Tuesday 6th June

It's been a long week. I've been amazingly busy reading books and sleeping in classic post-exam wind down mode, and have been very lazy about writing this...but here I am, back again. I have much to tell.

Firstly, I know I said last week that I was over men but I sort of broke my rule a little on Wednesday because I went out for drinks with someone from work (who, for his own sake, I shall not name). I thought, what with him being 16 years older than me and frankly not my type, that it was just a friendly matey drink, which just goes to show how naive I can be because he tried every trick in the book to get into my pants and invented a few new ones. He was blunt. He was subtle. He was straight. He was (no, not gay!) manipulative. He told me he cared about me. He told me he thought he might love me. (I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I have held a conversation with him and I don't have much faith in my personality being *that* bewitching). He laid on guilt trips. He almost got down on his knees and begged. He insisted on putting his arm around me on the tube and keeping my head hovering near his shoulder with a kind of wrestling grip, then persistently demanded I invited him back to my house pointing out it would be our little secret and I wouldn't get a reputation and blah blah blah. Luckily he let go of my hands before I had to embark on my "I wouldn't let you touch me if you were the last man on earth and I was deaf, dumb, blind and unconscious"/swift knee in the groin combo. I left him at the bus stop and hared off up the road at a speed which I hoped his drunken legs would not be able to follow. Unluckily for me, I am not blessed with any poise or grace (whatever my parents named me) and so I tripped over a loose paving stone and landed with an ominous crack on my knees. Anxious that I should not seem to be in need of assistance, I forced myself *not* to limp until I was out of his sight, although he did bless me with a cry of "drunk again?!" from the bus stop, to which I replied, "yer, that'd be right *grit teeth*" even though I was about as sober as I ever am. By the time I collapsed through my front door the blood was trickling into my shoe. That'll be a nice scar to show future generations.

Still, I suppose it might have been a little bit my fault. Wednesday night I couldn't have been better behaved, but the night I gave him my number...the leaving do I went to right before I went to Manchester...well, that was apparently a different story though thankfully I don't really remember very much. He claims I kissed him but this is no shock because I kiss everybody when I get drunk, it's one of my charms (Cough) Anyway, it would only have been a little peck-on-the-cheek kiss, in light of the fact I was kissing someone else that night. Whatever his name was (how awful, I don't know what his name was and I was with him until about 7am...but that's another one for the Sally Hall of Slightly Weird Experiences that I really don't want to go into here *grin*). I vaguely remember getting into a big discussion about the innocence (or otherwise) of OJ Simpson with the Sunday warehouse guy, witnessing Mark (the leaver) and Neil (sports) trying to drink bottles of Smirnoff Ice in 5 seconds (repeat of the Thug's 3 second Bacardi Breezer trick), harping on about Gitboy as my "worst ex" story, and various other acutely embarrassing things that I thank god I can't remember properly. *Sigh* hopefully the new job will mean I can't go out "for one" as much now.

Ah yes, the new job. I started yesterday, and I have to say it was the most amusing day's training I have ever done. We had to ring up the chatlines and pretend to be customers - gay male customers at one point - and I kept managing to pick people up. I knew my deep voice would come in handy at some point. Today we got to see how the computers worked, I was really impressed, the system is just state of the art, I've never seen anything like it. Neither have I ever *heard* anything like some of the messages played to us left by men who had been barred from the system. They were just sick, really sick, and wrong, some of them. I think my interviewer was right - the worst part won't be the smut, it'll be the scary things about children and animals that you just have to ban and forget about. Oh well. It seems like it will be fun, anyway. Tomorrow I get assigned my very own headset and let loose on the computers, woo hoo!

I also turned in my application form for a research position yesterday, at the House of Commons. If I get it, I probably won't go back and do a Masters, although I really doub tI'll get it, since they had special sections on the application for "post-graduate qualifications" and "published works to date". I only realised after I'd finished it - and it took me the best part of a day to fill it in - that it was actually the Civil Service I was applying to, and then I got really freaked out what with it sort of being my dream career and all. But I was also comforted by the fact that, because it *is* the Civil Service, *how* I filled in the application will be as important as *what went on it* because they're weird like that. So, you never know. I wouldn't have to start until November so I'd get a chance to be Porn Queen for a bit longer, tee hee.

It's my last day at Fenwick tomorrow. I'm trying to think of a suitable way to go out in style but I think I'll just go quietly and burn my apron in the garden with all my black tights when I get home. I'm having a semi-surprise leaving do on Friday - I think Ellen was hoping to convince me it was just going to be me and her celebrating the end of her exams, but she was rumbled on Sunday, when I went in to help her with her revision, and she kept whispering things to people. Then Peter came up and wished me the best since he didn't know if he could make it on Friday and it clicked. An interrogation of Roy "Fenwick Gossip Man" confirmed my suspicions - he said Giuliano had sworn him to secrecy, but he would say it had cost him money, which means they've got me a present too. I had hoped to sort of slope off without a fuss, since I've not really been there that long - a year and a half, maybe, but not long relative to everyone else - but I'm secretly touched. I just hope it's not a stripper *grin*

Watch this space!

Monday 19th June

Doh, my computer went belly up a week ago, and I can't check my mail or get on ICQ or update this diary or anything, but I thought I'd write anyway in case I find a way of uploading this at some point. Any computer geniuses out there - help. It's connecting, but then instead of letting me onto ICQ, navigating me to websites, getting my mail &c. it just procrastinates away and then eventually says, "Oh HA HA HA you aren't connected, this is all a sick joke, and although your phone line is engaged, I'm going to be a total git and not recognise your connection so you can't do a thing, ner ner." Alright, the error message doesn't say that, but it's inferred. I've had 2 Richards (Scary and Girlie) round looking at it and all for nothing *muffled sob*

I'll say one thing - it's made me realise how sad and lonely I am. I've been sitting around in the evenings staring at the walls (and occasionally The Sun - oh the shame of it) feeling all dejected and lonely with nobody to talk to because I cannot log on and talk to anyone. It's official - I have no life.

I'm also feeling pressured to get a boyfriend because all my friends, apart from Justine and Beccy, are now in happy, fulfilled relationships (or so they claim *cough* *cough*) and I feel as though I cannot partake in their conversations because I have no bloke to harp on about. So instead, I sit there nodding and smiling and listening to them harp on about their blokes. When I try to say something, I am answered with a reply about how that's "just like me and so-and-so..." ARGHHHHHH! And then, to heap insult onto injury, when they finally start feeling a bit guilty for harping on, they (it's more than one of them) say, "Have you heard from Phil lately?" to try and get me to harp on about the last bloke I was in a non-relationship with, totally ignoring the fact that whatever that was between us has been either over or on hold (tisk, I wallow in hope) for months now, and the fact that, as my closest friends, they are the first people I tell if I hear from him. But I don't *want* a boyfriend. I want my friends back, and I don't want to have to book nights with them weeks in advance, and I don't want to have to sit there on these far-too-sporadic nights watching them text away or simper through mobile conversations with their paramours. Please don't misunderstand me, I'm not jealous either of their relationships or their boyfriends, I'm just sick of being made to feel like my friendship is a burden.

Emilia, I miss your sanity, come back to London for the summer and I'll get you a job as a porn queen with me *beam*

And so to the porn industry. The job's going very well, I was on nights this week, it's been very amusing although it's getting a bit samey now. Typing up the lonely hearts ads is fun, I consider it a wonderful challenge to try and make an inviting three-line advert out of some bloke slavering on about liking to lick floors and seats in public toilets while people piss on him. And it makes a nice change from listening to trannies named Jade lisping about wanting to to be dominated. On Thursday night the entire system died for about 3 hours, Wayne-the-supervisor had to get Stefan-the-Head-of-IT out of bed so come down and fix it up. That was cool, I managed to finish my book *and* Zoe's magazine. They seem like a nice enough bunch. It's quite relaxed there at night, everyone's sprawled around with their feet up and popping off to make coffee every 15 minutes. One of the evening guys, Andy, grilled me to death on my second night, it was like being on Mastermind (specialist subject: the sexual encounters of Sally Hand (Miss)) (how's that for a large and scary topic), took my website address and then imagined up the kinds of things I might write in my diary. He wasn't very complimentary, I hope he got round to reading it and now knows it doesn't run "Got up. Put on pants. Put on socks. Ate breakfast. Went to college. Went to this lecture." &c. &c. The cheek of it *beam*

Wow, what an interesting life I would leave if I only put on pants and socks before leaving the house in the mornings *ponder*

What else...I must have done something else, it's been 2 weeks....Got up. Put on pants. Put on socks. No, just kidding heh...well, I left Fenwick, they gave me this big card and 35 quid's worth of vouchers, I was really touched, I never realised I had so many friends there. The last thing Pat-my-supervisor said to me was, "I hope you try harder in your new job than you have here" before he stalked off without so much as a handshake. Since my new job doesn't involve bleach, shit and mops (well, certainly not handling them, anyway) I think it's a fairly safe bet I'll get along better. I want to say I'm never going to be a cleaner again but I don't want to tempt fate. I'll certainly never work for Fenwick again, however. I had hoped to leave without a final display of their gross incompetency but alas, it was no to be. I went to pick up my cheque and P45 on my last night, only for Leigh to say, "Oh are you leaving?" I'm like, DURRRR! It wasn't like I didn't give them the right notice or anything. So it was 2 days late, although I did get my tax back from last month so that was good. When I went in to pick it up, Sue Crawley (still with eyebrows like oversized slugs) just totally blanked me and I had to deal with Bridget. *How* unprofessional. And of course, I couldn't leave without a passing mention about Bob, who, when asked if he wanted to sign my card, apparently turned the air blue with vitriole about not having anything to do with that "common little slut/bitch" (c'est moi) on account of him not approving of my lifestyle. *Sigh of relief* thank god, I must be doing something right.

My leaving do was a laugh, even though only Ellena dn Audrey turned up, we had a riot. I was absolutely hammered, possibly because (a) I hadn't eaten much and (b) Ellen misheard me and got me a pint of bitter in the third round, so I was mixing my drinks. Audrey was pissed too, although Ellen had to drive home, but we had such a laugh, it was really cool. This old bloke tried to chat Ellen up and then bought us 2 rounds of drinks and a bottle of champagne (?!) We also got chatting to this pair of lads whose behaviour was a bit strange. One of them (who looked like my brother) started moaning about not being able to pull and the other one started making wanking signs with his hands everytime I looked at him and then tried to pull Ellen in spite of being told she was married. They left shortly after pouring an entire pint of beer all over the floor and my bag. Ellen and Audrey left shortly after; I stayed, they thought to chat people up, but actually because I was so drunk, I knew that if I stood up I would be sick. When the old guy opened another bottle of champagne 15 minutes later and poured me a glass I knew it was time to leave, but he said I had to finish my drink first. So I took a sip and surreptitiously poured the rest on the floor. He didn't notice, thank god, and also missed the fact that I had an entire, untouched pint left when I scarpered out of the door and down the hill. Walked home again - ha. The Claddagh Ring is midway between where I live now and where I lived last year, and I have walked to both places from it, and it's miles. It's a walk I would not attempt when sober. But when I'm pissed and I can dance down the hill doing the actions to Ooops I Did It Again and feel no shame...well, that's a different story.

Have not been out since, apart from an aborted trip to ULU with Jen which ended when Richard told her he was getting a Chinese in. Thrown over for a Chinese, whatever next. I want my life back.

Friday 30th June

OK, time for me to be the smuggest bunny in the land. I have fixed my computer. Yes. *I* have fixed it. Me, me, me! Snaps to Belly though, who talked me into fixing it. It was as I suspected - the modem was scrooooed. So all that time the Richards spent fiddling with the software was pointless. And Girlie Richard terrifying me by telling me he was going to format my hard drive and install Windows 98 on it was totally unnecessary (although thanks for the offer honey). This afternoon I opened up Penelope Pitstop (as my machine is affectionately named) and after choking through the 6 months of fag ash, dead skin cells and various other dust which rose in clouds, I switched my 56k modem for my old 33.6k one, and it works fine. And I am a happy, happy, happy bunny. Me! I mean, me! Sorting out a hardware problem! And I *knew* it was a hardware problem and nobody would listen to me. But *I* was right! ME! HA!

OK, crowing over.

What's been happening, I heard you ask, well, nothing much really, I've been working 4pm-11pm shifts and it doesn't leave much time for socialising. Although being without machine made me realise there isn't much socialising going on anyway, so I am now a girl with a plan. And that plan is to up sticks and leap the pond to Las Vegas for a year. I have spent the past week trawling through various (unhelpful) websites, looking into college applications (waaaaayyyyy too expensive), temporary work permits (not an option without a pre-arranged job) and training placements (the BUNAC way). Not much has turned up but I am not beaten yet. I'm sure being my father's daughter will stand me in good stead since my father is a Las Vegas citizen *beam* And who knows, I might find a job there. Although in a city where 1 in 3 jobs relates to the gaming industry, history graduates can't be in much demand.

Because that's what I am now! I went into town on Tuesday to have lunch with Bernie and on my way back past uni I thought I'd pop into the office and pick up my old coursework. This involved going past the departmental notice board and as I idly glanced at it I noticed the provisional grade list was up, and nearly had a heart attack because the results weren't due for another 2 weeks. Provisionally, I got a 2:1! So there you go. I was worried that working 25 hours a week in my final year and writing one of my dissertations in 6 days would push my grade down but apparently not. Which means that I might have to admit that I am a bit clever, really. Only a bit, mind. And it might go down....but then, I suppose it might go up....both doubtful.

So, I think I'll defer my Masters for a year and swan off to America. I realised there's nothing left for me here in London now that I've graduated. It's quite a sobering thought to think I've been here for 4 years and I can (almost) count my friends on the fingers of 2 hands. And that includes the ones living here who I knew beforehand. My lease will be up here in August and I'll have to move again and it's all such a grind, I don't think I can be bothered to fight anymore. I'll just run away for a while and face it with a nice tan, tee hee. And it would be a shame not to do it while I have the chance, after my Masters I'll be so bogged down in debt I won't be able to disappear at will. It's going to be difficult enough to do it now.

Nothing much more to say. Work's work, this is my last weekend off until August - but then I have 3 weekends off in a row, beginning with my birthday weekend WOO HOOO! Tonight I barred one 15 year old but otherwise it was a bit slow. The other night we caught 3 paedophiles, very satisfying, they were messaging each other and we listened in until we caught them all *evil cackle* Unfortunately only one message in about 50 is dodgy, and only half of those are dodgy enough to bar, so it makes it a bit mundane. But a job's a job. Indoors with no heavy lifting - sorted!