Saturday 4th March

The mystery of the e-Valentine is *SOLVED* - suffice to say, it wasn't serious, thank god because it's all capitalist bollocks anyway (cough cough) but there's a new number one on my get-back list - *YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE*!

Have just seen everything. Queen. And Five. Doing a duet on the Brits. Snaps to the Brits, they always team really unlikely people and it usually works out really well, like Jamiroquai and Diana Ross, and Tom Jones and Robbie Williams, and Michael Jackson and Jarvis Cocker (cackle) - but please! Five? With *Queen*?! Just watching the one with the freaky blue contact lenses playing air guitar next to Brian May had me in a fit of giggles your average 14 year old schoolgirl would not have been ashamed of. I just thank my lucky stars my TV is only black and white, so I did not actually have to be subjected to the full effect of those unnatural blue eyes. I swear it's some sort of hypnotic marketing device employed to make girlies buy more Five records. Billie must have to keep her eyes shut when she is shagging him, either that or she owns all the records Five have ever sold. And that can't be true because Stu has one...ooops have I said too much?

Speaking of 14 year old schoolgirls, Ricky Martin was also on the Brits, and I have to say, that boy can sing. I was surprised to hear him coping live. And the boy can move! Am I the only girl in the world who thinks it would be nice to have a boyfriend who could dance really well? (If I wanted a boyfriend but I don't because yada yada yada) I don't just mean all this wriggling stuff. Dancing is a dying art form. All that tango. I am reminded of True Lies when Arnie whips Tia Carrere off her feet and round the dancefloor in this perfect tango. When would that ever really happen? What are the chances (oh good grief now I sound like....) of two people meeting in a normal situation - ie, not a ballroom dancing class - and just both knowing how to tango? What *should* have happened is that Arnie should have whisked Tia Carrere onto the dancefloor whereupon she should have trodden on his foot, slipped and broken the heel on her shoe having stepped in the wrong direction. Arnie could be expected to know how to dance: he was, after all, a spy. I don't think I'm a particularly good dancer but I enjoy it and I think I could cope if someone put a rose between my teeth. But this is the problem - where are such men? They are on stage singing "Shake your Bon Bon". Alas, there are no perfect men left in the world.

Anyway I had to turn the Brits off when I saw they had Donna Air presenting, she looked like a scarecrow and managed to pronounce Davina McCall's name wrong despite the fact they work together and claimed to be old friends. Why is she so FUCKING STUPID! I'm sorry, I really try and be responsible and not swear in my diary, but it cannot be helped in this case. She's an idiot! You know, the wheel's going round, but the hamster's dead.

Worked overtime again this week on Wednesday and Friday since they were desperate, and I got so much work done. I have written about a third of my first dissertation now. When it comes down to a choice between writing the essay and cleaning toilets, essay wins everytime. I discovered that if I took one of the shelves out of the cupboard, I have even more room, it's almost like a proper little library, in spite of the fact it is less than 4 feet wide and only 5 feet long. Of course, I have to type it all when I get home, but no computer = 95% less distractions. Was telling Ellen about what I was writing about while I was sweeping the floor today and this woman turned around and said, "What are you going to do with that?" and I mumbled something about Masters and foreign office and she said, "When you're famous I'm going to tell all my friends that I met you when you were cleaning toilet floors...." - oh no, my chequered past will remain with me for the rest of my life. I can see the headlines now: "Amabassador in Royal Flush scandal!" "Our woman in.....toilet cleaning"

When I told Richard and Colin at breakfast yesterday that I was doing a Masters before getting a proper job, I suggested that I might stay at Fenwick forever and be the world's only graduate cleaner. Richard said, "Yeah, because then people could patronise you!" I'm like, YEY because I don't get enough of that as it is....but he said, "No it's cool, they'd turn around and say 'could you just hold my bags for me while I'm in the toilet' and you could say, 'WHAT? I've got a MASTERS in East European history, hold your own damn bags!'" However, Joyce is living proof that one does not need 2 degrees to be rude to customers. She does the all-day shifts that Pat doesn't do, and her stories are so funny. Like the woman who asked her to clean the seat for her before she used the toilet (Joyce told her to bleedin' use another) and the woman who complained there was no toilet paper (Joyce said, "what ALL 16 TOILETS have run out? And while we're at it, don't you think I'm entitled to a lunch break?"). I think she is an example to us all. I'm practising on the other staff first. They're always really patronising and ignore all my wet floor signs and walk all over my freshly mopped floor. It's not like I go onto the shop floor and throw things off the fixtures for them to pick up, is it? One day I'll snap and there'll be carnage in the ladies' staff toilets. They'll need a lot of Royal Flush to clean that up.

That's got to be the worst part of my job. Not that it's mind numbingly boring, not that it's soul destroying to see your hard work undone every single day, not even having to clear up something really horrible someone has left on the toilet floor (although that is a very close second). The worst part is being treated like something which needs to be cleaned up itself. In spite of the fact that I get paid more than the sales assistants, they insist on thinking themselves a higher class of employee (with some exceptions). We're talking about women so useless they page us if someone drops a drop of coke the size of a beermat on the floor. In spite of this, they expect someone to be in the office at all times to refill their jealously-guarded spray bottles with Nova Smear (cough) I mean CLEAR. They get hissy if they have to come back more than twice. They don't seem to understand that we have set things needing doing (alright, I spend a lot of time in the cupboard but I still have things to do at specific times!) and we cannot revolve around them. There's one woman who has got to be the worst, she had a go at me the first time I closed half the staff toilets for mopping, simply because she had to walk round the other way (this takes about 10 seconds). She told me I was "mopping at the wrong time". Fair enough, I thought. The next time, I left it until 2 hours later. But what do you know, Misery's back, screech screech you're-mopping-at-the-wrong-time....what does she expect me to do? Wait until her day off? It's not my fault she's got a weak bladder. Maybe she's got CYSTITIS, oh I do hope so. She just stomps all over my wet floor and ignores me now. When she sees me in the canteen, she smiles at me and tries to be pleasant. I'm onto her. I hope she slips and breaks her leg one day. Must learn to be more like Joyce. Joyce just does it and goes away and lets them do what they want. It just pisses me off that people have such little respect for the work we're trying to do. Like I said, I don't go and throw all their stock on the floor. Although that's not a *bad* idea....

Could not be world's only graduate cleaner. I'm not even a graduate yet and I'm already really hacked off with being treated like crap. Cleaning isn't a bad job. Eventually, when everyone does their shopping online, the sales assistants will be out of work. But the warehouses, and the stockrooms, and the company offices will always need cleaning. But before that happens, when I'm a research analyst, or specialist reporter on Romania, or Ambassador, I'm going to come into Fenwick and find the department with Misery on it and throw all her stock on the floor. I'll tell her she arranged everything at the wrong time.

Sunday 5th March

Oh. My. God. Teenage angst taken to a degree whence the soaps have never before ventured. I haven't watched Eastenders regularly for 18 months, since I work in the evenings, but I caught up with the omnibus today since I have so much work to avoid doing, and Sonia, having discovered her Italian bloke has a new girlfriend, slept with Martin Fowler. Now, let me get this clear for anyone who does not watch Eastenders - there's teenage angst, and there's sleeping with Martin Fowler. I am shocked. When I quit watching Eastenders, the only thing Sonia was blowing was her trumpet.

Still, it struck a chord with me. I have to say that at 15 I would never have even considered sleeping with a Martin Fowler-a-like - or indeed anyone of my own age - or indeed anyone (cough cough). But she kept going on about how nobody loved her and she was ugly and stupid et cetera et cetera. Martin Fowler, having received a hefty knock back from that little Italian one in a conversation so hackneyed it truly belonged in the east end ("If you loved me you would" "if you loved me you'd wait" - does this conversation actually still take place outside of teenage magazines?), saw his chance as she sobbed her insecure little heart out and jumped in with a war cry of I've-always-fancied-you. It's nice to know that the BBC are teaching a whole new generation of boys to be bastards, giving them tips on how to get laid (find a vulnerable bird) and suggestions for really caring things to say afterwards ("I've got things to do - see you 'round"). I can see I'm going to have to start taping it now, just because a cat fight between Sonia and the little Italian one over Martin Fowler will have to be seen to be believed.

I was reading something really interesting about rape the other day, apparently they reckon rape figures are on the rise because men feel more threatened by the new culture of powerful women, and so more rapes are taking place because it's the only way men can feel in control. Similarly, Mother Hand told me about an article about boys being less secure and feeling threatened in this era of girl power. It seems that the problem for boys has found a solution at an adult level. How old was the youngest kid charged with rape recently? Can't have been more than 10. One in six men says he might rape a woman if he was married to her; others that they would do it if no-one would find out (how scary is that?!) or if they had spent a lot of money on her or if she'd been with loads of men. Lovely. I never used to think about it, because I never thought I would meet a man who would be able to overpower me. Knives and guns, pish, let them kill me before they touch me because I won't care when I'm dead, and I very much doubt that your average rapist is desperate enough to kill - I mean, where's the fun in doing a dead person? However, I know that's not true anymore, having met blokes who can actually pin me down so I cannot get up. Admittedly, I am more worried about being mugged than raped, but apparently 70% of women under 30 are afraid of it happening. Why is it that, just as women have more reason to be confident than ever before, we have to give up some of the confidence we have already gained? Why? Because all men.....no just kidding (laugh).

Really had better do some work. Can't believe that in less than 3 weeks time, 30% of my overall degree work has to be handed in. And I have only written 12% of it. Doh!

Monday 6th March

Cannot believe I set my alarm for 7pm instead of 7am. I was supposed to phone Zoe and wake her up this morning too, to wake her up, and the first I knew she was calling me at 9.15 saying aren't you going to university today? I was like, oh (insert expletive here), doesn't look like it! Am majorly pissed off because today's lecture was about dissenters from the Soviet bloc. My entire dissertation is on a dissenter from the Soviet bloc. It is the one lecture of the year that I would have been able to intelligently contribute to! It was probably for the best anyway since it gave me a chance to tidy my room and take the blankets off my windows before the engineer came round to fix my printer.

Ah yes, the printer saga. Well, it wasn't spooling paper properly, in fact, at all. I thought one of my magnets from my whiteboard had dropped into it, but I prodded it for about half an hour and nothing happened so I figured it must be broken. I called Canon last Thursday and the following conversation ensued
Canonette: Well Miss Hand the earliest we can get an engineer to you is Wednesday....
Me: What?! What sort of operation are you running? Can't I just take it back to where I bought it?
Canonette: Um no, Miss Hand, because your warranty is with us, not them, and you're only covered for parts and labour, not a replacement
Me: So, what happens if you can't fix the problem? Don't I get a replacement?
Canonette: I'm just a girl who works here, I don't know the politics of it....
Me: (increasingly irritated) But this must have happened before, what did you do? Are you telling me you won't replace a printer I have had for a month? A month dammit!
Canonette: I understand your predicament Miss Hand but....
Me: (Totally lose it - anyone who calls me Miss Hand three times in a row is just asking for it in my opinion, especially in such a derogatory tone) YOU have NO IDEA of my predicament! I am a FINAL YEAR student and my dissertation is due in in THREE WEEKS and if I don't get my printer fixed I cannot hand it in, and if I do not hand it in I will FAIL, and I'll hold you PERSONALLY responsible if that happens, what's your name?
Canonette: Look, I just work here, dyou want your engineer in the morning or afternoon?
Me: (spit) Morning. What if he doesn't show up?
Canonette: (ominous voice) He will.
Me: Fine (click)

But what do you know, 5 minutes later she calls me back to tell me about this cancellation for Monday afternoon, how strange, just like that. I knew it. That old personally-responsible line always works. My mum told some bloke at Cable and Wireless once that if her mum died in the night and no-one could let her know she would hold him personally responsible. Our phone was back on in 15 minutes.

Anyway the engineer came round this afternoon, looked at all my pictures, asked me if I had ever been to Hull (what?!) and fixed it in under 5 minutes. One of my magnets had fallen in between the rollers (blush). To make matters worse, I had rice with red cabbage for lunch and Zoe informed me after I had shown the guy out that I had a piece stuck between my teeth. This sort of thing could only happen to me. I just know I'm going to make it onto one of those "stupid customer" emails.

Zoe is back staying with me, she lost her job, but she cooked me steak for dinner tonight so that sort of makes up for it. I love not having to wash up and cook for myself. Gets boring after a while, of course, and then I have to cook or I get hissy, but it's still nice temporarily.

Anyway, Stu had a good laugh at my expense over the printer so I thought I would include from the mail he sent defending himself over the Five comment. I should say, if he digs any deeper he'll be in Australia.
"But a bit harsh about the Five gag.....Do I have a go at your liking for Steps 8) [ed: I only own one of their singles. And I like the dances, I don't try and pretend they have musical integrity!] + PLUS.... I may have a slightly dubious album collection in some areas, but u don't mention that when you want a certain track..... BILLIE comes to mind [ed: in my defence, I might point out that I blew it off Stu's album, since it was not something I would pay for. And I'm playing it now!]
+ Your not even factually correct, I've got both their albums HA 8).......[ed: oh dear oh dear oh dear]
5ive are good, sadly they've grown on me... they've got that kinda energy thing which is good in a band, and not the as is normal now pathetic boy band hash which only appeals to 13 year old girls........ Arhhhhhhhhhhhh I'm sticking up for 5ive 8)"

I'll make sure Kez takes lots of pictures of you singing along to 5ive when you go to their concert in a fortnight, 5tu, and then I can put them here (laugh) Alright, I know, I am going to see Steps in May. Gasp, only 2 months to learn the dances and convince Kez and Jen that we should all go in wedding dresses, since it's probably going to be the only time I ever wear one. Marriage, it's a mug's game. Like KFC. Would be a good opportunity for Kez to get used to it too (grin)

Monday 13th March

Another Monday 13th. But this one went OK.

Nobody write me mail complaining about lack of diario for the next two weeks. If I write 1000 words a day for the next 10 days, I might just pass my degree. And I can't waste any brain power on this stuff! I have written 7000 words of my first dissertation - it's going swimmingly, I expect to have it finished bar the fine tuning by tomorrow night. This leaves me with 6 days - not counting this weekend and the day before they're due, which will be needed for excessive amounts of panicking, spell checking, rereading and footnoting - to research and write a second dissertation for which I have no official title, no plan and no bibliography. Now, I'm the first to admit I cannot work without a certain amount of pressure. However, I have come to the conclusion that pressure is counter-productive when it gets to the point where you're not getting more than 4 hours' sleep a night because of worrying/nightmares/trying to work out the real differences between Romanian and Yugoslav foreign policy in your head (or is that just me?) So nobody bug me because I'm in a volatile mood and my temper is way way shorter than normal. I turned around to Zoe tonight and told her to clean up the mess and get a job, and she burst into tears. Granted, she was pissed. But I'd just spent the best part of an hour doing washing up which was a week old. And like I said, I'm permanently hissy at the moment.

Emilia is proving to be a tower of strength. She throws books on Marxism at me at the necessary points. She makes me cheesecake. She reassures me that my dissertation isn't actually a load of bollocks, but will turn out to be a 2:1 essay (at the moment I'm about 60-40 towards the former) She is comparable on the male-created-basket-case level. Last week, on pancake day, she sat with Zoe and me and we ate pancakes and syrup for dinner, and doughnuts and ice cream for dessert whilst telling evil-men stories. It was fab. It's just a shame that I was still washing the dishes up from it today

Was trying to cut down to one can of diet coke a day for Lent, but I am sorry to say that I am already up to Thursday's ration, and it's only Monday. It's the stress. I am subsisting entirely on diet coke, camel lights and cheese and tomato toasted sandwiches.

Friday 17th March

Wahey. I have finished my first dissertation, bar three paragraphs which shouldn't take me long to construct. I was really really happy about this until I started to collect stuff for the second one and realised I don't have a clue what I'm doing. This was made worse when I went to see Peter, my very sympathetic dissertation tutor, on Wednesday. He told me he'd been talking to Wendy (ha! Peter and Wendy! Ha! I never noticed that before....) who is my other dissertation tutor, and she'd told him I was doing something about cold war perceptions of....I was like, um stop right there. Because I'm doing stuff written during the 1980s! So if she doesn't even know my title, technically that means she can fail me before she even reads it for writing on an unapproved topic. This was just what I needed to discover to make me feel better.

It doesn't matter though, I'm sure it'll be fine, and since I've done a couple of days reading, I have a clearer idea of what I'm doing, although I'm not certain how I'm going to make it last for 10 000 words, or stop it from turning into a long extended book review. OOhh, 'nother funny uni story...I went to see my personal tutor after seeing Peter, a German by the name of Kay who, to be honest, I have never really gotten to know since at our first meeting he told me to "Trust him" and call me a freak, but it reminded me of the snake in Jungle Book and it was a bit offputting. Snaps to him though, he is very pro-smoking and half the people in my year fancy him. Don't see it myself...but anyway, the conversation ran thus -
Me: Um, I was wondering if you could write me a reference for my Masters....
Kay: Well, I wouldn't really be the right person to do that, you should really ask your personal tutor
Me: (discreet cough) You er, *are* my personal tutor
Kay: Oh. Really. Well. I've never taught you though so all I could do was look at your marks record and say that you're very bright and clever and I see no problems
Me: (grin) Mmmm hmmm, nevermind, I'll just ask Wendy or Roger instead
Kay: Yeah, that's probably best, since we've never built up that whole tutor/student relationship thing....
Me: (thinks) Thank god!
Me: (says) Probably my fault, for being such a good student!

I was giggling to myself for quite ten minutes afterwards. The look on his face....absolutely priceless. It's the history department party next Wednesday, I really hope I have done enough work to have the time to go. Last year was a blast, apart from getting really really drunk and scavving fags off of Kay and then asking the head of my University for a light in a non-smoking building. There was some launch party going on at the other end of Senate House, last year, and Peter smuggled me, and Dejan his post-grad, and Sue who's another student, in. I was pretty drunk by this point, but not drunk enough to forget Peter and Dejan introducing me to some besuited man as "the lecturer for the Rise and Fall of Yugoslavia Course" amid much merriment on their side. Apparently someone a couple of weeks before had mistaken Peter for Dejan's post-grad, so they thought it would be amusing to pretend that a student was a teacher for both of them. Thank goodness I don't remember who it was they introduced me to. Justine still remembers me returning home that night. I lurched through the front door without any shoes on shouting HI BABES and promptly fell through my door onto the floor. And people wonder why I don't want to stop being a student....

Since it's St Patrick's day today, I went to SSEES bar and partook of some Guiness before work tonight, since it was only a pound a pint. Not a terribly good plan since I hadn't eaten anything but apart from feeling ill because I drank the whole thing in about 2 minutes because I had to leave for work, it was OK. I had mail today from the head of the Pittsburgh branch of the Bunnyland fan club (giggles) to ask how I was coping without Frank Charlies....truth be known, I've been too busy to mourn my loss. But I am at a bit of a loss as to where to spend the afternoon getting drunk the day my dissertations are due in. Probably the University of London Union, since Jen and I have been going there every Friday, and it's cheap, although packed. Last Friday someone left 7 quid on the table and didn't come back for it, so I ended up pissed and I *earned* money. There has to be a job like that. As to how Tim is coping without Frank Charlie's, best to ask how my *mum* is coping, she is keeping a running total of the money he owes her and is tearing her hair out since he's gone back to sleeping all day and coughing all night and it's driving her nuts - so it's driving me nuts. I haven't called her in nearly a fortnight because she always says the same things about him being a layabout and I keep giving her the same advice about changing the locks until he signs on but nothing ever changes.

Can you believe it....I was playing this multi-player Tetris game last night - it is the most addictive thing in the entire world, I meant to stay for one game and ended up there for 3 hours...but anyway, the guys who I was playing against included a few students from Imperial College London. And I whipped their arses so often they said they'd buy me pints if I went to the Union tonight! Now for the irony - I usually go with Jen, and Jen is in Wales with Girlie Richard this weekend. Jen is always forcing me to go out on the premise that I need to meet men (I think she means I need to meet the right men, personally, since I have met men but they are always taking my little offhand comments too seriously and then getting hissy with me....no-one in particular (cough)) Anyway, so this weekend, I meet men, well I mean I find men to meet, and she's not here so I can't go and meet them! I would have gone down anyway since computer scientists are never scary and they said they'd buy me drinks, but they were going to some musical that didn't finish until 10.30pm, so it would have meant either going really late or sitting like a lemon on my own for 2 hours. No thanks. Not that desperate. Yet.

Still *lonely* though....dissertations are very interesting but they aren't very good company. Yet I feel more in demand than ever. Zoe's been living here, I've been on the phone to Jen every night (long story), Alison's been calling, Justine and I have been doing lunch and making grand plans about going to V2000 in August and to the carnival in Rio next February, I owe Stuart a phone call, my mum is getting hissy because I haven't been talking to her, Beccy came round and stayed a night this week, Emilia sat and played trivia with me for 3 hours the other night, I've got mail from Bernie and Lisa and Petra and Graham and Emma to reply to, I promised Kerrie I'd let her know what I was up to, Steve's sposed to be coming down for drinks, the girls at uni invited me to a party, and everyone I'm visible to on ICQ has been asking me how things are going. In fact, so have a lot of people I'm *not* visible to. But it doesn't make me feel popular, or any less lonely, in fact it makes it worse because it just makes me feel like he cares even less. Look at all these people who care enough to check up on how things are going! Yet I've heard nothing, no messages that aren't in reply to ones I've written. Nothing asking me how it's going or whether things are OK. He doesn't even ask me how I am when we do speak. Little question - I thought everyone asked it. I'm beginning to think it's just really really really not worth it, that for once, I'm wrong and everyone else is right, that everything meant nothing, and that I should just forget about it. Answers on a postcard....I sent him a postcard last week because he sounded really down. He didn't even mention whether he got it or not.

OK rant over, I guess I'm just overtired and miserable this end of the week. I hate working 7 days a week. Thank goodness I'm only on for 2 hours on Sunday. Hopefully I can get some work done in the afternoon.....although between Napster and multi-player Tetris, I wouldn't bank on it. Roll on the day Freeserve start offering free phone calls for a small monthly fee...

Sunday 26th March

It's like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. The dissertations have finally been handed in! I cut it a bit fine, even for me, so the second one was really crap, but at least it's finished now. I spent most of my evenings at LSE library until 11pm - a library that stays open until 11pm, how cool - and then on Thursday I didn't leave the house except to buy diet Coke. I stayed up all Thursday night writing, I drank 2 litres of diet Coke and 16 cups of very strong coffee - very amusing, since I never ever drink coffee, but it worked. By 8am my body had gone into caffeine-induced shock, I was shaking and sweating and nauseous, ugh. I handed them both in with half an hour to spare and then sat outside SSEES and congratulated people on their way in. Since I went to lunch with Bernie and then for drinks at SSEES bar, I didn't go to bed until 11pm, by which time I had been up for 40 hours. Thankfully I managed to wake up for work the next morning, but I fell asleep in the afternoon. Ellen snuck up behind me and banged the door, so I woke up with a huge jump, and instantly remembered something I should have put in my dissertation but left out, doh doh doh. Too late now.

So then last night, I went to this party held by some of the girls in my class, I was so happy they invited me, I never really felt part of the social world there since I never went to any events in the first year because I was always with Simon. But I got over there at like, 10pm, and I got drunk, and I had to get 2 night buses home from Manor House....I left at 1am, and got home at 5am. Admittedly, the clocks went forward an hour. But I missed the first N5 going down Tottenham Court Road because I couldn't read the number, so even though I stuck my hand out it was too late and the bastard drove straight past. Then I got talking to this bloke in the bus shelter and I was whinging drunkenly about being really cold and having missed my bus, when he stood up and stuck his hand out to flag down another bus. I was like, oh you're so lucky! I wish my bus would come! And he said, no, that's your bus (grin). How sweet, he actually stopped my bus for me, otherwise I would have missed that one. I don't care what people say, some people in London are really friendly. Take the bloke who sells the Evening Standard outside Goodge Street. I always buy my paper from him and we always have a conversation something like...
Him: 'ello you gorgeous creature, howre you then?
Me: Fine, fine, howre you?
Him: Feeling much better now I've seen you

One time last year it was raining and I was coughing and he told me I wasn't looking after myself properly and I should button my coat up. What is it about me, that half the blokes I meet take it upon themselves to try and father me? I don't get it.

But I digress. So, I was on the N5 and somewhere near Belsize Park when I was totally unable to stop myself from falling asleep, I thought BAD IDEA but I just couldn't physically stop myself. I woke up thinking I had been asleep for about 3 minutes, when I realised that the only people left upstairs were the noisy people at the back (who I knew were going to Edgware, the last stop) and a couple in front of me. Things looked suspiciously unfamiliar, until I saw the TA building. I was 3 stops away from Edgware, and about 30 stops past Colindale. It's the first time I have ever not woken up in time, I was gutted. I got off the bus and crossed the road to wait for one the other way and nearly fell asleep on the bench, which probably would have resulted in hypothermia, but luckily a bus the other way came pretty quick. Got home, crawled into bed and slept right through until nearly 2pm. Bliss. I'm so glad I got this morning off work. Have been pottering around all day phoning people and watching TV and this evening Zoe and I cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom, I mean, I even cleaned the oven, which I haven't done since I moved in, and we shifted the fridge and freezer around so one is on top of the other, and then when Emilia came home she and I put up some posters and moved the ornaments around and now the house feels even more like home than ever before. It's so cool. It's nice knowing that I don't have to move again for at least another 6 months, and maybe not even then, if I decide to stay on here.

Once I've cleaned the house, I'm going to spring clean Bunnyland, cos most of this hasn't been overhauled since I first wrote it at 18. Also, I want to add all my holiday pictures and some travel writing (having read so many books on the topic, I have got a bug for it now) and a virtual tour of my wonderful home and maybe something in Bunny Hell, and change the Boudoir because nobody ever replies to the lonely hearts ads anyway. So, any suggestions from my adoring fans? I have 12 meg left to play with.

Summer's definitely coming. Emilia and I sat and studied all day on Wednesday in the garden, and I ended up in shorts and vest and sunglasses with sun tan lotion and everything, it was very very cool. Then yesterday I looked out of the window and realised that the apple tree at the bottom of the garden had blossomed overnight, and it looks very picturesque. Zoe planted us some sun flowers and I found some cabbage seeds....I can't believe I'm going to have a whole summer without worrying about study or work or anything, it's going to be so amazing.

Monday 27th March

Well, here at Bunnyland we are known for our dedication to pleasing our readers, so when Richard-on-maintenance asked me this evening at work whether he was going to get an entry tonight, who was I to refuse? Especially since these days I don't have to come home and think about Romania. I happened to mention this diary, you see, at work to Colin and Richard. They'll probably get a big shock when they read it because it struck me tonight that as the state of my personal life has deteriorated, so has the interest level of my entries. I mean, it's not like I'm a complete hedonist yet or anything, although it appears that I might give that impression:
Richard: You should write all about who you fancy and who you're shagging and all that
Me: Er....well it's kind of like that already...
Richard: Really? You should make it really racy and then you'd get loads and loads of readers
Me: (trying to remember the last time my life might have been that interesting) Well I get quite a few readers a week anyway, I've had nearly 1000 hits since January
Richard: But you could get LOADS more!
Me: (thinks) Hmmm, that's a new chat up line..."I'm trying to make my life more interesting to encourage more people to read my web diary, will you sleep with me?"
Me: (says) Well, maybe...

I suppose it's true, really. Sex does sell but then I'm not going to make stuff up and I'm not going to publicise everything because there are at least one other (cackle) person's feelings to consider. And I couldn't write about people I fancy at work because I sometimes feel my mission at that place is to get the piss taken out of me all day long, and I'm not going to provide more ammunition for that! Ellen and Audrey are bad enough on a Saturday with their little "Oh look it's your FRIEND..." and "Shall we do a floor walk so you can see him again?" and "Would you like to swap seats with me so you don't get a crick in your neck from gazing in that direction?" Hmmm, I don't think I'll give myself away by actually saying who it is they wind me up about though (grin).

We got into a conversation about Suitcase Boy, as well, and they pointed out that it wasn't very fair of me to expect him to have to do all the work and maybe I didn't make myself more available and that's why nothing ever happened. But then I got to thinking about it and short of actually taking all my clothes off and tattooing "Welcome" across my chest, I don't think I could have done more. I remember the first time we ever went out, I had Emily sneak into my room before we came back and close my window and switch my red fairy lights on and while she was in there she cleared everything off my bed and burnt some scented candles or something, if she'd put rose petals on the bed it couldn't have been more obvious (I should point out the clearing up and candles were her idea, not mine, I thought that might have been a bit over the top) but nothing came of it. And I'm not a particularly forward person, anyway, unless I'm drunk. In fact, I think I'm really shy and insecure. Maybe I should have made more of an effort to get drunk.

Anyway I apologise for leading such a boring life but maybe now I've got more time it will improve, I can start a chart or something like that, with marks out of ten for effort, technique, stamina and so on (grin) I suppose I'll just have to hope my family members don't read this.

Worried about myself. After yesterday's 3 hour kitchen cleaning stint, today I polished all the windows and washed down all the woodwork and hoovered the lounge and washed the net curtains (which I need to find a handy cupboard for since I hate net curtains). And at work, I actually did work. Very scary. Maybe it's hormonal.

Friday 31st March

That's that then. I handed in my final essay yesterday, so I will never, ever have to write another piece of undergrad coursework again, as long as I live. That is a very scary concept. I can't quite grasp the fact that in 3 short months I'll actually be a graduate. I mean, I've always had plans for what I'm going to do after graduation and that, but for some reason I never truly envisaged life post-BA. I'm trying to think what my friends who have already graduated are doing. Arran's back in Southend playing drummer for Fruitbat's band (he was one of Carter: USM - some degree of fame). Jenni Jackson went and did a PhD in whales in Canada, or something like that. Katie Byrne got *married*...that's very scary, someone from my class, who I used to walk home from school with (many many moons ago) actually married now. Alright, there is the rumour that she only did it because she didn't believe in sex before marriage and couldn't cope any longer (grin) but still, marriage.

Beccy, Zoe and I were talking about this in the pub yesterday. In a total u-turn on policy, I have concluded that, if I became a less selfish person, I would have children, but only as a single mother, unless a miracle happened and I met someone I trusted enough not to flee at the first opportunity. But not for years and years and years and years yet. Beccy is all loved up and she has lost some of her cynicism, it's very sad in a happy kinda way (cackle) She's met this bloke who's made her go all fluffy and girlie and touchy feely, in fact he has uncovered a new Beccy. She goes all sort of glowy when she mentions his name, and when we tease her about it, even her "fuck off"s are good humoured. What can I say, she's crossed over to the dark side (grin). We're teasing her *a lot* - years and years of her taking the piss out of us and our boyfriend-induced fluffiness need making up for. She wears his anorak and everything, bleuch. If she marries him she can be in the remake of Cocktail - his surname is Flannagan.

Actually, there must be something in the air because *everyone's* been vomit-encouragingly fluffy these days. We start with LER, who I think really just does it on purpose to piss me off, and sent me a message saying "I've been apart from Kerrie for 7 whole hours and I miss her SOOO MUCH...what does that mean?" Resisted the urge to send a hissy little reply along the lines of "It means you are over-populated with testosterone, eat more liquorice" (reduces testosterone levels apparently). Then last night Jen was at it as well. In the words of Bernie - "I want to slash something." Actually, not because I'm sick of having my nose rubbed in my single status, because I have reached a higher level of serenity on that one, having realised that actually I quite prefer being single and not having to worry about changing the sheets every 2 weeks or having greasy hair or being caught gazing at certain people at work, and being able to sit in front of girlie films with ice cream every night, or spend 3 hours playing tetris, or play the same song over and over and over again just because I want to hear it, or eat chicken with 40 cloves of garlic. Too much hassle. Maybe that was the problem with the Thug, I was actually trying to create a relationship when I didn't even want one. Anyway, that's dealt with, for the present at least, even if it wasn't down to me at the end of the day. Now the world is my oyster, even if it *is* full of couples.

That is what I think really irritates me, is that smug way that couples think you always want to be them. I know they're not all like that, and they're not all doing it on purpose. It's either that or the whole "look at me, I'm so in love I've become utterly helpless and isn't it so cutsie wootsie" (vomit) please, please, if I ever get like that, somebody beat me about the face and neck with a broken bottle. I'd like to say before I get accused of writing bitchy stuff again that I am not directing this at anyone in particular, it's just a general Friday afternoon rant while I wait to see what email my next venture online will produce. Yesterday I got a rather delicate mail for my problem page that has left me a little confused, since I'm not very good at medical advice. So, quick straw poll for the guys - when you wank, is it *normal* to get a rash? I can't say I've ever noticed but then it's usually dark so I can't see the offending article....I'm sure it's normal. I might reply and say it's a curse from God or something (evil cackle) No, just kidding. It's just hard trying to ascertain which ones are real and which ones are windups.

Friday 31st March - Later on

Keep forgetting to say - Emilia and I received some flowers from the Queen this week. I'd been upstairs having my post-work nap on Wednesday morning and when I came downstairs there was this huge bunch of expensive-looking flowers in the hall, I mean, these weren't just your run of the mill roses or carnations, we're talking a variety of species in a variety of colours, not really an "I'm sorry for forgetting your birthday" bunch, more an "I'm sorry for having a kinky threesome with your mum and sister" type display. For about 3 seconds I got all excited until Emilia informed me that they weren't for us, we were just looking after them until the Anita Jones of 16 Ajax Avenue (next door) who they were addressed to got home.

So with no small amount of bitterness, I went next door when I got home from work that evening, and after much fumbling around with the door and mysterious shufflings, the neighbours answered to inform me that there was no-one of that name living there. So I went off down to 16 Ajax Court which is often confused with Ajax Avenue, but no. When Emilia got home we decided we'd have a nose at what the card said and decide on the strength of that whether to call the florist or not. On perusing said card, we were most amused to find the inscription "From Her Magesty" (sic). Needless to say, we kept them. MI5 can do their worst. Since I find it doubtful that Her Majesty had a kinky threesome with Anita Jones' mum and sister, I reckon they were a 100th birthday gift, like the telegram thing, only the poor dear popped her clogs already and the palace records are a bit out of date. They're lovvvvvely. I think the last time anyone bought me flowers was Colin after we'd had an argument, and I've still got them, dried, hanging on my wardrobe door. That must have been...wow, nearly 3 years ago now. Feel suddenly older. Anyway Emilia says the last time she can remember getting flowers was 3 years ago too, when she graduated. But she says that had she been in Budapest for Valentine's Day, her Hungarian lover would have bought her some. Oh to have a life so cosmopolitan.