- come out of your bathroom and spot the full length mirror leaning, still bubblewrapped, against the wall and think 'hey, I should unwrap that right now!' before spending twenty minutes prancing around in your new undies shouting 'look at me! I'm a pin-up!'

It would be understandable if I'd been doing it for someone else's benefit, but he'd already got up at a sensible time and gone to work.

I think I shall strike 'able to prioritise well' from my CV.

Well, it had to happen. I have spent the whole week boozing. Alright, that's not strictly true (I have also been engaged in eating mountains of italian food and making up new lyrics to Fairy Tale of New York) but it is the second time this week I find myself suffering from a bit of a hangover. I haven't had two hangovers in a week for... well... I can't remember (which is brilliant.) And when I think about it it's not as though I've been legless every single day. Or even at all. Really.

Sunday: Ohmygod, in two hours I'll no longer live alone. Drank a bottle of San Miguel.
Monday: Weeee! We live together! Drank another bottle of San Miguel.
Tuesday: Went out for tea and accidentally had three pints instead of one.
Wednesday: Crap day at work. Drank another San M.
Thursday: Went boozing with work mates. Two Stellas and half a bottle of pin grig. Left workmates and went out for dinner. Another half bottle of pin grig.

I mean, that is really just normal English boozing. And there's a bottle of vodka in my freezer we haven't even touched (although I did nearly go out oh, okay, send Chaunce out for some lemonade on weds.)

I'm going to plan for next week in advance. Carol singing on tues, so I will scoff the mince pies and say no thanks to the mulled wine. Weds I'm off out with my class chums from Birkbeck so I'll try and stick to cranberry and lemonade and only have a couple of voddys. Thurs I'm going round my mate's for dinner so I'll take her some faux wine and buy the pizza. Fri or poss Sat I'm off down Reading way (and maybe even Sez's way if I can get my arse in gear) so I think I'll have to admit defeat and have a proper drink that night. But I think I can manage.

Tomorrow is LL and I've really fucked up the last couple of times by getting hopelessly wrecked before even getting there so I don't think I'll drink beforehand. It'll be more expensive that way, but hey. I'm having proper Sunday dinner the next day so I might have a couple of glasses of wine but I will not, repeat, will not drink a whole bottle no matter how many times Chauncey's dad brings it over to me. 

I will be good. I think it is knocking the drinking on the head that has made me lose weight. I was thinking this morning that my knees look thinner. My knees! But they still don't look thin, so don't panic. Last night I went for a bit of an Xmas booze-up with my work chums. It was, meh, okay. I didn't really get into it. I think maybe work socialising (unless it is a big cross-uni do, I guess I mean departmental socialising) is something we should still do seperately, even if we do work together. Chaunce is suffering a bit when he swings by my office because everyone thinks they know him from somewhere. And they do, my desk. And I feel a bit awkward because even though all the staff have changed since The Time of Great Scandal, both my bosses have remained and they've seen me sobbing at my desk over him and, well, it's just a bit... I hadn't thought about it really. But the big uni Xmas bash will be fine cos it is a proper party, not just a few of us down the pub.

Anyway, so we left pretty early (although I'd still managed to get a little bit pissed) and went out for dinner in Streats instead, which was ace. We went for italian food in the restaurant with the Elvis impersonator (nota bene La Pergola, the name of your restaurant had me convinced it was chinese food which is why I hadn't been in because I have to be really in the mood for chinese food. Italian restaurants should be called Guiseppe's or Siciliana or, I don't know, The Horse's Head or something.)  We only heard Elvis (who appears to have started including Robbie Williams numbers in his reportoire) we didn't see him because we were too busy hiding under the table in case the man from Little Italy looked through the window and saw us cheating on him. La Pergola is very very nice with lovely decor and the food was delish (and the wine! Bellisimo!) and they had a comedy waiter and everything, but once you've got 'your' restaurant it feels a bit naughty eating anywhere else.

Then we came home and took all our clothes off in the hallway. Neither of us remember why.

Ah, love!

And maybe, subconsciously, that's why I took the job in the first place. A student just came in who is leaving university for the same reason I left university. Or she might do - she doesn't know yet. She doesn't know anything, obviously. She didn't even really need to tell me what was happening, but she had to tell someone.

And so I told her what to do, how to get in touch with her personal tutor; where the welfare office was; gave her some forms she might need to fill in (I ought to have done that when I left rather than panicking and legging it. I wish I had told someone at the university. I wish there had been someone there.) And then I had to turn to the next person in the queue and give them their graph paper, and assure the person after that they didn't have any exams in January, and explain to the person after that what the deal is with their council tax. And then I went and sat in the toilets and cried a bit. But I've stopped now and I feel okay(ish) and all the students seem to have buggered off again so I'm going to get stuck into some paperwork.

You forget. How can I say that? But you do, you forget. Then something happens and you remember and you are sad. But then the world keeps turning and the sun insists on struggling up every day and there are more students needing more graph paper and the Xmas decs have to go up and Take A Break will print ridiculous stories no matter if I'm having a bad week or a good week and you do, you push it right to the back of your mind and you don't think about it every second any more.

She looked so young and so sad and so scared. She was the first person to come to me and ask for help. But she won't be the last. That kind of sucks. I hope she gets through it all, no matter what she decides to do.

Oh my, I had a luvverly, blah blah blah.

Things of note for when I read this back in a couple of years time:

On Saturday morning we went to Chris' Place for a fry-up (him - sausage, egg, bacon, beans, tomatoes, mushrooms, black pudding; me - sausage, egg, beans, tomatoes, mushrooms, hash browns, fried bread) and a read of the papers. I eat my Big Seven breakfast very carefully, leaving the fried bread and the egg til last so I can turn it into a greasy yolky sandwich of deliciousness. As I was taking the first bite, I suddenly realised something. I had An Epiphany.

me: [wildly gesticulating] oh my god!!
him: [glancing up from The Guardian] hrrrmm?
me: [spraying crumbs indiscriminately] I think I've worked out The Key To Happiness!!
him: [spearing a mushroom] you have? 
me: Yes, it's like, right - oh god this is fucking lavish this egg - it's like, there's no one big thing. There isn't. The teeny tiniest things make you happy, like this breakfast, or tea at Cafe Rossi, or carrot cake or other non-food-based things like watching You've Been Framed or that woman who sent in her picture to Take A Break cos she looked like Rod Stewart -
him: Bhahahahahaaaaa!! She did look like Rod Stewart!!
me: I know!! I know!! And they print things like that every week - it's only 70p or something - 70p and I laugh out loud each issue. And other stuff like Lush products; marshmallows; dancing in your pants; mix tapes; new shoes; seeing a rainbow; hopping on a Routemaster; funny looking dogs; thinking it's Thursday when it's Friday; talking to your sister; finding a fiver in the pocket of an old jacket; web comics; sunday dinners; smiling at strangers; long baths; good books; nice dreams - did I tell you I dreamed you drunkenly wrestled a mic from Alison Goldfrapp? - and, well, all those things, right -
him: riiiiiight...?
me: yeh, so, all you need to do is have enough GOOD things to balance out the CRAP things. So if a really big crap thing happened, you'd need to do a lot of little fun things, even if you didn't feel like it. Or if something a bit crap happened - like they gave you tea instead of coffee or something - then you just need to call your mum or your sister for a chat or have a bath and chill out or do a bit of a dance in your pants. You know?
him: that's nice dear. Maybe tomorrow morning you can solve World Poverty.
me: you know what? I just might!

But I didn't because I was too busy hunting down The Only Bacon Sandwich In Streatham the morning after.

London Loves was brill brill brill because although I got drunk I didn't get DEERRRRUNNNKKK like I usually do (or maybe I did, but I'd had some tequila - it genuinely does make me happy, it's like the opposite of gin. I know it's psychosomatic, leave me alone.) The music and the company and the dancing was all perfect and I had a lovely lovely time. Aces.

The next day we went for sunday dinner and although there was a brand new baby and I witnessed my boyfriend holding it and cooing at it and tickling its teeny weeny feet I did not lock myself in the toilet and cry or try to sneak it out under my jacket or wrestle him to the carpet shouting 'fertilise me, damn you!' All of which I was half frightened I might. I even touched its fingernails and smelt its head and I was okay. I'm good. I drank a whole box of Australian Chardonnay and spent the entire journey home singing offkey to The Monkees.

Also I learned the absolute best ever thing, which is that the tendency to invent alter-egos and send emails purporting to be from them is genetic. Or at least learned behaviour.  Chauncey's mum totally rocks.

I have got myself inextricably involved with singing carols for cows in the freezing cold tonight. I am such a numpty. Also, I am a bit nervous,  as a) I can't sing for toffee and b) it might just be two of us. Oh well. I always find myself agreeing to what seem like utterly daft and frightening ideas, because I remember when I was 12 or so one of my friends asked me if I'd like to be in a panto with her. I was the most nervy, shy, geeky child but for some reason I agreed. I met my very best friend doing that show, and she was really the only person who got me through my adolescence (she wasn't at my school.) Also, it brought me out of myself a bit and made me think doing drama would be quite fun, and doing drama taught me lots of techniques for dealing with nerves. So tonight will go fine, once I get there and get my carol sheet. And also we'll be raising money to buy some russian orphanage a cow, which will give me a warm glow. As will the mulled wine and mince pies afterwards.

Also, not to self: there was definitely an ovarian twinging last night just before I fell asleep. Admittedly it might just be my reproductive system letting out a sigh of contentment, but I said I would make a note, so consider it made. I think I am ovulating. Stand well back!

have misled you all a little. I wasn't actually carol singing at cows, I was carolling to raise money to buy a cow. In Russia. I wasn't in Russia, I was in the big Sainsbo's in Streatham. It was pretty cool! I am a rubbish singer. My esteemed colleague was thoughtful enough to point this out as we walked down there. Still, I got to stand in the warm singing and he had to take all the shopping home in cold with those funny cheesewire carriers Sainsbo's use so, nerrrrrrrrr.

The time went really quickly. I got there about six and they were halfway through the 25 carols, so we finished up and then ran through them again just singing our favourites. I might not be able to sing, but I had an ace time making as though I could. Luckily all the people there sang in a choir so it was pretty easy just to pretend on the notes I couldn't get to. We got the piss ripped a couple of times by some hoodies but then one gang felt a bit guilty and had a whip round and we got a few squids out of them so that was sweet. The worst thing was probably seeing all the commuters I normally get the train with as I looked seriously uncool in my santa hat, but no matter. The best thing was singing While Shepherds Watched to the tune of Ilkley Moor - try it, it totally rocks! Like this:

While shepherds watched their flocks by night
All seated on the ground
The angel of the Lord came down -
The angel of the Lord came down
And glory shone around
And glory shone around
And gloooooooooooooooooooory shone aroooound!!

See? It's brill that way. I proper belted it out. Yorkshire blood, you see. 

Then we went back to the organisers house for Russian soup, mulled wine and mincers - totally lavish. And to count the cash of course. We got a hundred and fifty six nicker for a couple of hours singing and someone or other said they'd double it so that's... half a cow, I think. Pretty swell. I started getting to think it was quite nice doing churchy stuff again (being from a tiny Yorkshire village, church was an integral part of my life until I was about sixteen. There is nothing else to do) but then when I suggested it was God who'd made it so brilliant everyone looked at me as though I were totally mental. I'm a lot closer to God now I think than when I was part of organised religion. I think everyone thinks my God is too easy and magical and not enough with the smiting. Once it got onto the subject of how English churches were being flooded with Russians and how could a tiny island like ours support them I remembered why I left the church in the first place. I tried saying that plenty of people are leave England too and there's plenty of room for everyone, but no-one was listening to me. So I went home.

Not for the first time this week I was glad to open my door to the sound of jangly guitars and the sight of a blue pair of moccassins hanging off the end of my bed. It was nice to be reminded not everyone in the world is a numpty. I'm off out tonight sans my esteemed colleague (again!) for drinks with my Birkbeck class. Well, five or six of us anyway. I can't decide if I'm looking forward or not - I don't particularly want to drink and I'm still a little tired from last night, but I feel we all should bond more, particularly as we're stuck together for the next two years. Then tomorrow night I'm off to see Hannahaha for dinner and a catch-up and on Fri I'm Reading bound, though I might not stay over, I haven't decided yet. Every time I do I vow I never will again, but T has moved house and it might be quite nice. We'll see.

I do feel eversoslightly guilty that I moved my man into my flat and then have spent about one evening with him. Since we've been living/working together we've had lunch together a couple of times, taken the train home together maybe four times and come in to work together, er, once. So much for living in each others pockets and driving each other mad! Still, it's only the first week, give it a month and we'll hate each others guts, I'm sure...

For the first time in my life I just had to lie backwards about my age.

I have been to Boots for one of their swanky 'wee on a stick and we'll text you if you've got chlamydia' tests.The only trouble is you have to be between 16 and 24 to pick up one of these beauties for free. And utterly unashamed about telling a whole queue of people you've slept around. Okay, that's not true, I waited til the queue had gone and peered up at their big sign and then said 'wait, so it's... free?' In fact, I got through the whole exchange without having to say chlamydia, test, wee, unprotected or sex. Their staff are very well trained and sensitive.

What has worried me though is that I am such a confident and consummate liar. She said, '...and how old are you?' and I said, 'I'm 24,' without skipping a beat. Now I just have to remember to knock a year off when I fill in the returns form. It looks pretty straight forward - wee on the stick when you wake up, give it to them within six hours, they'll test it and text you the results. Bada-bing.

Now let's all cross our fingers and hope I don't have it, okay?