Wednesday 2nd February

Decided the file was getting a bit big so I've broken it up a bit. Most people wouldn't bother to read the whole thing now anyway, since it's nearly 20 000 words (grin).

Hit the bottom of the pond again yesterday, seems to be happening rather too often these days, but I got given an impossible problem to solve and an impossible situation to get out of. On top of that, I was mugged twice - the wretched cigarette machine stole my money and wouldn't even give me one cigarette, and then I got my phone bill for last month (choke) Oh well, at least I can extort some money out of Zoe for that one. Also, my boss quit, I nearly killed myself with a hoover (pity I did not succeed, it happened early on in the morning so the day could only have improved had I been dead), I forgot to switch my phone off so it went off in my lecture just as my lecturers asked me to give them a detailed run-down of what I'm doing my second dissertation on, in front of the entire class....what else, hmm hmm....TV licensing are hounding me....I forgot to phone Beccy and it was her birthday....*someone* told me part of my web page was crap....and it rained.

So, it appears that the *sensible* thing to do to solve all these problems in one fell swoop would be to quit my job, get rid of all my phones, quit smoking, and move to some hot sunny place where communication with the outside world is very difficult. The only problem with that is that people living on desert islands always seem to eat a lot of fish and I'm not that fond of fish. I suppose I could quit eating as well, that might help too. But admit it, you guys would miss reading my diary (grin) I can see it now, "Got up. Sun bathed. Tried to rinse sand out of hair. Practiced Ursula Andress impression. Made big sand castle and watched the tide wash it all away (scary metaphor for my entire life, that one). Read Like Water For Chocolate again. Went back to sleep."

Knowing my luck I would contract malaria within the first 3 days....but then, that might make interesting reading.

My impossible problem...can anyone shed any light on how I'm going to strike a happy medium on this one? And no-one tell me to go to the fair and slap some grinning gypsy because that's just not a funny joke. My tutor, Peter, yesterday told me that if I don't quit my job, I will fail my degree. He said I would be hard pressed to get one dissertation done by March 24th, let alone 2, and that if I got less than a 2:1 for either of them I was selling myself short and he'd be really disappointed in me (ah, the guilt method - usually very effective). But of course, if I quit my job, I will fail anyway because no-one can study for their exams if they don't have a house and are being hounded by several phone companies and the bank. Actually that's an interesting point - since it appears I will fail either way, I think things can just stay as they are because it doesn't matter anymore anyway. Peter also said that if I don't turn in a detailed description of my conceptualisation of the essay by reading week, he wouldn't write me a reference for my MA.....another problem solved by me failing. Am I the only one to whom this is starting to look like a good thing? (Nobody answer that).

Oooo, while I think of it - Name and Shame. Found out from Kez last night in Little Havana that when we went to the pub last Friday, with Stuart, Little Richard offered to buy a round of drinks. Not only did Stuart accept his kind offer - which, well, that's understandable, anyone would have done the same - but in spite of the fact Little Richard is only a poor student and Stuart earns a very decent wage *and* still lives with his parents, he ordered *2* drinks! 2! In one round! He made a poor student earning a quarter of what he does buy him 2 drinks in one round! And he didn't buy another round himself all night. Is it me, or is that just sick and wrong?

In a singular piece of good news yesterday, Mrs Dennett, Store manager at Fenwick, stopped me as I scurried around trying to empty all the bins in her offices. At first I nearly cried because I was wearing trousers under my skirt again, which is highly illegal in terms of the dress code there, and I thought she was going to have a go at me about it. But she said, "Thankyou so much, Sally, for helping us out so much recently, I know it's been difficult and you've put in a lot of extra hours and we really appreciate that". I was totally non-plussed. I end up muttering something about how we all do what we can. I was *thinking* "Yeah well remember that when you call me into your office in April to tell me that I'm not getting a payrise because I've had more than 4 days off sick this year!" But then I suppose that just goes to show what an ungrateful cow I can be sometimes (grin).

As to my impossible situation, will everybody be really shocked that I'm not going to write about it here? That's because I know what the answers are, I just don't like them. So I think I'll just go back to burying my head in the sand and pretending everything is just absolutely fine, because maybe if I do it for long enough, it actually will be. And it's always good to remember that just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to, it doesn't mean they don't love you with everything they have.

Hold on, hold on to yourself, cos this is gonna hurt like hell.
Hold on, hold on to yourself, you know that only time will tell.
What is it in me that refuses to believe, this isn't easier than the real thing?
My love, you know that you're my best friend, you know I'd do anything for you,
My love, let nothing come between us, my love for you is strong and true.
Am I in heaven here or am I.....
At the cross roads I am standing
But now you're sleeping peaceful, I lie awake and pray,
That you'll be strong tomorrow and we'll see another day
And we will praise it, and love the light that brings a smile across your face.
Oh God, if you're out there won't you hear me? I know that we've never talked before.
Oh God, the man I love is leaving, won't you take him when he comes to your door?
Am I in heaven here or am I in hell?
At the crossroads I am standing
But now you're sleeping peaceful, I lie awake and pray,
That you'll be strong tomorrow and we'll see another day
And we will praise it, and love the light that brings a smile across your face.

No, I wish I *was* that eloquent (grin) a little Sarah as a word to the wise....and a little Jimmy Durante for everyone else....

It's so important to make someone happy,
Make just one someone happy,
Make just one heart the heart you, you sing to,
One smile that cheers you,
One face that lights when it nears you,
One girl [or GOIL!] you're, you're everything to....
Fame, if you win it, comes and goes, in a minute,
Where's the real stuff in life, to cling to?
Love, is the answer,
Someone to love is the answer,
Once you've found her, build your world around her,
Make someone happy, make just one someone happy,
And you will be happy too.

And a final word - without a doubt, the crappest excuse anyone has ever come up with in the history of crap excuses:

"I'm a man"

Tuesday 8th February

Used to complain that my life was boring, now I wish it would all just calm down a bit. The last time I can remember life being boring was the last time I had a steady boyfriend...oh (cough cough) no offence to Gitboy or anything (smile).

My problems remain the same, my head is however slightly better organised now, since I think I've done about all the crying I can for one month (OK nobody make violin gestures at me!) and I'm focusing better. I spent most of yesterday morning slouched on the floor going through the Times index in the library....UL library no less, usually to be avoided like the plague on account of the general chilliness and the noise of the wind whistling around. Was lying full length in the gallery in the Periodicals Room - so already conspicuous - when suddenly the place is flooded with the Willo the Wisp theme tune again - why do I always forget to switch my phone off? The Thug, it seems, has problems (don't we all?) but coming up with solutions kept me amused at work.

Had lunch with Justine in Burger King afterwards, she is still utterly confused about that Gay Scrub since he told her he was in love with her and then didn't call her for 4 weeks. Recounted my weekend to her in glorious technicolour, luckily she's given up ever being shocked by my bluntness now. An interesting snippet....
Justine: (cackle) you should tell Phil that (cackle cackle)
Me: I could never tell him that, because if he turned around and said the same to me I'd take it completely the wrong way and I'd be really hurt.
Justine: DUH! That's the point!
Me: (confused) what, to hurt him?
Justine: YES! Look how much he has hurt you!!
Me: But, but, but, but...isn't that really pointless?
Justine: No! It'll make you feel better!
Me: (thinks) seeing someone I love getting hurt is actually going to make me feel much, much worse, especially if it's my fault...
Me: (says) um, call me weird, but that doesn't make any sense to me....

Am I weird? I cannot think of anyone who's ever pissed me off or upset me enough to make me go out of my way to hurt them back. For a start, I think it's too much effort; for another thing, I think I'm not 5 years old anymore.

But that's all philosophical nonsense. What else happened to me today? My personal life grows ever more interesting in the eyes of my colleagues....went into work yesterday, and my boss said to me, "You're looking a lot less stressed today than you were on Friday, you must have had some at the weekend...." and I was just like, "............." I mean, what does one say to something like that? It's impossible. My supervisor, on the other hand, keeps the personal remarks to a level I can handle....today he asked me where I hung my knickers to dry after I'd washed them, that was easy to reply to - I just told him I don't wear them. That took the wind right out of his sails.

Wow, loads has happened since I last wrote. Last Thursday, I went out with Beccy and Zoe to Frank Charlie's for Beccy's birthday, we had the best time, we were sat in there until 4am, absolutely hammered, making grand plans for the future and vowing eternal friendship and business ties. Beccy's working for this clubbers' magazine now, she was saying they should do a guest slot where a non-clubber (that's me) goes to a club and writes a review on it from a different point of view. Since my ambition in life is to write Diario for a living, I would jump at the chance, but I think it might have been one of those really pissed conversations. You can never tell though. We had so much fun. About half an hour before we left, Zoe just got up and walked out of the pub, mumbling something about meeting us back at home....well, this is not really unusual so we just carried on drinking and left around 4.30am, waited a while for the night bus, but when we got back to mine Zoe wasn't there. She turned up about 5 minutes later - she'd been on the same bus, only upstairs, and had overslept and missed her stop! Doh.

So anyway by the time we'd eaten and watched Friends I got to bed at 6.30am, then I had to get up again at 9am just in case Radio Rentals turned up with the new washing machine...they didn't come round until 12.30, grrrrr. Then Suitcase Boy turned up laden down with groceries and chocolates and all sorts, bless his heart. He is such a sweet guy, too nice, really, I don't think he is of this world (grin) shame really, that I'm not at all interested. So then I went to work and after met Tony-from-Forest who was in London for the weekend, and we went to....guess where (big grin) My poor brother, kept up until 4.30am by me on Thursday night, with a touch of the flu, had to serve pretty much 100 people for an 18th birthday party on Friday night, and if half those people were over 18 then I am a size 10. The whole ambience was destroyed, Jen and Richard met us and we managed to get a table between the 4 of us but we could hardly hear ourselves speak. Max-that-used-to-be-my-brother's-cute-friend was there, with his interesting chin growth and smarmy-git ways, had quite a long chat though. Spent Saturday night trawling around looking for a cinema which wasn't sold out, to no avail, so we ended up in the Claddagh Ring instead, Emilia, Tony and I, which was also very noisy and busy and full of students, boy can I pick 'em (grin) Must have gotten home somewhat drunk though because I was running (very strange) and then later I got the giggles and could not stop laughing for about half an hour just because Tony mentioned this old bloke we met at the bus stop and something to do with paragliding....maybe I am just easily amused (grin).

ANYWAY! Spent Sunday in the cupboard writing in my real diary which has been somewhat neglected but needed a good update on account of me needing to write things which are unprintable here (knowing grin). Even though it's only Tuesday, I'm feeling like this week is going to be very productive. After a most interesting travel writing lecture, half of which was held in the basement of Cafe Deco on Store Street (felt as though I should have been wearing a beret and using a cigarette holder), I spent an hour photocopying a book. An entire book. My lecturer, Wendy, advised me to do this because it is 4 weeks overdue at the library, another user has requested it, and if I don't take it back SSEES library will want nothing less than my head on a silver platter, and I haven't got a silver platter. So I went and broke the photocopier in the social sciences department, then made a discreet but hasty exit to the history department and finished it off. Wendy wanted to have me make her a copy too, but the machine ran out of ink...typical Xerox (grin at Stuart). Felt sick for 2 hours afterwards, accompanied with sharp stomach ache, which I know is normal having spent most of my work experience at the British Museum photocopying stuff. I think it's mild radiation sickness, personally (dark look) either that or miscarriage (cackle).

Hadn't smoked since Saturday night but Zoe landed on me for an hour last night and after forcing a quantity of Southern Comfort and lemon squash (desperate times....) down my throat, she left her B&H here. They're sitting looking at me right now but I cannot bring myself to smoke them because they stink the entire house out. Also because my ashtrays are downstairs and I cannot be bothered to venture out into the fridge from my warm den up here.

Mr Brown has gone away to Singapore and New Zealand for 2 weeks. I have always wanted to go to Singapore, although I couldn't find it on the map yesterday when I was cleaning the personnel offices (why do they have world maps? I don't understand). Hope he remembers the postcard. (Prod) If you're reading this, Mr Brown, don't forget my postcard (grin).

Cannot believe I am at home on a Tuesday night. Jen decided she was too knackered after getting back from Nice to join us tonight, so Kez and I decided to stay home and save money. Only looks like it will be cancelled next Tuesday too because Little Richard - from this point to be known as Little Evil Richard, at least for this week, since he asked me what I was doing for Valentine's Day - is taking Kez out for dinner, even though next Tuesday is the 15th. Oh it's all very well for those among us with boyfriends, soon forget your sad miserable friends sitting at home with only toffee bananas for comfort. It doesn't matter, of course, because I am far, far too busy to do anything on Valentine's Day this year (cough cough). In fact, I am sooooo busy I am going to have to stop writing this entry for today and get on with something far more important, such as painting my toe nails or going and getting an ashtray or pondering the right course of action to take with this that and the other.....

Thursday 10th February

As if they were psychic, they called to me as I strolled past Faith on my way to the bank. Like a siren song, I felt them draw me to peek through the doors at the sales rack from afar. And there they were. Spangly, strappy, glittering in the fluorescence of the shopping centre, an utter bargain at ten pounds, five inch heels of totally impractical shoe. I hunted through the racks. "Please don't let them have my size" said the part of my brain that knows I am living on leek and potato gruel until I get paid. "I would cut my toes off if it meant I could wear these shoes" said the part of my brain that doesn't think I should be eating at all. "Students are *meant* to go over their overdraft limits!" said the part of my brain that always tries to make me feel better. "Yeah, with BOOKS" said the part of my brain that comes up with a sarcastic comment for every occasion. "Oh look, there's your size" said the part of my brain which is normal (it's a very small part). And the next thing I knew, they were on my feet, and then in a box, and then in my locker at work, and now they are on my feet again being broken in around my house. It's great, I am tall enough to see in the mirror in the hall now - six feet two inches. Also I can now more easily hold conversations with Jen over Richard's head (cackle)

I love being a girl. It's like, no matter what happens, no matter that you had a really shit time at work and then got home and got blindsided by a not-totally-unexpected piece of news, a pair of 5 inch heels which glitter pink and white in the fairylights can make you feel 600% better.

Also got loads of work done at uni today, after I had spent my first 3 hours there having lunch with Jen (grin) My plan to not drink during daylight hours during February is still working, I am even getting used to ordering a pint of soda and lime without dying of shame, plus my head is much clearer when I get back into the library. In fact.....oh damn, nearly, I was going to say that I haven't had anything to drink since Saturday night but Steve came down yesterday so I had 2 pints. Wow, I wonder if I could actually go for an entire week without drinking anything.

Why is it, I wonder, that the things which are horrible always seem to be really good for you? Case in point - Benylin. I hate the stuff. It is absolutely vile. The very smell of it is enough to make me retch. When I lived in halls, I used to have to get Arran to spoon feed it to me while I held my nose. I couldn't take it alone without throwing it up again straight away. And yet, it is so good for me - if I have a cough, it gets rid of it straight away. And the same with chloraseptic - euch, euch, euch, but you know that it's going to be for the best. (Alright I do have a point but it's a very subtle one...) And smear tests - what's more undignified and uncomfortable, but they can save your life. A moment of invasion of personal space for a lifetime of everything else. One icky moment so you can get on with your life as before. And yet...no, I think I will abandon this example before it gets too weird (grin). More examples, please, mail me examples of icky stuff which is good for you, I am at a loss now. That means you! If everyone who reads mails me one, then I can have a feature. Otherwise I will write at length about smear tests and other taboos

Saturday 12th February

I am writing this whilst wearing my new shoes. Just wearing them makes me happy. I wish it was warm enough to wear them outside. I wish I could wear them to bed....well that's a possibility, I suppose, but surely not when one is alone, that's just weird. As the old saying goes, "You need a good bed and a good pair of shoes because if you're not in one, you're in the other." Now I have the shoes. My bed is my haven, in spite of a number of complaints about it being too small for 2 people; it's *snug*. No matter that my grandad died in it twenty three years ago; I'm sticking with it. It's much nicer since the legs fell off it too, for some strange reason being near to the ground is more comfortable. I pile it high with blankets and cushions and then crawl into the middle of it all and lose myself, it's great. Made a bit of a mess of it last night though, doh. I think it's because I hadn't been out all week, but Jen and I went down to Frank Charlie's and drank 4 bottles of wine, and when I got home I was sick on my blankets. I forgot until I woke up cold this morning and reached out for them and grasped something which you just don't want to be touching, ever, let alone at 8am on a Saturday morning. So my washing machine has been going like the clappers all day trying to deal with all the blankets and sheets and everything else, and I just discovered my teddy bear will be going for a spin in the same place tomorrow. That's the problem with red wine, it's so *messy* on the way back up, it looked like someone had been murdered in my bed.

Everybody reached their ick level now? Then I'll continue on a less nauseating line (grin). Had to go back "home" (as FC's is referred to in my text messages) to see Zoe tonight, really did not want to go because I was so hammered last night that I think I was coming on to the entire bar, all my brother's friends (who I have known since they were like, 5) included, and the 40 year old bloke who is always in there and who bought us one of the bottles. Must have been his night off or something tonight cos he wasn't there when I sheepishly moped through the door and ordered a soda and lime. I love the place, but I am going to have to stop getting so drunk there because otherwise I won't be able to show my face anymore.

Have got loads of work done in the past 2 days as well, I am so impressed. I spent hours in the British Newspaper Library, conveniently located round the corner from my house, perched in a dark corner squinting at microfilm but it's all been worth it, I've got pages of notes and I'm finally, *FINALLY* managing to get my head around the topic. Problem is, there's so much of it that my head is not actually big enough to fit around it (smile) so it is aching everytime I try and do this conceptualisation business. I think I'm going to have to think of it as three separate essays, write those and then link them together. This makes me feel much more content about the deadline because I am used to writing three essays in two days, it's one of the many transferable skills I have picked up at uni, and I have 5 whole weeks this time. Well, 6 technically, but it would be really nice to get finished by 17th March since I blagged the week off work from the 20th, and if I was done I could go on holiday or something (cackle) So, in the next 5 weeks, I have to write 2 dissertations, each equivalent to roughly 4 normal essay inclusive of introduction and conclusion, plus 2 other essays. 10 essays, in 5 weeks. 2 a week. Only problem is, when I have written 3 essays in 2 days in the past, I have given up little luxuries such as food and sleep and email, and I don't think I can go for 5 weeks without email (grin).

But I digress. I'm going to get a Valentine's card after all! My good friend Alison, who I have known since I was born, is going to send me one. She was going to come up for the day and go shopping with me but since I am (a) skint and (b) scared of failing, she isn't; we are sending each other cards so our friends think we are popular (grin). Doesn't matter to me, since Emilia is away for 3 weeks now so no-one will see the card, but it's still a bit of a fluffy moment, heh. The other day when I got home from work, there was a card on the mat, and I got all excited until I realised it was addressed to Emilia, doh doh doh. The same day, I received a nomination for the Booker prize in the form of Jen's postcard from Nice, so eloquent, so well phrased, so informative ("Hi Sal, Here's a postcard!") (big grin) Alright, I told her to write that. I love getting mail, especially the kind that isn't in brown envelopes.

I've got the whole of next week off work, woo hooo! I am even sitting with my back to Brent Cross shopping centre on the tube, so I don't even have to see the place until a week on Monday. Thinking about going down to my mum's for a few days, and studying in a new and interesting library. That's my life - "Spring 2000 - The Library Tour". Portsmouth Central Library rocks my world, anyway, they have the best range of books and loads of study room, in spite of the dodgy orange carpets, and if they have the books I need for my dissertation I can borrow them and free up some space on my SSEES card, which has a 5 book limit, how ridiculous is that?! My mum has bought a Mini which she is naming Marvo ("Marvo the Marvellous Mini" - does this go any way to explaining why I am the way I am?); she is also considering trying to set me up with the bloke who lives in the flat below hers, and is apparently rich and has his own car, although he is a little follicly challenged. I told her there was no chance, his name is not Richard (grin) Now she is racking her brains trying to think of anyone she knows called Richard who isn't 40+.

There's a new Richard at work this week, well he isn't new, but he's just crossed the line from being a sales assistant (front of house) to being a maintenance man (back of house) and so he eats with us cleaners in the mornings. Well, he doesn't eat, he drinks diet coke, a man after my own heart, and everyone offers to buy him breakfast, it's exactly the way they were with me when I didn't eat (grin) eventually I just gave in, it was easier. I remember when I started mornings, and everybody was always giving me advice, and I hated it. These days, I appreciate what it has taught me. I used to feel really old before, like I had to hurry up and get everything done because time was running out. But because everyone there is 20-30 years older than me, it makes me feel really young, like I have my whole life ahead of me and there isn't any hurry. Which is true, I suppose. It has also taught me humility, because nobody gets away with taking the piss out of me as much as they do (grin) case in point...
Joyce: Oh Sally, how's your boyfriend?
Me: (scowl) I don't have one
Pat: Oh, have you got a boyfriend?
Joyce: Yeah that bloke you said was coming down last week
Me: (feel myself going red which happens very sporadically) Oh, him
Richard: Sally's got a boyfriend, Sally's got a boyfriend
Me: He's not really my boyfriend...it's complicated
Duncan: He's married with 5 kids
Pat: He's got a girlfriend
Me: No, no, um er um, this is like, my private life
Mickey: So you're not seeing that bloke from the luggage department anymore then?
Me: (attempting to drink water) COUGH CHOKE SPLUTTER
Everyone: giggle giggle giggle
Me: I've got to go to uni now....

Knew I should never have mentioned it to anyone at work, but then I suppose I am as big a gossip as the next girl in a green apron, so I should just deal with it or stop talking about other people, har har har

Maybe I should get a t-shirt printed with "Spring 2000 - The Library Tour"....I bet it would look great with these shoes....

Tuesday 15th February

Well, the dreaded day came and went. Justine rang me up in a mood because she said everything on TV was related to happy couples so I'm glad I was in the library all day. The worst part was waiting for Jen outside the station, people kept rushing past with big bunches of flowers and hitting me in the face with them (not on purpose, just as they passed) and I was like, that's REALLY how to rub someone's nose in the fact that nobody loves them (grin)

BUT! Maybe somebody does love me after all because I got an e-mail Valentine's card today. I am quite impressed because I honestly have no idea who sent it. I have my suspicions, but none of them seem very likely. I am currently working through my list of people-who-feel-really-sorry-for-me-since-I-am-a-sad-and-lonely-basket-case - if they all deny it, then I might have to accept it as genuine. And then I can say, that for the first time in a very long time, something will have surprised me. Nothing ever surprises me anymore, everything and everybody is always so predictable, it's easy to know what's going to happen next. Still, on examining the time of day this piece of electronic mush was sent, it gives me a more concrete idea....in which case I am also fairly certain it's not serious...which means that I am *not* surprised and everything can go back to the way it was (grin) a surprising world is one in which I feel I have no sense of control, and therefore, not a good place to be.

If whoever sent it is reading this, I bet you are very pleased with yourself for making me devote so much of my neural energy to working the puzzle out (smiles) god knows I've precious little brain power left, I've been hammering the research for my dissertation since last Friday and on the *good* side, I have got *so* much done that I could feasibly have the whole thing written by Monday (but seriously, I'm going to Portsmouth this weekend so it's just not going to happen like that! The very thought of having to write it on a computer other than this one brings me out in a cold sweat....I've personalised my spell checker/corrector and I have special buttons for word count and footnotes....but I digress) - on the *bad* side, I thought I was actually going to go permanently cross eyed in lectures today because I just had no capacity left to think and I was trying to read this rather hefty article by Maria Todorova on the differences between Orientalism and Balkanism; so I am unable to think, concentrate or even string together sentences - I mean look at this last one, it is 169 words long!

The one thing I *can* do - and this is a major plus point - is sleep. I have been sleeping long, glorious hours at night, full of vivid yet not-at-all-scary dreams. The sort of sleep you wake up from actually feeling like you are ready to get out of bed and face the day. The sort of sleep where when you wake up it feels like you're surfacing from a pool of deep blue tranquil water. The sort of sleep I only ever usually get under one particular circumstance which only usually happens once every 4-6 weeks. Normally it takes me hours to fall asleep, I wake up 5 or 6 times in the night, I wake up really early, or I have nightmares all night. I've always sort of been resigned to only getting 5 or 6 hours sleep a night, it's been this way for as long as I can remember. So maybe I should study hard all the time. Mind you, when I stop I know from experience it will swing in the opposite direction - when I finished my GCSEs I did not sleep for 3 nights in a row, at all. It wasn't quite so bad at A-level but then I swanned off to Tenerife after those so that doesn't really count since we were up all night and sleeping all day anyway. So I expect to finish these dissertations and not sleep for a week. Maybe I can put on a catsuit and fight crime for a while or something. Actually...me...catsuit...very scary.

Went to see The Beach yesterday with Justine and Stu, suffice to say Justine and I have decided to go to Thailand for our next holiday. I was planning to boycott the movie because of all the hype, and when we decided to go and see it I was resigned to not enjoying it, but I actually thought it was really good. I'm glad I hadn't read the book because I think it would have been crap then, but, while not being anything really special, it was still an enjoyable 2 hours. Leo was pretty good too, I never thought of him as a very good actor but was pleasantly surprised with the justice he did to the role. He sounded *so* American but I think that was just because he was the only American in it. It should be titled "The Beach - Americans fuck everything up". The coolest part in it is that "Richard" (Leo) shags "Sal" - a fact which Stuart pointed out to me on the way "home" for a pint, which I found wildly amusing, at least somewhere I have a Richard for me (giggles). "Home" was empty but we sat and had a drink with Tim. I swear to god though, if he calls Stuart "Phil" one more time.....OK, it was a mistake the first time, but I know now he is only doing it to wind me up...and it's irritating because it's very effective

PS! I have only had one example of something which is horrible yet good for you! I need more, more, more! Thankyou.

Monday 21st February

It's good to be home. I started getting homesick almost as soon as I got to Portsmouth, which just goes to show, I can never go back there. It's finally made the transition from "home town" to "place where I grew up". I had a really good break though...naturally, got next to no work done, mainly because Tim gave me his copy of The Testament which I vowed I would not buy until after my dissertations were finished. I read the entire thing on Friday and Saturday afternoons, rather disappointingly guessed the ending and did a minimal amount of useful reading. Oh well.

Went ringing for the first time in 2 years on Thursday night, I didn't recognise three-quarters of the people there, who found it rather disconcerting that all the older tower members greeted me with exclamations and/or hugs. I was horrified to realise that I couldn't even remember the most basic methods, let alone Cambridge (which is what I was learning when I moved to London), and was relegated to rounds-and-call-changes and wistfully trying to follow the 3 in courses of Steadman...nobody understands what I am talking about, do they (grin). In layman's terms, I have gone from being a ringer with 5 years experience to being a virtual beginner, and it didn't sit very well with my pride. But then I suppose it is my own fault for not going to a practice in 2 years. It was good to see everybody again, although I was treated to some rather shocking revelations. Oh how I miss tower politics (wry grin). Still, I have gathered more evidence for my theories about all men and what they have the ability to be.

On Friday I met up with Caroline for coffee and an in-depth discussion of the gossip I had gleaned from Thursday night, and our respective lives and plans. She doesn't seem very happy but then that might just be me. She's applying to uni in Portsmouth in September, decided to stay with the old naval connection and her friends and family. Likewise Leila, who I saw on Friday night. She has not changed one iota, although I think I must have done, because things just didn't feel the same at all. She took me to this party and then took off upstairs in pursuit of various blokes, leaving me on the sofa with Mel and Winston (who I had never met before) and discussions on Vlad Dracul. I left early. She called the next day to apologise for leaving me alone, but it was cool, I've never had a problem talking to people I don't know ("I accept sweeties from strangers"). It's just weird when you aren't friends with your friends anymore. Too much water under the bridge, I guess.

Saturday night was probably the best, Graham took me to Fifth Avenue! Or Time as it is now known. The place is totally different - no more navy blue walls or tacky mirrors or podiums or suspiciously-well-lit seating areas or steps everywhere that you don't notice and fall down. The balcony is now accessed by twin staircases leading off the edge of the dancefloor, in full view of everyone, so I could never repeat the trick I performed at the age of 16 consisting of throwing up down the stairs and then surreptitiously scarpering before anyone realised it was me (if pound-a-pint is dangerous at 21, it's downright deadly at 16). The dancefloor is half the size and the podiums are not for dancing on - well, not for normal people to dance on, anyway, which I think is a damn shame. Graham and I spent much of the night sat upstairs taking the piss out of people. It's good to know some things never change. The old guy who always wears Hawaiian shirts and is nearly bald and used to be down there every night when I was a teenager is *STILL THERE*!! As are the underage contingent. On a rare occasion when we happened to be next to the dancefloor, this girl - and if she was a day over 16 then I am 66 - came up to us...
Child: Come on! Come and dance with us! Come and dance! Don't be miserable!
Me: (grin) No, babe, no, I can't, I'm much too old to dance
Child: How old are you?
Me: (even bigger grin) 21
Child: (ponders for a second) That's not that old!
Me: (thinks) I KNOW!
Me: (says) (too quietly for Miss Underage Clubber 2000 to hear) Does your mother know you're out?

Felt really decrepit after that. Graham felt worse, he is 25. Was slightly placated by bloke who came and told me I was a top bird, but only because it gave me a giggling fit remembering the time I wore my PVC dress and some bloke physically picked me up on the podium and told me I was top totty. Where did those days go? It's just not that sort of cheesy club anymore. That's always the funniest part - is that eveyone there takes themselves so seriously. We never used to take it that seriously. We used to get the piss ripped out of us every week at school for going "dahhhhn fiffff" but we knew the DJs and the bouncers and probably half of the regulars, by name or by sight. I've still got the picture of Arthur the DJ grabbing Leila's tits on her 18th birthday. I'll warrant you would never have that happening again, they're all playing it too cool for such stunts these days. Next time I'm in Portsmouth I'll have to go on a Thursday, or go to Zoom instead, because I bet that isn't as different.

I think they've been putting something in their cider as well, because even though I only had 3 pints, I was sick, sick, sick all day on Sunday. I started throwing up at 8.30am and did not stop until 3pm. I finally managed to struggle home sometime in the evening after I had stopped throwing up, but I still ache all over and cannot eat anything without feeling like I'm going to regurgitate it sooner or later, although I haven't been sick again yet. Typical. I finish a week's holiday and get sick, so I cannot take sick leave from work because everyone will think I am just skiving.

Tuesday 22nd February

Had the *freakiest* dream last night. I was somewhere tropical with Jen and my brother and others who I can't quite think of, and we'd been swimming around looking at underwater things, as I assume one does on tropical resorts (grin), and then I found my disposable underwater camera and wanted to take pictures, only it was cloudy and nobody would come swimming with me. So I stalked away in a huff and just jumped into the lagoon (which looked suspiciously like something out of Tomb Raider 2) and Jen was yelling, "Sal don't there's a...." and then I was underwater and this huge shark came swimming over to me and bit my leg off. It was most disconcerting. The weirdest thing was though, I looked at the shark and stuck my thumb in its eye and it let go of my leg, and it turned out my leg was not in fact bitten in half but just a bit cut. I wriggled my thumb around in its eye a bit more and then it swam off crying. I really dread to think what that means, my psyche must be in a terrible state. I told Dru about it online today and he responded by sending me a picture of a white shark. It didn't have as many teeth as the one in my dream....when I told him this, he told me the rest of them were still in my leg and the shark was coming to reclaim them tonight. It is lucky I am not 12 years old otherwise I would get no sleep for the next 2 weeks.

Anyway after that my dream flew off in a few tangents involving my mum trying to force me to go on holiday with her and my brother to Cuba, even thought all my coursework is due in in 4 and a half weeks, and also involving this woman at work, Rita, taking me prisoner and me trying to steal her diamonds which she'd hidden all over her house and escape out of this multi-storey carpark. I would get one of those books on dream interpretation but there's just too much there to interpret. Maybe I want to become a jewel thief when I graduate. Maybe Rita is actually secretly loaded and working as a cleaner for cover. Maybe my mum has booked a surprise holiday for me after all my hard slaving over Word 97. Maybe I should take these blankets off my windows and view the flying pigs.

I'm having a dinner party tomorrow. Alright, Kez and Jen and their Richards are coming over to eat Mexican food because we're too skint to go to the pub. But I'm still cooking. The worrying thing is, I am expecting 6-8 people, and I only have 5 chairs in the whole house. I suppose there are another 2 in the garden, if someone will pick the slugs off for me. Hate slugs. I digress.....it will be good to have some company. Emilia doesn't get back until Monday, and I have started talking to myself. Also miss talking to another certain person who might well be 10 000 miles away but my geography isn't that hot so I don't know for sure. On the other hand, this is good training for when I never get to speak to him again (Ponder)

Time for my meeting with Jaws

Saturday 26th February

What an unprofitable week. I did absolutely no work at all, shame on me. The one good thing was that my dissertation tutor, Peter, unwittingly fell into my carefully-laid trap and gave me a topic for my second dissertation, so I don't have to stress about that anymore. I spent the latter half of the week cleaning my house after Wednesday night's little gathering, and cleaning my room which was an utter tip. It's amazing how these things suddenly need doing when there's a lot of other, important stuff to be done.

Had to work today (groan) what on earth possessed me to quit mornings in favour of Saturdays? Yes, I get a lie in every weekday, but I forgot how damn long the Saturday shift is. Alright, it's not hard work, but it lasts for 10 hours, and it draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaags. Cannot wait to go back in the mornings. Also I miss the canteen breakfasts. I woke up this morning when my alarm went off, I had set it as loud as it would go because I was terrified of oversleeping, and when I woke up I thought the house was falling down. Then I forgot why I had set it for 6.30am, though luckily I remembered before I turned over and went back to sleep. Ergh. Ergh ergh ergh. Had no edible food to hand so had to eat crisps from the corner shop next to the Cosmic Hair Gallery for breakfast. Crisps and diet coke, I'm such a healthy girlie. Was most amused since I got to work 35 minutes early. Ellen limped in at ten to eight nursing one of those "NEVER AGAIN" hangovers, tee hee. It was my boss's leaving do last night so we'd all been out. I actually left early - and I left a full pint on the table since I decided I had had enough - god help me, I'm getting sensible in my old age - and she was having a heated debate with the chemicals supplier about how far one would go to land a customer. She won, apparently. Must say, she was on top form last night, Michael Sparks tried to hit on Audrey (who is married) and she nearly hit him, heh. The cheeky git said he thought I was only 16. To add insult to injury, he then asked me if I was a virgin. I managed to keep a straight face and told him I had taken a vow of chastity until the day I die (har har har). He totally believed me! Typical man. Probably went home with some sort of sick fantasy about deflowering me or something. I did manage to have a civil conversation with him though
Sparky: Did you really sneak out of the pub and walk all the way home to get away from me?
Me: YEP!
Sparky: No, I don't believe it....mind you, I did really fancy you that night
Me: (total conflict of emotions - I am tempted to crucify him but the girlie part for once beats me to the finish) what, you mean you don't fancy me now? (total paranoia attack about putting on weight/wearing my hair in pigtails - ridiculous)
Sparky: Well, yeah, I do actually, but I've learnt my lesson....
Me: (thinks) Phew! I haven't turned into a hag after all
Me: (says) Phew! I don't have to sneak out of the fire exit tonight then

Isn't it funny how I say I don't care what other people think and yet it has such a secret impression on me? Maybe it's really obvious to everyone else, like when I think I'm being really sneaky and subtle and everyone knows what's going on. I guess peoples' opinions about some things really don't bother me at all, but the stuff I was already insecure about is a different story.

SHOCK news of the week is that my brother has left Frank Charlie's! I am heart broken! Where am I going to drink now?! It was like our pub, when we were the only ones left for the lock in and we had the whole place to ourselves and got discounts because we drank so much wine. Mind you, I don't blame him for leaving, they treated him like a worthless lackey. I'm so tempted to go down and give that woman a piece of my mind but I know I would cold bloodedly murder him if he ever did something like that on my behalf, so I suppose I had just better let it lie. In my opinion, anyone who is paying 150 quid a week for someone who serves behind the bar, orders the stock, sorts out the cellar and does all the other gopher jobs for 90 hours a week is so tight fisted it's not even a joke. I always thought she had a bit of a shark look about her anyway. Maybe I should go stick my thumb in *her* eye.

I have had a request for extracts from my old, real diaries to be published as a supplement to this, so my old friends finally get to read them, since I kept them under lock and key when they were current. There was a good reason for this! But I will start including selected passages from today, Caz (grin). You know all my Glynn secrets now anyway, there can be nothing more embarrassing than admitting to you that it was actually me who sent that Valentine even after strenuously denying it for years (laugh). I always thought you had found my diary when we shared a room in Venice! You seemed to know what I was thinking...maybe that was another one of those times when I thought I was being really subtle and really wasn't.

Here is a picture of Caz and I from when we were still at school (you might be able to note the dodgy school uniform although luckily not much can be seen of it) and the diary entry for the day the pic was taken. I find my eyebrows very very scary in this picture. Luckily by this point I had stopped colouring them in with a black eyeliner pencil when we went clubbing. (Sigh) I was only 15 when it was taken! How much less complicated things were then (Nostalgia alert! Nostalgia alert!) It was before I discovered bulletin boards. Back then, my phone bills were non-existent and the only work I did was homework. I could get away with handing stuff in late by handing it in with a box of cookies. I thought GCSEs were the be all and end all of academic life. The most stressful thing that happened during my school day was being told to tuck my shirt in and my biggest worry was how to get out of lacrosse on Friday afternoon. Come to think of it, I'm sure I probably used to get as fed up about nobody fancying me then as I do now but it seemed a lot less important. Looking back at my diaries, my whole life revolved around bell ringing and my impending exams. I was also a catty little madam - an absolute bitch! The only people I bitch at these days are phone companies.

If anybody (Caz!) has any requests for diary dates from the last 8 years, please do not hesitate to ask (grin) bearing in mind, there is no diary for 1997 (I thought I had outgrown it, silly, silly, silly) and the diaries for 1995, 1996 and 1998 are incomplete (This is why I keep 2 diaries now - the online one is easier to keep but I need a private one for the juice heh). Editor (c'est moi) reserves the right to edit entries intended for consumer viewing!

Tuesday 29th February

Sigh. 29th February and nobody to propose to. Thank god! Kez proposed to LER today and he said yes so maybe I will get to get dressed up in some hideous pastel satin creation and get in a big cat fight over the bouquet. If I ever get married - and that's a big if - I have toyed with the idea of making all my bridesmaids - and I would have lots of them - wear things they usually wouldn't be caught dead in - Emily in a seventies glittery outfit, Justine in something backless and strapless and split to the waist, Jen in a skirt, Kez in a hijab, Beccy in pink, Caroline in something clingy, Zoe in those tartan hotpants she used to have.....and they wouldn't be able to refuse because I could just get hissy about them ruining my special day. Cackle. Purely hypothetical anyway.

The mystery of the e-Valentine grows greater every day. I still do not know who it is from. I had narrowed it down to a possible choice of 2, one of which would have been out of pity for me, but it turns out, it wasn't him. Now I have to think again because I cannot honestly believe that it can have come from my last choice. It just doesn't make any sense. Please, if you sent it and you are reading this, please please just put me out of my misery and tell me! I can't cope with all this false hope flying around.

Can't believe I have to work all day tomorrow, all day Friday, and all day Saturday. Hate work. Maybe I can get a decent bit of stalking in though, since the latest OomA only does one or two evening shifts a week so I barely see him. I got the pictures from the staff party to scan, they are here. I think I look awful but everyone else says I look really glamorous. Me. Glamorous. Har har har (grin)

The Thug got home this evening, I was going to call him and ask him to marry me to see if he could set a world record for least time taken to hang up a phone (laugh) but he was either asleep or really really stoned so lucky for him, the heart attack can wait. Another 4 years (grin) Actually that's a bit hopeful. Although saying that, something scary - tomorrow it will be a year to the day. An entire year. I am both amused and surprised by this. Also faintly melancholy - a whole year and I don't think it will ever turn out the way I want it to. This reflects badly on me, since I probably should have given up months ago, but you know, head, sand, bury.....

A final thing about marriage - I read this funny article today about the etiquette of women asking men today in the Metro -
Do ensure that you've found the right man to propose to
Don't worry if you haven't - your local Home for Incapacitated Oil Magnates is a good place to start looking
Do think it through carefully - might that endearing toe-nail-chewing habit become an annoyance in years to come?
Don't be too fussy - if his diminutive stature worries you, ask him to stand on his wallet and reconsider
Do your research - ask his friends as to his stance on holy matrimony
Don't be coerced into practising your wedding night techniques with them
Do remember that commitment phobia is rife among the male species
Don't overlook the "mum forever" tattoo on his forehead
Do set the scene - cook a romantic meal with aphrodisiacs a-plenty
Don't be surprised when he turns up 4 hours late crowing about the "unmissable" highlights of the Rhondda Valley v Aberystwyth Utd 4th-round tie
Do pander to him - take him to his favourite restaurant
Don't if it's Indian - flatulence is a sure-fire romance killer
Do consider grand gestures - announce your intentions to the world
Don't even think about it if "the boys" are within a 15-mile radius
Do talk about your unfaltering love and your rosy future together
Don't be surprised when he bolts, screaming, never to be seen again
Do promise to be a faithful, loving wife
Don't promise sexual favours in return for a "yes"
Do use your feminine charms to win him round
Don't use your feminine birthright to nag him into submission
Do follow tradition and get down on bended knee
Don't expect him to let you get back up again
Do (if all else fails) remember the old adage: the way to a man's heart is through his stomach
Don't believe a word of it - a far more direct route is through his ribcage

....and because I love trivia, here is an article on why women are allowed to propose on February 29th.

And one more thing! I love doing quizes, love them, love them, love them. I just found this new one on The Spark, the bitch test, and it turns out that I am 90% of the people who took the test scored lower than me! Out of one and a half million people! That is worrying. Anyway it was a lot of fun, question 47 is the funniest, but go see go see, you decide - The Bitch Test