one is anywhere near the standard our teacher wants.

Last night I spoke to the boy for the first time in ages. He called yesterday morning and I was really rude to him. I think things are most definitely not on track - and it's mostly my fault as I forgot to call him on his birthday, and then didn't call the next few days, and then cancelled our date without telling him, and then was rude to him. Oh whatever though, seriously. He irritates me sometimes. And then I feel bad saying that as whenever we're together, I really like him and we act all silly. I'm pretty sure that he was shagging someone else last weekend, but I actually don't give a toss as that's precisely what I do (given half a chance, of course - and not at the moment, given the drought!). The drought is coming to an end as G is coming to stay soon, which'll be fun. I've really missed him. If he wasn't so crap, he would be great. But he's crap, as am I, so we always forget to call each other.

In other news, I am joining a gym. It's all part of a plan to try and con lots of free meals out of people. All my friends who have jobs will be getting a call soon asking if they'd like to take me out for dinner. I'll do the whole impoverished student line, which will be far more effective if I look a bit skinny. Also, I'm fed up of being so fat. I weighed myself when I was at my parents house and eeek. Obviously I weigh far more than when I was my skinniest (though when I was telling my mum, she did point out that I looked ill back then and I was only that skinny because I was seriously depressed and didn't eat anything at all) but I think some sort of happy medium would be good. I know I'm probably not meant to go to the gym, what with my hip, but y'know. Especially as it's getting worse, and my knee (where I tore a ligament when I was 10) hurts now too. Whatever, I'm having physiotherapy, and I don't see that swimming and pilates and stuff can hurt? Maybe I'll just do that at the gym. The machines look a bit scary - there's no way in hell I will be able to work those. I can barely work my alarm clock, and even that seems a bit tenuous, given that I woke up at 11 today. [haha, I knew I would be able to fit some whining into this entry!!]

Right, I need to go and read my books now.

I can't be your superman

This weekend has not turned out quite how I expected. I am absolutely shattered but pleased that things are okay, and glad that I was able to help. I think I am very good at looking after people and in fact I have a very comprehensive medical knowledge (a hidden talent, perhaps?), but now I am tired and worried that I can't cope. And I can't tell anyone that I am going mad, and that I think something is seriously wrong, or that I can't walk properly, because I'm the responsible one and I have to remember medication times and be supportive and make things as easy as possible, but I think it would be really nice if someone could come and look after me for a bit.

Ow me hip...

My hips really hurt from queueing so much today. Even the good hip is painful. It's going to be a bad sleep tonight, I could really do with someone to hug me but #1 went to sleep really early and she has the lurgey anyway. Thank heavens for painkillers.

I think I just broke my email address. I had it for all of 15 minutes. That is a record, even for me.

a pact to be a bit more... good

I've stopped being quite so miserable. I think I was just moping cos I was bored and feeling lonely. it's weird to go from being around people all the time - albeit at work - to not being with anyone. Plus I really like a lot of the people I worked with and it felt like suddenly I had lost all my friends, and I felt very out of my depth. But I guess this is normal. I have never been very good with nerves. I remember once before I was going on holiday I got so nervous that I ended up with stomach cramps (it was a crap holiday too, so I feel I was justified). But really, there is no need for me to be nervous. I still have friends, for fuck's sake (though, of course, if I continue acting like a bit of a chump then that may not last!!), and I have already met new people. Instead of moping, I need to be more proactive - like not being miserable at home, but instead getting off my arse and going out! Shock horror etc. It works.

Take yesterday as an example. I'd spoken to the boy a number of times and said I'd come and see him, but I really considered not going. But I went, and we had a lovely time (on a swivel chair). But then nicer, we talked and I realised I had missed him a bit (I told him it was only "a little tiny bit") and we did silly things like hold hands and play tricks on each other. We went to the pub and he told me about his whole visa situation and I tried in vain to think of a way round it. I am so glad that my passport lets me basically do what I want. The joys of the maroon little book. Anyway, he has to go back home to try and sort out a new one. It's ridiculous, as the whole system seems so unfair, and what makes perfect sense to me is the antithesis of the whole modus operandi of the passport/visa system. I don't know, I just rocked up at the embassy in Knightsbridge with my birth certificate and hey presto - it seems other people go to far greater lengths to stay in this country. And why? Is this country so great? It certainly makes you wonder about other countries.

This morning I woke up with quite a big burn on my hand and a bite mark on my arm. In fact, 2 sets of bite marks, so that they look like sharks teeth. It took me a good minute to remember that I went to LSE and met up with A and some other people and had a surprisingly nice night. The biting aside, obviously - though I would like to clarify that I bit myself. It was really good to catch up with people again, and it was good to kind of "officially" be friends with people. It's cool when you discover that you had loads in common with someone but you never really realised before. Yay! Oh yeah, there was a midget there and we all were a bit blatant in our staring at him. There was the token "alternative" as well, you know the sort, a wannabe punk who's clearly from Hampshire but he's got green and purple hair so let's all say raaahhh. I found a tenner on the floor and drank lots of gin and then, in quite a stylish move, managed to knock over a drink so that it tipped straight in my shoe, which I had momentarily removed my foot from. Going home sounded like this: thump squelsh thump squelsh. On the way home I got talking to this rasta about how important it is to study non-European countries and how you can't possibly have an understanding of the world system and geopolitics without an understanding of world history. Then I got home, listened to Belle and Sebastian on repeat and cooked rice with chili.

I found my mp3 player. It was stuck in the ring binder of the folder I have all my dissertation notes in. Why? God only knows - I haven't got a freaking clue.

Student life, day 2. Aka: sitting around in my pyjamas.

I'm going to become a vegan. But in the meantime I have loads of non-vegan foods that I need to eat up so for breakfast today I ate some cheese biscuits and now I feel a bit sick and I don't really fancy honey-roasted carrots for lunch. And in a last-ditch non-vegan extravaganza, I drank some milk. Part of me thinks I will not be able to keep it up, but I became a vegetarian overnight and have never eaten meat since - apart from once when I went to my grandma's house and I didn't have the heart to tell her as she'd cook me a whole special menu, so I ate some fish pie. My grandma is more important than morals. Though I don't know if I could do it now as the thought of meat is just gross. Yesterday I nearly touched a bit of chicken. I am getting well squeamish.

Things all kicked off yesterday as #1's boyfriend-type-person was a complete arsehole. Cue many fags out the bedroom window and all of us sitting around passing judgement and hugging each other. I made what I thought was quite an insightful comment - all the men/boys (let's face it, no one that cowardly can be called a man) who have dicked #1 and I around recently have been follicly challenged, that is to say, bald (or getting there at least). I just don't get #1's last one though. He's very sweet and all that, but for someone who says he prides honesty above everything else, he talks out of his arse. "You make me really happy" --> "This is never going to be a meaningful relationship" Does this make sense? And is anyone else having flashbacks? Anyway, after all of that, and everyone else went to bed, I decided to watch "The Best of Borat". Man I can't wait for the Borat film, it's gonna be ace.

I worry that I have lost all depth to my personality. I used to be able to have conversations and debates and now all I can do is a) whinge, and b) do "comedy" things like talk about Borat. Where did my intelligence go? Today I feel quite miserable and I want to stay in bed. Yesterday I got weirded out because people think I am something I am not, and really, I'd just like to sleep. And maybe listen to Sting. Maybe. But I am going to have to get up later as I have promised to go into the office, under the pretence of giving back my swipe card. But really I am going to have sex with the boy. Apparently - things are weird, and if I wasn't so apathetic I would do something about it, but instead I'll say "BYEEE" in a comedy way and get back in bed. I'm not entirely sure why things are weird but I think it might have something to do with me being a twat when I was pissed on Wednesday and the fact that he's not really that into me anyway. Yeah whatevs.

Whinge whinge whinge moan moan moan. At least my computer is working nicely now - thank you bro!

Drinking wine and listening to Eminem. Am I REALLY a masters student?

Today was my first day at uni. I turned up at 10 for a talk from the director or whatever they call him. He was nice and sweet but it was a bit dull. I knew most of it from my obsessive reading of the SOAS website. Well, I wanted to be informed, didn't I? Beforehand, I said hello to the girl sitting next to me. Throughout the entire talk I scanned the room thinking "maybe one of these people will become my friend?" before thinking "no, of course they won't, you ignoramous, and by the way, what the hell are you doing here?" At the end, someone shouted my name... Oh my fucking lord it's only F, who I went out with for about 2 months at the age of 16. I was misguided. Oh my lord. No no no. Etc. Then I saw this girl who I sat next to in English and German for 2 years in sixth form! Which is far acer cos she's so lovely. We talked for ages. It was kinda surreal as I think she had a very different impression of me than the real me. For example, we were talking about college, and I said how miserable I was, and she said that I always seemed okay... then later (unconnected to the previous conversation) she said that she was bad at acting and that I seemed better at it (something to do with me going into uni for my undergrad in my pyjamas). And it just made me think, what the fuck? I seemed fine then, I seem fine now. But am I really? I admit I'm only writing this now as I've had a bottle of wine. But am I fine? I don't know. Ask me when I'm sober and I'm like "yeah yeah yeah I'm great". But inside I'm so scared and I don't know what the fuck is going on. I spend far more time worrying than I should. I do all the things that I like to think that I don't do. I don't know whether I'm irrational. I don't think I'm going to make friends this year and I like to pretend that it's okay because I already have friends. I already have friends, right? I just don't know anymore. I feel very alone. Oh whinge whinge whinge. I think I am far more messed up than I like to think and seeing as part of the agreement of me staying in London this year was that I have therapy blah blah, so I guess I should. Thing is, I hate people who talk like they've had therapy. I have some prime examples to give but I can't because it was told to me in confidence. Then again, people who should have had therapy who haven't (again, I have a very good example), talk out of their arse and fuck everyone around on a long-term mission statement of slowly ruining their own life, so which would I prefer?

Anyway. I met some nice people. We went to ULU and had a pint. When we all went our seperate ways I walked about 200m down the road and had a panic attack and had to hide in the Waterstones. I then wandered aimlessly for a while and bought a new jacket. I got the bus home but half way home I got off and got the bus back into town and got all my hair cut off.

Now I am pissed and feeling less alone, though wine is not your friend, I should know this.

first day

Today is my first day at uni but all I have done so far is wander around in my pyjama's pretending that I'm not really nervous. Hopefully there will be more to report later. I'm now going to spend half an hour choosing what to wear.

Reasons why I shouldn't drink

As may have slipped your attention (not likely as I keep going on about it), I haven't been drinking. Barring the night when I drank all those mojitos. And when I went to the pub with #1. And on Tuesday when I went to Soho. But I haven't been drinking much. Yesterday was my last day at work - which was fun actually and I'll write about it later (I didn't win the prize due to an 'incident') - and so after work I went out for some drinks. Obviously I didn't have any dinner, though I had made some flapjacks and some chocolate cornflake cakes. Went to the Roxy and everyone bought me wine. I then proceeded to:

- show everyone my toerings
- tell everyone that my colleague does drugs
- talk AT LENGTH about The L Word
- announce that I thought the ideal person would be the love child of Girls Aloud and Justin Timberlake.
- sing "I just wanna love you baby" in a comedy Justin Timberlake way
- tell a colleague about my disastrous relationship history and a whole load of stuff I shouldn't have said
- go on AT LENGTH about how the man from HR had texted me
- announce that I wanted a menagerie of boyfriends in front of the boy who I think thinks that he is my boyfriend
- decide to go to Soho
- wander around town for ages feeling sulky
- call S and be an arsehole to her
- have a fight and tell the boy not to bother coming back to mine
- get on bus anyway and let him sleep leaning against my shoulder

On the bus I felt really flaky and thought meh drinking. I woke up at least one of my housemates and then spent all night being really hot and getting annoyed with the boy for trying to have sex with me at some ungodly hour.

Today I feel ropey. I have sent an apology text to S. I'm listening to Justin Timberlake at home and eating the remains of some squashed cornflake cakes. I think my insides have liquified. I went to the doctors and she was like yeah your blood is funny and why do you have sunglasses on, and I said meh fix my life please.

I'm going to go and find something nutritious to eat and then read trashy magazines all day.

a living art installation

It turns out that I am actually a celebrity. No, not an LSE celebrity, silly. A proper celebrity. As in, my visage was in an exhibition. People looked and me and thought... well, I don't know. But anyway. I only found by chance - I was wasting time on facebook, as per my usual day, and I came across this girl I used to go to music college with, who I haven't seen in about five years. Then yesterday she sent me a message and told me that she'd seen my photo in a Paul Sutton exhibition. Which must have been funny - if I went to an exhibition and saw a photo of someone I knew I'd be running around going "omg omg omg!" Much googling later, and I found a video montage of the exhibition on youtube. Check this out (can you spot me?):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gPRqhBfQZXo

Let me set the scene:
I am 18 and work as a teacher
I accidentally dyed my hair blue
I live in a building with 40 Mexican teenagers who I am meant to be responsible for
I spend most nights at my boyfriends, drinking gin
The little boy on my back is called Roberto
The Mexicans and I are on a day out
Roberto is 13 and wants to be my brother
He has competition from another 13 year old called Fernando

This weekend passed in a whirl of food and books and fireworks and newspapers and mini-rolls. On Saturday my friends parents took me out for dinner. Yesterday I went to the Thames Festival and saw, amongst other things, Terri Walker, a carnival procession, and some fireworks. I agreed to go to a Tudor installation at the Tate. Someone who I didn't think wanted to be my friend anymore was incredibly nice to me and said such lovely things. I did lots of civilised things and tried on a mens jacket that I now really really love. Which goes against all fanciful ideas of dressing more like a) a girl, and b) an adult.

I have two days left at work and I have been told that I will be missed. I think I might miss the place.

There is lots of good news but overshadowing it is the rather shocking news that my ex is coming back to the country on Wednesday. Yep. You better watch out for that phone ringing. But look at me being bothered??

Things are good at the moment.

Cats called Clarence

I was reading a book, lying on my bed, and #5 called me. I thought this was a bit odd as she was in the kitchen. She told me to come quick - but quietly - as we had a small furry visitor. I immediately thought of a mouse and felt vaguely disgusted, but went to the kitchen. And there was a cat! A black and white cat, who matched the floortiles. #5 wanted to call him Bob but I said that his name should be Clarence (G asked me why and it turns out he has never seen True Romance). Clarence really liked #1 but she threatened to stab him with her fork (?). He was very sweet but a bit thick.

Shit and piss

We got sent home from work cos there was a sewage problem, as in a leak, of shit, in the building. Yes, the building is up shit creek. It's in the shit. There was a properly cheery atmosphere (though not among the facilities staff nor the people in the library next door as their ceiling came crashing in...). Anyway, opportunism has always been my game so I ran around being an excitable child and then went to the park with my friends. Then me and O went into town and pissed around so much. I got told that I acted like a child. Then I licked his ear and he said he wouldn't go anywhere with me again. We ended up trying to spit ice on each other in Burger King and I was wearing his aftershave and we'd walked a hundred miles and I couldn't stop laughing.

Paperchase gladly accepted my custom and now I have folders for uni. I met S and then M came round, and we drank tea, and then went to buy Bollywood films. But on the way, oh my god, I saw R, who I used to live with. It was well scary. Turns out he texted my ex the other day in a fit of nostalgia and it didn't get through, which I guess means that he's not in the country, which is a good thing. It was so weird. I keep running into people from my past. Why is this? I liked seeing R (and funnily, he understood the whole hair-washing thing more than anyone else, and he saw first hand the completely all-consuming and totally destructive nature of the relationship I had with my ex, so rather than hear about it in the comedy tales I tell, he knows, and therefore he's probably one of a very small handful, if not the only one), but it was odd. I want to hang out with him but what if he mentions any of the fucked up shit that happened? Like the stuff we all even then pretended hadn't happened. Or if he brings this other girl we lived with, a girl who simultaneously hated and pitied me. Who let's face it, I hero worshipped. Oh. The 19 year old Hats was not a very sorted person whatsoever.

Let's go, eskimo!

Man, he is in trouble. I lend him my favourite book, my very favourite book, and he loses it! Without even finishing it! He can think again if he thinks he's getting Oryx and Crake back.

I have become really obsessed with Girls Aloud (in order of hotness, it's: the ginger one, the geordie racist one, the Irish one, the non descript one, and the blond one). We all know they're more than the sum of their parts, but "Biology"? That's an amazing song. And I downloaded 50 Cent.

Oh yeah, it's like that is it?

Oooh look at the date, but am I bothered? Yeah I got dumped a year ago today. Whatevs. I actually DON'T CARE that the nice happy dream of getting married and having babies and having some lamearse apple tree in the garden didn't happen. It's been the best year of my life this year even though I drank too much and got really fat. Being 22 is ace and this was the best 11th September ever.

I took the day off work (though it was hella complicated) as I still wasn't feeling top notch. I spazzed out a bit leaving the house as I got to Denmark Hill and couldn't remember if I'd locked the door so had to come back. But I went to SOAS, but they said I needed to go to the other campus, so I wandered over and cajoled a man into filling in my loan form and he said "see you at enrolment!" and I thought FUCK!! I'm going to be a student!! I walked about town in a mini skirt and people told me I was beautiful and I smiled sweetly and said thank you, then bought some ace sunglasses and some properly awesome hoops.

Tell you what, everything is A-OKAY!!

Happy Hats didn't seem to want to stick around but she left this poor substitute instead

The lack of posts - and general quality in said posts - recently is down to a number of factors. Firstly, I'm a lazy bugger. Secondly, I (I say "I" but really I mean "my brother" cos he knows about this sort of stuff and I don't) only just got my home PC working again and at work I am quite distracted by sending pointless emails to people, impersonating the Queen or trying to convince people I've been offered the position of chairman, or just sending filth to #1, or coming up with 'amusing' things to do, or simply falling over a lot because there are too many chairs and fans and computer bits and random boxes behind my desk. Thirdly, now that I am a nice normal - and maybe even a bit happy? - girl, there's not a lot to write about. Emo drama is so much more interesting, is it not? Isn't that what makes one an LSE celebrity? Frankly, I don't want to be a "celebrity", especially if the calibre of the individuals judging is that low. Anyway. Fourthly, and this is only an excuse for the last few days, I have flu. I knew I would get it and I have been taking 1500mg Vitamin C every morning to try and NOT get it, but did it work? Did it bollocks. Last week, J was ill... he gave it to L... who gave it O... who gave it to me. By about 3pm on Friday, people were coming up to me at work and saying "fucking hell, you look like shit!", which is always guaranteed to make you feel a hell of a lot better about yourself. I cancelled all the arrangements I'd made for the evening and went home, via the shops, where I stocked up on lemsip, paracetamol, those cold-and-flu tablets, bread and soya milk. Then went home, got into bed, and fell into a sweaty, feverish sleep for damn near twenty hours. During which time I hallucinated that my ex (by this, I mean the big bad ex) was in the room, and lost about two pints of fluid in sweat. I am nice when I am ill. At some point #1 came into my room but I was thrashing about and couldn't speak and she thought it best to leave me alone.

I woke up on Saturday very briefly and ate a piece of bread. #5 laughed in my face and I tried to storm off but my legs were a bit wobbly so I just hobbled to the kitchen and made more lemsip. Then I went back to bed. We were all meant to be going out to #2's birthday party thing, so when I woke up again at about 6.30, I had a shower and put some clothes on, and stuffed myself full of paracetamol, and went into town with #1 and #5, who I was trying not to want to kill. We went to a bar where two drinks cost sixteen quid. I had a diet coke and a cigarette. An alcoholic nearly kicked over a chair. I smiled politely, left, bought a Caramel Aero and went home. Got into bed and sweated.

Today has been bizarre. I felt a little better so I messed about on my computer, thinking of songs to download. Amongst other things, I downloaded some Flaming Lips, then was listening to the Yeah Yeah Yeah Song while staring out of the window. And then I started crying. I've been really good recently, I haven't been thinking about N. But I used to listen to that song at his house in his room, and it was so sunny and the sky was so blue, and everything was damn peachy. Then today, same song, same sky... but not so peachy. And yeah, I'm okay. But I do miss N, and I do wonder what he's up to and whether I ever even cross his mind. Okay, and yeah, I did look at the photos on facebook. I'm not so unhappy as I was, I really am not. Just little things remind me of him, and then I want to slap myself round the head for even being that person. So much of my time, so much of my life in fact, is spent thinking "that wasn't me, right? I'm not that same person, am I?" as the me of today can't identify with the me of last week, let alone the me of last month or last year or heaven forbid any further in the past. Oh whinge whinge whinge. I know he's not thinking about me. Part of me wants to write him a letter to tell him... I don't know, to make it so we could be friends. But it's not that simple, is it, you can't just magic things into existence. Much as I'd like things my way, or even a straightforward way, things have this amazing habit of fucking up in your face.

Anyway, I watched the Monza GP and in between being shocked at how poorly broadcast the whole thing was and lamenting a rather lacklustre performance by Kimi, I pondered Michael Schumacher's retirement. I thought I'd be really happy about it, but as the whole debacle unfolded I started to feel really sad. I thought maybe it was the lemsip, or the fact that I was feeling generally miserable in a kind of ill way, but all these images flashed through my head... Michael Schumacher - much as I dislike him for his dodgy tactics (see: Hill; Villeneuve; Monaco), his utter German-ness in interviews, the ethos of his team, as well as what can only rationally be called an irrational dislike to him and Ferrari - he has, to me, been around forever. The first GP I remember watching (which must have been the early nineties sometime as I definitely remember when Senna was alive) had him in. Another time, Schumacher was racing Hill, and that evening I wrote in my diary "Hill won!!!" I never liked Schumacher. Part of me knows that losing him in the sport heralds the end of an era. I used to watch F1 with my ex. He loved Damon Hill and Jean Alesi. Like me, he hated Schumacher. Even though we don't speak anymore, and I don't even know where he is in the world, our dislike of Schumacher would have given us something to talk about, on that mythical occasion when we'd meet in the street. It's so stupid I know, and maybe I'm just being silly because I'm ill and feverish, but then I started crying, and I feel cheated - yes, one last cheat from the master of deception, Michael Schumacher. But good luck to him, with his stolen wife and his future career, and let's get on with the 2007 Championship.

This evening #1's gentleman friend came round and I am trying not to colour my advice with the cynicism I feel inside, but it's hard. You can't say to people "I love you, will you be my girlfriend?" cos these things don't work like that. But everyone conveniently forgets, because surely it's not like with them, cos with them it's special, and this time it's perfect and everyone will live happily ever after.

Now I have had an argument on the phone and I have washed my hands a hundred times but they don't feel clean, and I really don't think I can go to work tomorrow. I am going to be sick and then lie down. Tomorrow is 11th September so you can expect some more craziness from me but not for any world trade centre reasons. Good night.

What is all this egg freezing nonsense?

This morning they took my blood and I felt very dizzy. I went to work and was asked if I'm having my leg amputated and why I looked like I'd been taking drugs. I put on more eyeliner. I feel WELL nauseous. No one is replying to my emails and my software stealing scheme has fallen flat as someone has beaten me to it. Last night something highly humiliating happened but I am trying to pretend it didn't. I am in love with David Bowie and the ginger one out of Girls Aloud.

dance magic dance

Amazing. I might have arthritis! This not-so-jolly news was somewhat nullified by listening to the Labyrinth soundtrack all the way to work. But arthritis, man. That sucks.

I found out that the boyfriend/girlfriend I mentioned the other day aren't actually going out. I was like "oh but you should!" only to be told that the boy is gay. I can fancy gay people though right? Even though he said that my face makes people laugh. Anyway, I don't see why homosexuality should get in the way of a perfectly good relationship. I mentioned this to G and he saw straight through it - not enough cocks, he reckons.

I'm sure I was going to write something else but I have been distracted by talk of the man with the limpest handshake in the world who some say has a problem with his glands but I say he has a problem with pies, the fat git. My friend reckons he is a she. Then I have been distracted by taking painkillers and having more fun in an office than you should really have. NSFW and all that. Then I fell over a chair cos I am wearing stupidly long trousers and omg omg omg grown up shoes!

"pretty and thick as two short planks - just how I like them"

I had so much to write today, but then I get to work and I look at BBC News and strewth, Steve Irwin is dead. This is outrageous. I mean, yeah, if you stick your head in a crocodiles mouth you're asking for trouble, and messing about with stingray is a bit stupid, and we won't speak of whatever these close encounters he had with penguins... but man, come on, this man is a legend. When I first started at uni, I had a picture of Steve on my door. It was one of my prized possessions. Then Kinash stole it from me. I know it was him because I went to his room and he had it on his wall. I asked for it back and he begged me - literally begged me - for it. Aged 23. But yeah, Steve Irwin, eh. It's a sad day. I immediately sought out all the Australians in the building. One of them is planning to build a memorial in Hyde Park with me (gold plated mechanical crocodiles, anyone?). Another one, a guy who does the maintenance, was like "I know, mate! My parents rang me this morning!" Amazing. It's hot antipodean news.

Anyway, the tragic news has somewhat eclipsed my news. Nah fuck it, it hasn't. I AM GOING TO ANTIGUA!! Amazing! 5* hotel, club class flight... This is the life for me. I haven't been on a plane that isn't Ryanair in years - in fact I don't know when. And I've certainly never been anywhere like Antigua. Actually, it may not be Antigua - it might be Jamaica. But still, you know, I can do Jamaica. I am so excited! A holiday, a proper bad ass holiday!

What happened this weekend? S and I went to Trafalgar Square on Friday night and saw my new favourite band, Desorden Publico. Venezualan political ska. And a man in a track suit. And a man with sunglasses who was deceptively hot. Chavez out! I want to learn Spanish too now.

On Saturday I bought a new school bag and some pretty near perfect black trousers (after looking for about 10 years now!), then went to Lidl and stocked up on amazing Lidl food like greek antipasti and olive oil and balsamic vinegar. I fucking love Lidl. It reminds me so much of the supermarkets in Germany except for one small difference - in supermarkets in the UK, they have sweets next to the checkouts. In Germany they have cigarettes. Far better if you ask me. Anyway, yeah, Lidl is ace. Apparently my dad loves Lidl and keeps finding excuses to go. Aldi is top too though. I got my stereo from Aldi (yeah, I have no shame) and it's lasted 7 years.

As I was getting ready to go out, I started feeling a bit weird, and then puked for half an hour. What's that about? This meant that I was late to meet G, which was annoying cos I'd been berating him about his general lateness (he was 3 hours late to meet me). We went up to Hackney to SB's house, where she was having a barbeque. Her house is really nice, very homely. I could just imagine there being a cat wandering around, and that's always a sign that I think somewhere is cosy. The people were all pretty cool too, even if some of them were deranged. There was this Japanese girl that G was trying to chat up, called Shinobobo or something like that. She said she'd been in London for 10 years but her English was shite. Also, she didn't really listen, so conversation was a bit rubbish (just the way G likes it though!). It was all fun and games at the barbeque although someone stole all the vegetarian sausages and there was an accountant there. SB's housemate kicked everyones ass at table football and I put Hadouken! on the stereo.

Then we went to Herbal and got fucked up on drugs. Got home about 4am and finally fell asleep about 9am. I woke up at 1pm in the most ridiculous amount of pain. My hip is not happy - I can only sleep on one side. My head hurt too and my room smelt of fags and orange squash (spilt all over my bed, damnit). I finally went back to sleep and woke up properly at 5pm, when I realised I had about a hundred missed calls, which culminated in a bit of an argument. Whatevs.

In a very pleasant end to the weekend, S and SB came round and we ate pizza and garlic bread (who says I'm a bad host?) and gaped in amazement at #5 who was taking pictures of the neighbours with a telephoto lens.

I don't know how I feel about things. But I don't really care. I was asked at the weekend how I feel at the moment. I thought for a minute and I realised that actually, things are awesome! Things are pretty darn amazing and I feel good. I like this. I am very sorry for not always being like this cos the new me can see that the old me must have been a pain in the arse. I'm going to try and stay a happy hats.

Here is a recent photo of me. I am well emo.

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.