I've just called up and cancelled an interview I had for today.

I am in a very funny mood.

It was partly because I only took it in desperation as it's a company I wouldn't be 100% happy to work for, and partly because another company called me up yesterday and begged me not to take anywhere until they'd seen me. But it was mostly because I wanted to have a little bit more time in bed.

Now of course I'm wide awake.

Oh dear. Please don't let karma get me.

a) finally take off e_b's dressing gown, put on some swanky London threads and head off for a spot of lunch and some boutique browsing in Clapham Old Town

or

b) eat a banana and watch Loose Women. Still in the dressing gown.

Well, clearly, it's b). And for the uninitiated, Loose Women is a daytime TV chat show, not me hanging out of the window with binoculars peering into another tenement block. They talk about topical issues and right on stuff, and it's amusing afternoon television. Tho I almost booted t' telly t'other day when they wouldn't stop copying the lovely Jayne MacDonald's equally lovely Wakefield brogue. I swear, if I say 'no' to one more person, and they reply with 'noooooooo-oooooooooooo? ahahaha! hahahahahahaha!!! you talk so funny!!! nooooo-oooooo!!! ahahahahaha!' I will not be responsible for my actions. (Incidentally, is everyone in London Australian, or are my ears not as well attuned to Cockney as my long time crush on The Artful Dodger would seem to suggest?)

Anyway, yeh, so today, unsurprisingly, the topic was, 'can you be single and happy' (neatly dovetailed with a piece on lying - pretty much proving that in many *looks around 20six* most cases 'taken' and 'happy' are oxymoronic.)

And it struck me. I'm going out with someone. Actually, to all intents and purposes I've already moved in with them. And for the first time in ages and ages, I feel as though I am single. (Technically, I haven't been single since the tail end of 1994 - there was a period of 6 months or so at uni where I wasn't attached to one person or another, but I was seeing about 5 different people so I had even less time to myself.)

I can go out with my friends whenever I want. I can do my hair however, and wear my clothes however. I don't have to hand over any spare change for the fruitie. I don't have to worry if there is spare change in my purse. I don't have to think before I speak. I don't (and dear god, thank you very much for this) have to watch football (live or on television) any more if I don't want. I can stay in alone on a Saturday night and paint my toenails and watch CSI: Miami. I don't have to worry I am too short or too fat. I am no longer constantly aware of the time. I don't care where my boyfriend is (in the nicest possible sense, of course) And perhaps most importantly, everything I say is not directly related to him.

This is ace.

In other news: I (just, bang, as I typed) got an interview for another great sounding company, and had to cancel a hair appointment because of it. I am in tears. Moon, I expect. So, cheer me up and tell me how I should have my hair - I do like those diagonal fringey affairs, but wouldn't my forehead get ever so spotty? Or do I just think that because the last time I had a fringe I was thirteen? And I should definitely get it done much shorter shouldn't I? And darker? I think I should. Chocolatey, you know, not reddy. So, what suits a fat girl with a big round face - and more importantly, will it be London enough?

Looper - I'm looking at you.

We'd been out to a barbeque, and were slightly merry. So we took a sofa out of a skip (a sofa that had just been put there that afternoon by our friends I should add) and on to the high street, where we sat and drank wine and shouted for Hellas. I'm rather glad they won. I wouldn't have fancied it out there if they hadn't. We had to take two night buses home. Consequently, I don't feel too chipper.

But anyway, I'm here!! And about to embark on my week of totally taking the piss sorting out all the mess the temp has made.

Huzzah!

(I am possibly still drunk.)

Here is my new hair. Tremble at my trendiness.

nb: I had slept in it (and my make-up, by the looks of things) by the time these photos were taken.

I'm so, so hungry - I might die.

Despite the fact that I had two breakfasts. That's right - two. One at home, and one when I got to work because I'd forgotten I'd already eaten.

Years of alcohol abuse are clearly making themselves known in my short term memory.