Dear John 20six,

I said I wouldn't and then I did. I'm sorry. I'm leaving you. You know me, I hack it for a while, I give it a chance and then something else catches my eye and it all seems easier over there.

I have gone to see if the grass really is greener.

The last three years have been great, but I just can't keep up with you anymore.

See you around,

Em

I have spent a mental week:

Entertaining my sister as a kind of dry run for having my parents to visit. I couldn't be looking less forward to it, seriously. We accidentally went to the opening night of Avenue Q. I don't know if you've ever had to walk up a red (well, yellow) carpet with a load of paps to the side whilst wearing your scuzziest, just picnicked in, outfit and carrying three carrier bags but let me tell you - IT IS EMBARRASSING. Still, the show was good, and the picnic (of finest borough market/london bridge fare) was worth it. Also, the funniest thing in the world turns out to be my sisters belief that Noel Coward is spelt Knowle Cowarde. I mean, WHAT?

Making a bracelet. I am half done. Why would ANYONE want to do this for a living? It is hard, and expensive. It looks pretty sweet though.

Pet-sitting for a rabbit, a cat and some fish. I am so worried about the rabbit in this heat. I mean, he was okay yesterday (running around, etc) but it is H-O-T today (he's a house rabbit.) I am going to buy some magicool and spray his hutch. The cat's from LA so I have no worries about him, he's just a big fat whinger.

Being constantly late for work.

Offending lesbians. Those I know, by ditching them on Saturday for the lure of a cool pub and 'some proper music' and then one I didn't by saying I was sick of being gay and just wanted a vodka and lemonade. I was clearly joking. She needed to get. ov-er. herself.

Deciding to do zero, yes, ZERO for my birthday, although I might go out the week after for a cheapo meal somewhere with mah biatches. Watch your inboxes ladies. Why ZERO? Because I cannae be arsed cap'n (and various other boring reasons.)

Reading Tipping the Velvet. I should have smacked that grumpy lesbo in the face with it. Also, I will never write 'tom puree' on my shopping list ever. again.

Finding a super cure for being blue. It is singing Chauncey May. It couldn't make me laugh more.

... The morning sun when its in your face really shows your age
But that don't worry me none, in my eyes you're everything
I laughed at all of your jokes, my love you didnt need to coax
Oh, Chauncey I couldn't have tried any more
You led me away from home, just to save you from being alone
You stole my soul and that's a pain I can do without

All I needed was a friend to lend a guiding hand
But you turned into a lover and
Mother what a lover, you wore me out ...

Oh and doing something else but it's a (really fucking obvious) secret til it's too far gone to be unjinxable. So don't ask me about it. Okay? It's nothing earth shattering, I'm not up the duff or owt. But it's pretty cool.

I just got so utterly fucking bored at work that I've booked viewings on two flats (to rent) tomorrow night.

Now I just have to break it to Chauncey...

There are a couple of things I could be doing, but I am savouring the quiet. Boy is it ever quiet in here today.

Over the weekend I saw L+I and still failed to sort out exactly what I'm meant to be doing when I'm housesitting, and walked Kate and Ciggy about 5 miles to the only decent pub in Streatham. Aw, that's not really fair. To the BEST pub in Streatham then. Remember? The Earl Ferrers. I love it in there. I also ate a lot of hummus.

On Saturday Chaunce and I went to the Museum of London, which was pretty cool. I almost wet my knickers laughing at one point, and I'm delighted to say we have another in-joke to add to our collection. Soon we'll be unable to converse with anyone but each other. Oh well. Bad Minton! Then we had an impromptu picnic in St Pauls churchyard and listened to a marching band. We spent the rest of the weekend drinking Kronenburg, doing the washing, watching Buster Keaton and sleeping. And watching the football. And cleaning the bathroom. It's ALL GO at our place.

My sis arrives dans la capital in T minus 24 hours. We're gonna meet up late on Weds morning and picnick one off before heading back to Streats to get ready to see Avenue Q. Which park do you reckon we should picanic in? I think St James'. Secretly I want to go to Battersea Park and go to the zoo again but I think that might be cramming too much stuff in one day. We can always go on Thurs morning if we're that keen. And there will be pelicans. And it's easy to get to. That's me pretty much decided!

We will have hummus and stuffed olives and prosecco and crusty bread and strawberries and carrot sticks and so on and so forth. Man, it will be tasty. I have bought a cool bag in preparation. I am a little bit excited, not least with NOT BEING AT WORK! Woo!! That's my favourite bit.

is the happiest day of the year. I wasn't feeling, you know, all THAT happy although I am due lunch with a fitbit and gossip with my friends over olives tonight, but I mean I wasn't really feeling A-ONE SUPERDOOPER HAPPY HAPPY JOY JOY.

And then I found this.

And now I am.

I love those boys. I feel like I just bumped into an old boyfriend who still really fancies me and I sort of, you know, think he's okay too.

because I played tourist last night and was meandering round leicester square at stupid o'clock in the morning being rude to club promoters. and eating pizza. and a hot dog. well, I was drunk.

Today I am tired, relieved (I got my coursework in, despite an incredible journey across London to get there in time), a bit hungover and (and it took me ages to grasp what the feeling was it was so familiar and yet so sort of weird) still totally in awe of / love with Chauncey.

I'm sorry, I just AM.

I didn't remember until last night that as it's the end of the year we have to hand in all the coursework we've done so far. Cue me and Chaunce tearing the bedroom apart trying to find them all. Never fear, gentle reader, I have them all in my sweaty hands now. A 67%, 59% and 56%. What went wrong?!

In the course of tidying up I found approx 10 zillion pieces of paper with ideas, scribbles, notes and such like on. Now, you may remember what it was like to (or you may still) be a teenager. Or at least, you'll remember what it's like to have your pretty red heart bitten in two by some arsehole of a boy. (If you don't know what I'm talking about then you can just fuck right off.) I remember, dear reader, I remember it well. (I didn't mean that about the fucking off. Come back, I'm telling you a story.)

When I was 15 I fell in love properly hard for the very first time. We spent the summer together, I turned 16, we went on holiday, we got trapped in Spain, it was all very exciting. He was 18. On our return to England he decided that as he was going to uni (hilariously, the same uni and the same course Chaunce spent a week at before dropping out) we'd be too far away to continue a long distance relationship. I was going up to the same college he'd just been at and he assured me I wouldn't want to be held down by a distant boyfriend. Devastated, I reluctantly agreed. He had my feelings at heart, after all. And he loved me, he loved me, he said that he did.

THEN THAT BASTARD GOT OFF WITH ONE OF MY FRIENDS AND WENT OUT WITH HER FOR YEARS EVEN THOUGH SHE LIVED IN HUDDIES AND HAD TO TRAVEL TO SEE HIM EVERY WEEKEND.

I was torn apart. Over a three month relationship with a fat man who thought he was the next Ken Branagh. But I was, I was torn into tiny pieces. My whole first year at college was a wash out (I was predicted D's and U's in my A-levels) because I kept running from class to sob in the toilets. Memorably at an 18th birthday party, my friend pulled the plug from the DJ booth because he was playing 'I've had the time of my life' and I was gutted. It's all relative. I have never been as upset about anything since - breaking up with Uni Boyf? abortion? abusive boyfriend? living in Reading? Falling in love with some idiot when the idiot I was with was lovely? Some idiot living in my flat and rowing with me? No. A three month relationship with a fat man had me reaching for the anti-depressants (only, luckily, I didn't, and all down to a girl who told me she often thought of killing herself but only to stick it to the man. How can you stick it to them if you're dead tho? Duhh. So now I think I will kill myself when I'm bored. I'll have a lovely party and then have a long hot bath. Luckily I ain't bored yet.)

So, here I was, 17 and wobbling mentally. I imagine if there'd been blogs at the time mine would have been black, black as the darkest of nights, with blood red writing like the blood that had spurted from my heart. (I think I was so upset because I'd had a rotten existential time of it when I was 14/15, just generally realising, hey! life is shit! and then you die! that's rubbish! and he'd brought me out of that with boozing and sex and friends and holidays and then it was cruelly snatched away from me) ANYWAY the point I am taking a rather long time to get to is: I should have been writing poetry along the lines of 'my soul / stolen / in the blackness of night / leaves fall like tears / crunching underfoot / like so many broken promises / relief in pain / blood / red / black black blaaaaaaaaaaacccccckkkkk... meh.' (hey, I've just made  that up but I like the bit about leaves and promises. God, I'm good though, aren't I?) (No?)

But what I actually wrote (and I know I was still in the depths of despair when I wrote this cos I can see the tear stains on the paper still) what I actually wrote, and found last night, was this (I would make the world's worst depressive) :

I want to hate you
Tell your brother it was him I like best
Tell your new girlfriend she's got a flat chest
Tell your dad you've started smoking
Tell your mum I was only joking
When I said I liked her new kitchen

I want to want to hurt you
Tell the barman you're under age
Tell you that you're crap on stage
Tell your friends they're immature
Tell everyone you're much more pure
Than you make out to be

I want to hate you
Tell your new uni friends you like Deep Space Nine
Tell all my friends you were crap every time
Tell my new boyfriend I don't care about you
Tell myself that I'm fine without you

 ... and then, dear reader, it tails off because I probably had to go and find some ice cubes to hold or something. But it's bloody brilliant! Isn't it? Is it just me? My favourite bit is the bit about the new kitchen.

So anyway, I'm inspired. I can finish that play today. And maybe I should stop trying to write dark, meaningful stuff.

Doggerel is where it's AT baby.