Thursday 2nd December

Sometimes I wonder where people who burn the candle at both ends get their energy from. I had barely recovered from the weekend when I found myself out two nights in a row....the first night, I never even made it home, I ended up in some hotel on Russell Square with the Thug at about two hours' notice. There I am, dragging myself to the B*witched concert after work with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner to the gallows when I get a phone call (thank god for mobiles, I've only had mine for three months and already I cannot be without it). So after the concert (which was a good show if you were deaf - they were terrifically off key) I went down there. I'm sure I must have looked like some dodgy hooker because he'd been in a single room and had to change it to a double when I said I wasn't busy after all. I made him meet me outside and escort me in. Escort: not a good choice of word maybe! Anyway this meant going to uni the next day in the same clothes, without cleaning my teeth or recharging my phone (gasp) I'm just glad that I am such a scruff bag that seeing me in the same clothes two days in a row means nothing.

Anyway, after nearly falling asleep in the library whilst day dreaming out of the window, and after prepping for Monday's presentation with Riikka (Russia, World War 1 and the February Revolution...you wouldn't think it but it's fascinating) I went home and sorted everyone out to go down to Camden and spy on my brother in Frank Charlie's. In the end it was just Kez, Jen and I because the Thug had to leave town, but Richard and his mate turned up later on, and we had a lock in. It was one of those nights where I went from being stone cold sober to fall over drunk at the speed of Stuart's hand when he thinks someone is stealing his wallet. I am so proud of my brother, he's sooooo good at his job. He works there on his own and everything. The bar is really nice but we had been in there for about an hour when I suddenly realised that we were the only student-types in there, it was almost a relief when Richard turned up (in his suit...why? why me?!) They've got this interesting looking melon schnapps which I must sample next time. Poor Jen ended up embarrassed as ever, cos Kez kept going on about how everyone they met always fancied her and not Kez, which I'm sure is not true, it's just that Jen has this whole aloof thing going on which makes her more mysterious whereas Kez is kindred to me, she never stops talking (grin) Having said that, Kez liked Richard but Richard liked Jen, so I suppose her theory stands. But she knows she always has Stuart to fall back on!

I have yet to write about this, and I have had a request for it so I had better say a few words (no change there then). Like I alluded to in my account of my party, Kez ended up snogging Stuart for reasons which will remain undisclosed here. I was highly amused, and proved wrong, because I told her he would never go for it, which just shows how well I know him! Anyway, in spite of the fact that they didn't even end the evening with a good night kiss (which you'd think would be a hint) unfortunately, Stu still thought Kez was interested. Since playing Aphrodite is one of my hobbies, I felt compelled to pass on her email address and much email ensued. I tried to tell him but he has obviously taken a leaf out of my book - I never take his advice about relationships either (much to his irritation, I suspect). It culminated in him inviting her out to dinner. (Self self self moment - he NEVER invited me out to dinner ONE SINGLE TIME!) Poor lad. She made me tell him no, too. Jen and I have been having a right giggle about it, it's so much fun to be on the outside looking in for once. My advice to him would be, I know not taking no for an answer worked once, but that doesn't necessarily mean it will work again. My advice to her is....scary flashback from last night, Kez actually said she wouldn't mind going to dinner with him! Hmmmm. Then my advice to her would be, Momma always told me, be careful what you do, don't go around breaking young boys' hearts (grin).

But I digress. Anyway, after Jen and Kez and Richard's mate had gone home we ended up sitting around until 1am (where the time went I have no idea) having scary conversations that became deeper by the drop. I am unaware of how lucid Richard was, I can never tell if someone else is pissed when I am myself. Bless his heart, he even waited with me at the night bus stop, although I have got myself home in more inebriated states than that (will I ever forget being shaken awake at Golders Green because I was so out of it I fell fast asleep?) We waited for what seemed like hours, until I turned around and told Richard I didn't mind getting up at 6am if I could stay at his house. Like a genie from a bottle, the bus just appeared at the stop. It was very freaky. It's like when you've been waiting ages for a bus and you spark up and one comes before you've had three drags - always the way.

So now it's Thursday and I am looking forward to a quiet end-of-week, nothing going on, yet. My good friend from summer camp, DC, is now somewhere in London with her boyfriend and I am waiting for her to call me, I really hope she does. Otherwise I might have to do the unthinkable and spend the weekend studying. Which is really what I should be doing now, since I got a scary letter about my dissertation this morning and I haven't even started it yet (choke) and I'm thinking of doing an MA! I really must stop going out so much. Yep. After Christmas

Saturday 4th December

(I cannot believe it's 10am on a Saturday morning and I am actually here writing stuff when I never went to sleep until 5.30am)
(cough) (clear throat) It has been brought to my attention that I have been accused of publishing erroneous information in this here Diario. In fact, my good friend Kez said last night, after yelling, "I'VE GOT A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU!" and punching me on the arm, that I needed to take the entire page down to get rid of the line saying she liked Richard. Although now I come to look at it, I just said she liked him, never that she wanted to get into his pants, and I didn't mean anything by it, darling, and I'm very sorry. Better? Good (smile)

As a woman my mission on this earth is nearly complete. This morning I was supposed to get up at 6.30am to go to work...of course, after not going to sleep until about an hour before that it just wasn't going to happen. As a result, I never woke the Thug up either and unless he hurries, he's going to miss kick off. I am so proud! (cackle) On that score, things seem to be going a lot better, anyway. He came round last night and then my good friend DC from summer camp called me to say she was in town with her boyfriend so we all went out to my brother's bar (again) for drinks (again). Jen and Kez turned up, and I discovered Smirnoff Ice and Watermelon Bacardi Breezers. Goes without saying, it was a good night. Richard met us after and came back to mine and cooked all my dodgy out of date food into something quite delicious. Very sweet of him really cos right after we had eaten we went to bed and he had to get a cab home.

As for me and the Thug, we seemed to be getting on very well. Deep and meaningfuls aside, I cannot remember the last time we got on so well since....ever. Just goes to show you, these things work perfectly until one of you (and it wasn't me either) gets really drunk and starts ringing up and asking dodgy questions about the state of our non-relationship (I have invented a new term for it, since the others just don't quite cut it). It is certainly interesting being in a non-relationship with such an utter commitmentphobe. In my idle moments I ponder why he gets so freaked out. Insecurity tells me that it's something to do with me, but if I spent most of my time thinking like that I would end up suicidal so I just deal and move on (smile). It doesn't really matter anyway, I like the little situation, it works great as far as I am concerned. After four and a half years of solid monogamy, this is a refreshing change, and I've never done things in a conventional way, even algebra (used to drive my maths teacher manic when I came up with the right answer with completely different workings out to everyone else). Oooo, that's an interesting metaphor. Maybe it will end up at the same conclusion in spite of the weird route. I don't mean that in a scary marriage-and-kids type way, euch no. I'm just feeling very philosophical for a Saturday morning. Makes life more interesting, anyway

Wednesday 9th December

It's twenty three minutes past midnight on Wednesday night and I am sitting here online discussing soups and movies with Chris and the state of my non-relationship with Gavin on ICQ. Who says the internet is useless?!
My life just seems to get more and more fun. After a, shall we say, EVENTFUL Saturday night during which I got no sleep at all, I dragged my weary carcass into a nine hour shift at work. And they made me hold the bleep. And I had two incidents of diarrhea, a spilled can of coke and a broken bottle of lucozade. And there was no cheesecake at lunchtime, and no quiche either. And the diet coke machine ran out of diet coke (which has to have been the worst part). And then when I went in on Monday, they had only written me in for two hours because I forgot to sign out! Works sucks. I have taken the rest of the week off....I have an ear infection which is affecting my balance, but it might just be psychosomatic (smile). I have made up my mind to do a masters, and broke my silent treatment of my father to ask him to fund me. Probably just as well, he probably hadn't even noticed that I wasn't mailing him (grin). What else? Hmm yeah. My actually-quite-good-looking lecturer stopped me in the corridor today to tell me how impressed he was with my choice of book for the last piece of work I turned in. I was astounded he had actually heard of it, I picked the most obscure thing I could find! Then yesterday the most horrible thing happened. I was waiting for a lift, and when it arrived, the doors opened, and my dissertation tutor (who has been sending me gentle prods about going to see him) (who I cannot go and see because I am very behind) was standing right there. I was such a coward, I just mumbled "I'll take the stairs" and bolted in the other direction. Doh (grin)

That's it for my *normal* life. I don't have much to write about. I just wanted to write. The Thug was supposed to be here tonight but he got held up in Amsterdam so Justine and I went to see a movie instead. Well, we ended up seeing three. I liked Sixth Sense best but I cried my eyes out, it was such a good twist at the end. We were running up and down the street beforehand trying to find somewhere Jus could get cashback on her Solo card, it was manic. We concluded that we are going to die sad and lonely old spinsters, mainly because the cinema was full of couples, euch. Get-a-room-get-a-room-get-a-room

Friday 10th December

The subject for today's discussion -

"The Evils of Alcohol"

(grin) now I have to qualify that. Anybody who knows me will know how I am prone to occasional bouts of heavy drinking, and I am the first to admit that it can totally change one's personality. In my case, I get more paranoid than normal, whilst also being overly affectionate, calling everyone "darling" and "babe" even more than I usually do and being even more blunt, if that is possible. One might say, then, that alcohol merely exacerbates one's actual personality traits, since I am not known for my tact and I am easily one of the most paranoid people I know (which one of my enemies told you that?!). While I am ashamed to admit that I have caused problems in the past because I just say what I think, I have to say that I always *mean* well, it is just my view that everyone should be totally honest with everyone else at all times about everything. In the real world we all know this cannot happen. But in that fermented apple-flavoured world, things can be as I think they should.

Unfortunately, last night in the pub things, largely due to inflated alcohol consumption, went slightly wrong. When I suggested to Jen that we meet for coffee because she needed cheering up, little did I know that a quick pint in the Rising Sun before toddling off to see Boyzone with Stuart would end up as one of those I-think-it-was-10-pints, entire-pack-of-cigarettes, leave-half-a-pint-at-closing-time type evenings. Kez ended up going to see Boyzone with Stuart instead of me, which I think was a good arrangement for everyone because Phil turned up so I didn't want to leave, and Kez loves Boyzone, and Stuart loves Kez (cackle) so my bacon was saved. The evening was going very well and we were having a right giggle, Richard turned up too so that was *two* men in suits, I was happy. We were going to leave to go to the fairground in Leicester Square but never quite made it. Then I dipped the end of Phil's tie in Jen's beer and he tipped my pint over me, so Jen threw hers at him and he threw Richard's at her, and then just because he was the only one who was dry, he threw his own pint over Richard. And Richard's 600 quid Harvey Nic's suit. Hence, I have been sitting in the library all day reeking of cider, but I think I got off pretty lightly considering. So after we had all dried ourselves off somewhat, Jen started talking about the state of our non-relationship and it got slightly uncomfortable, especially when she told him I could do so much better (she has been taking tact lessons off me, obviously) so I went off to the toilet. When I came back, Jen launched herself at me with a cry of "YOUR BOYFRIEND'S A COMPLETE WANKER! I'M NOT STAYING AROUND HERE TO BE INSULTED, I'M GOING HOME!" and stormed out. Richard looked only slightly less perplexed than me, but followed her out and made sure she was OK. She ended up sobbing on his 600-quid-Harvey-Nic's-just-dry-cleaned-beer-soaked shoulder and he took her for coffee and by all accounts (well hers, anyway) had a good deep-and-meaningful. Phil just sat there looking like the cat that got caught eating the canary. It appears things were said (and what things had better remain unsaid here) which pissed both of them off, but she was already upset because of her horrible day and lost it before he did. *This* is what I mean about the evils of alcohol! People say things they do mean, but would never say normally, and people take things a lot more seriously, and then nobody can bring themselves to just let it go, so they end up not on speaking terms. I hate it! It really sucks! I cannot honestly think of a single person who has ever pissed me off so much that I would never speak to them again. It's a close thing, but I cannot honestly see the point of grudges. Am I missing something? Surely one expends a lot more energy fuming than just feeling indifferent? Answers on a postcard....

Things are still remarkably good with the Thug, I am starting to get suspicious, it can't last. Last night I was witness to a frank bout of honesty, though that had less to do with alcohol and more to do with me priming Jen to myther him about telling me stuff while I was conveniently away from the table (grin). I am starting to feel like a volcanic observer waiting to see what will happen, whether everything will go up in smoke and fiery lava, or whether everything will continue as normal and the population of Gujerigashatiskan will be saved. Or something like that

Sunday 12th December

Realised a scary thing yesterday. I actually update this diary more then I update the real one written on paper. This seems like a shame because a lot more goes on in the real one (smile) but maybe when I am dead that will get published and everyone can fill in the blanks. I aim to be serialised in the Times but I realise I will have to be a bent politician before that happens and I am too honest for that.

Anyway, this is the second time I have tried to do this, since my connection went BOUNCE! just as I was finishing last time. Growl. Since then I have been to the pub with Jen and Richard....how many times have I been out drinking in the past 2 weeks? How scary...8 times in the past 14 days. No wonder I am so skint. Although of course, as a girl I haven't bought myself many this past fortnight. But after ranting on about student stereotypes, I am actually conforming to them. I must go out and do something very responsible tomorrow, like adopt a beggar to give my advice to (yes, you can really do that).

Anyway, where was I? Ah yes. Mother Hand came to stay with me this weekend, as it was her birthday, and she was very boosted because no less than three people mistook her for my sister. This I attribute to the fact that she doesn't look very old and she wears cargo pants and Vans and fleeces and is generally quite "trendy", not to the fact that I look old enough to have a sister who is pushing 50. She took Tim and I out to dinner and then Tim took us out to lunch and then things went downhill a bit, because she forced us into going to church. Now, to be fair, she has been trying to go since I moved in with OP and that was nearly 4 years ago now, but I don't *do* church, not since my nasty brush with the London Church of Christ....I'm quite secure in my faith, I don't need to go along for a roomful of people to instantly judge me and tell me I am not good enough in the eyes of God (read: THEIR eyes), thankyou VERY much. However, even the old failsafe parent excuse of I've-got-so-much-work-to-do didn't get me out of it. Tim was slightly more blunt - he just told her he really didn't want to go, about 10 times, but we were still there come 3pm, in the room above the pub on the Kentish Town Road. It was very surreal. It wasn't as bad as I had expected, however. But I still don't see why I have to go and feel uncomfortable for two hours when I don't have to.

Alright, daily rant over, I know I have it better than most (smile) The pub was a laugh, even though it was supposed to be just one drink, it was three. But it was interesting to remain sober for once. We picked over the happenings of last Thursday and talked to Kerrie, she has a new boy. Oh dear she will beat me for saying that, she has a new BLOKE. And a new wand, which is better (grin). Speaking of men, Mother Hand said something quite amusing tonight as she sat on my bed reading the paper while I tried my best took look as though I was using my computer for something other than chatting to my friends. She was reading about Tim Henman's wedding and she sighed, "Oh dear, that's another potential son-in-law off the market..." Ha! How can I tell her the only way she is likely to ever have a son-in-law is if my brother turns out to be gay? Marriage. It's a mug's game. Like KFC.

Tuesday 14th December

I was going to write yesterday but then I just went to sleep instead. Besides, yesterday was Monday 13th, or as it shall forever be known from this point forth -

The day dawned with skies of lead and the promise of snow. But it turned out to be a rotten liar because all we got was buckets of freezing rain. As usual, I crawled out of bed exactly seven minutes before I had to leave for school, stubbed my toe on one of the multiple objects on my bedroom floor (as a certain Thug commented the other day, my room isn't very tidy for a cleaner), all the while chanting the usual mantra "I-hate-Mondays-I-hate-Mondays" over and over again. Of course, if I had known it was Monday 13th, I would never have gotten out of bed. But it managed to trick me into it. I arrived at school with one minute to spare, bounded into my lecture, which was actually quite enjoyable until its end, when we had our essays returned. There it sat, three pages of thoroughly researched, well structured, long-word filled.....crap. 54%. 54 'ucking %!!! That's a 2:2! It's not just a 2:2....it's not even a good 2:2! It glared malevolently at me, the shockingly low numbers looking totally wrong under my name. I took myself off to the toilet to gather my wits, but it was still there when I came back. I read the comments, and low and behold, I had failed to see the point of the question. Of course, I should have known it, Monday 13th is never kind. A crap essay I could just about deal with. But to misunderstand the question, in my *final* year....suddenly my almost-certain 2:1 flew out of the window where it promptly drowned in the rain, and I was facing a 2:2, no masters, no PGCE, and a life dedicated to keeping the floors of Fenwick free from dust.

Unfortunately, being Monday 13th, the day got worse.

Being as I am terribly behind on my dissertation, I decided to come home and type up all my notes to hand in to my tutor. But Monday 13th had other ideas. I had just started when I realised my room was not getting any warmer. My heater was not working. I kicked it a bit but nothing happened...I swapped plug sockets, tried the timer, shook it upside down, nothing. No problem, I thought, I can nip up to Argos and get it replaced.

But Monday 13th knew better.

I started my search for the receipt. That receipt which has been kicking around my bedroom for so long it had almost become an annoyance. That receipt that I could lay my hands on whenever I didn't want it. Could I find the bloody thing now? Oh no. Of course not. My fingers began to go numb. I began to cry (this I attribute to a lack of sleep). Then I found my Visa statement displaying the purchase, packed the whole lot up and took it up to Argos, happy in the knowledge that the day could not get worse, since I had by now wasted my entire afternoon.

But Monday 13th was in a vindictive mood.

Not content with crushing my confidence in my academic ability, drenching me in ice water, making my hair greasier than a porn star's dildo, preventing me from getting any work done and freezing me half to death, it decided to round the afternoon off with ritual humiliation. Thus, I turned up in Argos, where the lady agreed to replace the heater, and then took it off to make sure it really wasn't working. Of course, when she plugged it in, it was. And I have had no problems with it since.

Next Monday 13th, not withstanding scheduled exams or important appointments in the pub, I am staying in bed for the entire day.

My cherished readers, you may be happy to learn that today was slightly better, since I got the second worst mark I have ever got for my other piece of coursework this term. That is slightly more worrying since it was a source analysis, which makes up one third of my final exam. But I suppose I can only improve. And I have been going nuts at Amazon which has made me feel better. All those books just waiting to be bought, I can hardly wait to meet a rich man with a spare credit card

Wednesday 22nd December

Deck the halls and all that. Don't know about the season to be jolly, to be honest I wish it was all over and done with. I know I sound like a right miserable cow but I am no longer relishing Christmas lunch with two of my oldest friends because they are both so messed up it's going to be ridiculous. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to be with my family either. In fact, Christmas Day alone in front of the telly sounds fab, but alas no. I am graced with the presence of, shall we call them, Pepsi and Shirley.

Pepsi and Shirley and I were best friends for the last years of school, along with two other girls who have turned out well-adjusted and normal but still live in Portsmouth and have maintained good relationships with their respective families, so they don't enter into the equation. Pepsi was ever one of those people who really wanted to be a leader but was better suited to following - and I mean that in the best way. She seemed to spend much of her time going out of her way to look cool and outrageous, like the time she popped her cherry with the school bike's boyfriend and the school bike put her up against the wall by her neck, or when she bleached her hair, or all the times she got too drunk to walk and the bouncers had to carry her out. She used to go without knickers even when she had clean ones just to be like Shirley.

Shirley, meanwhile, appeared to have it made at college. She lived with her barman boyfriend, but things were not all Delia. When she felt she was getting too close for comfort, she remedied this by sleeping with his best friend (the school bike's boyfriend). Later, she went into hospital to have her tonsils out and he started sleeping with someone else while she was away. Later still, she joined the club but left again via a quick trip to Bournemouth, and seemed to be perfectly fine until later on when she told us how broken up she'd been about it. Later still, one of his mates told me in the pub that he was screwing around, and when I told her it was like watching a fortress crumble. She cried for hours. And then took him back. It was most unlike her, Shirley was always one of those "bugger you" people; apart from being prone to wild exaggerations about her life, she always struck me as pretty sorted. She joined a casino and went out to Cameroon, where she caused an international incident and proved popular in the US Marine garrison. She came back this year at about the same time as Pepsi's sporadic boyfriend left her for the last time to go back to his pregnant ex.

And since then, things have gone downhill. It started in April when we went out for a meal and drinks to celebrate Shirley's homecoming in style. The meal was one of my best moments of 1999, we were all sitting around having a right giggle, just like old times. Then they popped a pill each and it became decidedly un-nostalgic. Now don't get me wrong, I have nothing against it, I just remember the fun we used to have going out to clubs at 16 with only the entrance fee and a smile, and I don't see what could make that more fun. I did not have fun that night. Shirley was busy enjoying her high and Pepsi buggered off somewhere with her mate to get more high, and since, I am informed, lucid people irritate high people, neither of them said much to me. After a dodgy encounter with an even more dodgy bloke, I decided to go home. All the way home, I thought about how I should have taken some, should have been with them, done the same as them, just like old times. Then it struck me that out of everybody in the world (except for maybe my father), they were the only two people whose opinion I really cared about. I was planning to change my life to be like them. When, before they turned up, there was absolutely nothing wrong with my life. I'm happy with it. For example, I like drinking cider and everyone telling me it's a student drink is not going to make me progress to beer. I read a medical study which said that pills affect your memory in the long term, and I am proud of my memory, so I'm not going to mess with them.
At that point, Shirley was just entering the scene, while Pepsi was on 25 pills and 2 grams of speed a weekend. Now, Pepsi has progressed onto coke (yes, I picked the pseudonym for the irony) while Shirley is about the same as Pepsi was back then. Right now, Pepsi is in my spare bedroom asleep. She has no job, no home, very few friends unconnected with the drug scene. She got booted out of university for turning up to all her exams tripping. She got fired because she never used to go to bed between shifts, she just used to go out and party, and her work suffered. I'm not on a moral crusade here, but I have to say, I think I made the better choice.

Don't get me wrong, they will always be my friends. Our songs will always be Bon Jovi's "Livin on a Prayer", Salt'n'Pepa's "Push it" and TLC's "Switch". They will always be the ones who I went to when OP threw me out, who got me drunk and danced around the living room singing "Get in the Ring" with me. We will always reminisce about the time we drew a heart on Pepsi's forehead with a magic marker while she was sleeping, about the time I got my tits out on the podium on Shirley's 18th birthday, about the times we went swimming in the sea and threw stones through the windows of the local boys' school, about the time we crow barred the street sign off its holding because my mum was moving house and I wanted a souvenir, about Pepsi and the gorilla, and Shirley and Mark Witcher, and me and Charlie, about being the Herb Girls, about getting stuck on top of bus shelters in our pyjamas in the middle of the night in the pouring rain, about the birthday party Pepsi had for Shara which Shara had to run away from home for, which ended with three visits from the police and one from the fire brigade and a four week grounding, about the 100 point purity test for non-virgins, about the time we went to Pizza Hut and couldn't pay the bill, about Shirley's weird flatmate Neil ("Am I thinning more at the front or the back?") who found me in a drunken slumber on the kitchen counter, about playing pool with our caps pulled down so far over our eyes we could barely see, about pooling our money to afford two games of pool and a soda-and-lime-between-us in Langtry's during lunch breaks, and about everything else. But life has changed. I don't want to be like them. They don't seem to be happy. And anyway, I can't be like them, I never did sleep with the school bike's boyfriend (smile)

Last time Shirley was here was my housewarming party. She said she would have to come round and see me some time when she wasn't in London to party, because we never just chill out and get drunk and silly anymore. She had more than a trace of regret in her voice. Hopefully this is how Christmas will be. I'll cook too much food, we'll drink too much wine, and we'll sit around playing dodgy music and Twister. I just don't know whether we've passed a point where we can't do that anymore. Watch this space!

In other news....Jen has gone back to Wales for Christmas and I really miss her because we don't speak every night now it's long distance. Kez has gone back to Leighton Buzzard and I really miss her too because her phone is broken and she doesn't send me funny text messages anymore. Her phone packed up on our last night out, which was eventful as always. Stuart managed to throw almost an entire pint on the floor and then dropped Kez's phone into it. Jen got vomit-drunk and passed out in my bed, so Richard cooked me dinner and we watched music videos all night until it was time for me to go to work (I went to bed instead). Now they aren't back until January, sob. My kidneys are grateful, though.

Mr Brown visited for the whole weekend, too, which was nice. Scarily, it's been 3 weekends in a row now. And he might come down after Christmas which would make it 4 weeks in a row. He keeps going on about buying me a present but I don't really see why. I mean, I know it's Christmas and everything but he spends enough money the rest of the year, in my opinion. I'm crap at choosing presents too, especially when I have no idea of price range. He'd be better off surprising me with something and keeping the receipt just in case (grin). That's not a hint, faithful readers, for he never bothers to look at this himself, it's just a general tip. I love surprises. I like it when people actually *think* about things. Like, he could note the names of the books I need to buy for next semester, which are scribbled on my white board, and get them sent to me from Amazon. That would be sweet. When people have to ask what to buy you, it totally negates the purpose of presents. I'm in a position (sort of) to buy whatever I want (almost) - why are you asking me what I want? If you are buying me a present, presumably you are my friend, you know me, you know what I like, so go choose me something! (cough) Sorry, rant over.

We had our first proper argument this weekend too. I spent much of Sunday night being hissy and when I actually took the trouble to explain exactly why he was doing my head in, all he had to say was "thankyou". I was like, "That's *IT*?! That's *ALL* you have to say to me?!" But we made up anyway. And then he proceeded to do exactly the same thing which I had asked him to stop doing the very next night. Unfortunately I find it impossible to be hissy with him for any decent length of time. It must be hormonal. It's definitely not normal, anyway, but then, I suppose not much about us is

Monday 27th December

Thank god Christmas is over with for another year. It wasn't quite as bad as I expected, in fact we had a cool day, drinking Moet and eating too much and smoking things and watching crap on TV. Shirley has caught a hideous bout of flu though, and hasn't moved off my sofa in around 24 hours now. Pepsi is totally doing my head in. She wants to move in with me, but it just isn't going to work. She walks into my room without knocking. She borrows my tweezers and then puts them where I can't find them. She goes through my underwear drawer to find socks and then comments on all my dodgy underwear. She uses my razor, my hairbrush, my toothbrush.....she complained about me being fat, because if I was thin my clothes would fit her and she could borrow them. She borrows my clothes to sleep in without asking me. She kept on and on about me taking a pill until I turned around and snapped at her. She's eating me out of house and home, and she gets minorly hissy when I shut myself away in my room (which is most of the time) to do mysterious things on my computer (like now) or my dissertation (like never). Trouble is, she has nowhere else to go. How can I just put her out on the street? It's reaching breaking point though. Something else, not sure what, has been making me miserable since Christmas Eve and something has got to give.

On top of all this, last night saw the not-wholly-unexpected drunken phone call from the Thug. At the time, I was trying to move my web page (almost as traumatic as moving house...I cannot get used to editing offline), thank Dru for sorting my counter out, have a conversation with a random but interesting ICQ user and write an email, all at the same time. Mr Brown proceeds to tell me the usual long and seemingly pointless story which you just know is going to end with something which is actually quite important, so you humour him. What is the story, I hear you cry?
Now, normally, I wouldn't dream of putting something like this up because it seems a bit personal, and I may very well take it down when I am feeling myself again, so you had better read it while it is still here.
So, the story goes, his best mate's wife, who is going to Benidorm with him and his friends in March for a football game, is a slag. She got off with several of his friends in the pub the other night. Then, he tells me, she tried to get off with him, but he put her off. (This is the good part coming up now) His reasons for putting her off, he categorically states, had absolutely nothing to do with me. Oh no. No misplaced loyalty to his whatever-I-am of 10 months. The only reason he didn't is because she is his best mate's wife.

On the surface this doesn't seem to be too bad, I mean, whatever-it-is is a totally open whatever-it-is, but I don't like having my nose rubbed in it, and I'm sure nobody likes being told they don't matter, especially by someone they have been having a non-relationship with. I attempted to point this out, only to be met with cries of, "But I tell you everything!" And truth to tell, I do like to know what's going on. I just prefer to be told in a slightly more tactful manner.

But just as I was thinking how unnecessarily cruel of him, he launched into a new spiel about what he was doing every night this week. It took him about 15 seconds to realise my silence on the end of the phone had to do with him saying he would come down at some point this week. No matter, I said, you didn't promise. Oh, he said, but I wasn't going to tell you I wasn't coming. Ah ha. Aha ha ha. Ha. How considerate of him! One could almost hear him backpedalling with as much speed as he could muster as suddenly he changed his mind and said that he *did* want to see me, but he wasn't meeting Mother Hand, so Wednesday, his only free evening, was out. Saturday, I suggested, more out of curiosity to see how he would get out of it than anything else. I was pleasantly surprised to hear him say it was a winner....and even more suspiciously shocked when he emphatically promised a visit before he went to Rio on January 4th. Too good to be true, I mused wistfully.

Alas, sometimes it's horrible always being right because every memory of our hour-long conversation has mysteriously disappeared from his head today. He doesn't even remember calling me. Which means he doesn't remember what he promised. Which means I can't be upset with him because he won't know why, and that totally negates the point of me being hissy. I'm just wondering why I always believe him even though he lets me down four times out of five, and why it hurts so much when it's not even supposed to be a proper relationship. Answers on a postcard....

Sometimes I wish I didn't understand people so well because when you combine that with how I always try and see the best side of people, it means I am constantly disappointed. Maybe I mean, I wish I could be wrong when I predict what's going to happen, because one day I might get a pleasant surprise. I wish I couldn't see both sides of every story because it makes me so rational it feels like I get stomped on a hell of a lot more than I deserve. I wish most of all that I found it easy not to care about people, because then I would be able to control my own happiness.

Thursday 30th December

I am delighted by the volume of mails asking for more regular updates on this slot (two) - I shall endeavour to do my best, but it's very difficult trying to balance a busy life of skulking, sleeping, obsessing about Norvern twits (one in particular), watching MTV and drinking diet coke.
While I think of it, Stuart feels that my relation of the story of him and Kez's phone was slightly untrue. He feels that "knocked" would be more suitable than "threw" and "half-pint" more accurate than "pint". But we all know he's trying to get himself off the hook (grin).

Felt very much in need of a little magic in my life today so I have started buying wands in bulk. Happened to be on Kensington High Street and I could not resist popping into Urban Outfitters. I didn't spend 20 quid on fairy lights like last time though, so it's not all bad. Instead, I got a dozen silver wands for 4 quid (bargain!) and arranged them artistically in a vase. Mmmmmmm, I love that shop. I also bought eight hook things which sucker themselves to the wall and which Pepsi said reminded her of nipple clamps....actually, she has a point. But they are useful for tea towels &c. Then I discovered, hidden behind a container full of toothbrushes with liquid-glitter handles, a snowstorm/photo holder/paperweight, such as we had been selling at Fenwick but had sold out of. Joy of joys. In front of it they had rows and rows of gold ones with little Buddha figures in, but this was the only silver one left. When I got it to the counter, the sales assistant looked at me in wonder and asked where I had found it, she said loads of people had been scouring the shelves for them. I replied, "Well, I am partaking in retail therapy at the moment and I am so miserable it has turned me into Supershopper." Actually I didn't say that but I wish I had (smile). Anyway, am excessively pleased with new glittery toy. It almost matches the purple one I got in the dollar store in Albuquerque.

Pepsi is still here. Mother Hand was here for the past 3 days so my life has been crazy crazy crazy. I have been going out of my head because people keep poking around in my room. Resisting urge to set poison dart trap. Pepsi will be gone by Tuesday - I told her she has to leave because otherwise the landlady will throw me out at the end of February and I will fail my degree. This is not actually very far from the truth, unfortunately. I know it might sound uncharitable but everyone at work says I am being too nice. And truth to tell, her wet towels on my bedroom floor are really getting on my tits. She keeps threatening to read this. Pepsi, you know I love you dearly, but I am also very worried about you and I think you need to get your shit together. And you can't do that by halves. Plus, I could never live with you. I don't know if I could ever live with friends because I have turned into an anti-social monster who actually likes spending a large percentage of time alone.

The other thing driving me crazy is the whole Thug situation (what a big shock!). Monday night, I went out to Frank Charlie's with Steve, Neil, Stu and Pepsi...Richard turned up later, then Elise (Pepsi's friend), then Mal (Richard's friend) and at some point, Mother Hand. The guys wandered off quite early, then Pepsi and Elise took themselves off to Dogstar, and at some point Richard and Mal left, but I did not. I ended up going at around 3am because I was physically unable to drink anymore. Absolutely wasted on the bus home, was knackered but everytime I closed my eyes I felt sick. But I could not stop my eyes from closing. Thankfully made it home in one piece, but overslept and missed work.

But that's not the worst of it.

At some point in the evening, in spite of Richard being very stern and telling me not to, it struck me as a good idea to phone Phil and leave him a message on his voicemail telling him what he had said on Sunday, in case his memory was jogged and he did come down on Saturday. This was duly done. I should mention that by the time I phoned him, I was slurring my words.

But that's not the worst of it.

At some later point in the evening, when I was alone with my brother and 2 strange bar flies, who were buying me gin and tonics on top of my copious pints of cider (lost count), I decided to call again. And sing. To the song playing on the stereo. And it was Cry me a River. And I only know the chorus.

But that's not the worst of it.

After three days of agony, which has been aggravated by a total lack of pissed-3am phone calls, he left a message on *my* voicemail tonight telling me that he'd just got this dodgy phone message from me but he has no clue when I sent it, but he can't work out what I'm saying. So yet again, I have valiantly embarrassed myself as a means to a particular end, but failed miserably in all but the embarrassment category. And worse still, I thought he had been avoiding me because of the voicemail. But he hadn't heard it. Which means he was just ignoring me. Oh good grief. Why couldn't I have been born with a hideous genetic defect? I might have avoided this then. (Apology to all readers with hideous genetic defects: I'm sorry for being flippant, I'm sure it's not all fun and games).

Anyway, c'est la vie. Carpe Diem. People are always telling me I conceal my emotions too much, maybe if I get pissed enough it will turn on its head and people will accuse me of being an open book.

On a lighter note, I went to The Natural History Museum today, and I am proud to say I actually learned something. Did you know that there is a species of frog in West Africa in which the male grows more hair during the mating season to help him extract more oxygen from the stream water so he can carry on shagging for longer? Fascinating, eh? And to think, most humans consider men with excess hair to be repulsive (especially hairy backs). Unless, come to think of it, they are going out with them. Ah HA! ALL BECOMES CLEAR! Obviously, if you shag them in the bath, they go on for days. Marvellous. I love museums
(Note to self: You sound witless and uncultured. Make sure you speak at length on Romanian economic history in the 1960s in next installment).