\Te`di*os"i*ty\

GUESS I WON'T BE GETTING MY TONGUE DONE THIS SATURDAY! GUESS I'LL BE AT THE FUCKING OPEN DAY INSTEAD!

Scuse my language. Rarr.

I'm not entirely sure I can cope in this job for much longer. Nobody listens to anything I have to say, and I happen to think they should. Pearls of wisdom in this head going unnoticed, it's criminal! Oh, they're happy for me to give up my saturdays to stand in the student union on university open days, and they're happy for me to be the dogsbody for every other department remotely linked to student welfare (someone needs an exam scribe? sapped will do it. Yes we pay other students £15 an hour, but she's already employed by the uni, so sapped won't mind going unpaid!), but when did anyone actually last look at my job description? I'd quit, but they keep me in shoes.

Well screw them all. I took friday off claiming a family emergency, and goddammit I went shopping instead. And had a haircut. Feeling flush, I opened a storecard, and boy did I felt spiffy when it was approved! (Sorry mum, that'll be arriving on your doorstep in about 5 days time, feel free to go pay it off for me!). Then, I decided to actually go home after all, and get fed and watered for the whole weekend! I didn't feel guilty, it felt goooooood.

Friday night I sat on the computer all night, drinking unchilled white wine from a large goblet. I also did this saturday night, except saturday I chose rose as my tipple of choice. I spent a large proportion of the night crying about her and talking about her (to someone else I rather care about), because I realised how things should've been between us. I thought she should have been more aware of my feelings about things. I thought she should have been more creative. I thought she should have indulged me when I spaced about about how beautiful something was or some scenery, instead of pulling me away from the riverbanks and the cliffs saying she was getting bored. I realised what I should have had, and what I want to have, and, if some things were different, what I could have.

Then as I lay in bed I felt I needed to go back online and take it back. She was creative. She loved graffiti art. She loved photography. She loved to lay on her back and take photos from stupid angles of buildings and trees. I didn't want to take a photo and leave these things, I wanted to sit by them forever. She wanted to take in as many as possible and remember it all with photos she had taken. We may not have seen things the same but that's no reason to disparage how she saw them. And I'm sorry, I take it back. She may not have liked the same music as me but she could get just as passionate about it. She would get lost in her Brasilian CDs and think of her real home and I didn't understand that. She loved the Beatles and samba and rap. I didn't. Conversely, I'm now angry that she started to love the same music I do, and is now developing a relationship with her new bit of stuff based on those interests. We saw things differently, and I didn't understand much of her world just like she didn't understand mine, and I'm so, so sorry, I take that back.

I still think you're a lying coward that needs to grow some balls to go with the strap on you bought your new girlfriend before you even dumped me. I don't take that back.

Monday night's Poof Trip to the Pub has resulted in the following: I present,

Life Affirming Decisions #3

I will stop waiting for her to send my stuff back like she said she would, and get on with doing hers, because I need the room for my shoes.

I will stop drinking a bottle of wine every (other) night.

I will stop worrying about what will (or more to the actual problematic point, what will not) happen with someone I am rather caring about. This is not because I'm terrified of her girlfriend. It is because I need to stop planning and worrying about things I cannot control.

I will be going into town on saturday, and having my tongue repierced. I never wanted to take it out in the first place, and shouldn't have listened to those who thought, and convinced me, it was 'time'. I'll have to tell the office I've had a filling of course, to explain the Jamie Oliver sounds I'll be making. But goddammit they can fuck off.

You can hold her hand
And show her how you cry
Explain to her your weakness so she understands,
And then roll over and die
You can brave decisions
Before you crumble up inside
Spend your time asking everyone else's permission
Then run away and hide

Or you can sit on chimneys, put some fire up your ass
No need to know what you're doing or waiting for
But if anyone should ask
Tell them I've been licking coconut skins
And we've been hanging out
Tell them God just dropped by to forgive our sins
And relieve us our doubt

Oh you can hold her eggs
But your basket has a hole
You can lie between her legs and go looking for...
Tell her you're searching for her soul
You can wait for ages
Watch your compost turn to coal
Time is contagious
Everybody's getting old

So you can sit on chimneys, put some fire up your ass
No need to know what you're doing or looking for
But if anyone should ask
Tell them I've been cooking coconut skins
And we've been hanging out
Tell them God just dropped by to forgive our sins
And relieve us our doubt

Last night, I dreamt I went on a trip to France. I did not recognise a soul in my dream, apart from one person, who I actually haven't met yet, although it was nice to dream about her nonetheless, as I then woke up to 3 messages from her.

Anyway.

After arriving in France, naturally the first thing I did was go with everyone else to the nearest discotheque to collect our French mobile warranties (stay with me). I pushed my way through the heaving mass of bodies to get to the bar.

"Samsung? Non. We have had trouble with our international supplier. We cannot supply you with a Samsung warranty today"
"What? How long have you known this? I booked this trip 6 months ago, and you only tell me now that I've reached the front of this queue?"
"Madam, there is no need to get aggressive-"
"-I'm not getting aggressive! I'm a dissatisfied customer, that's all!"

Cue burly black security guard.

"Did a member of staff say aggressive? Are you being aggressive? Come with me". And he picked me up and carried me off, not before I heard the Warranty Maid mutter something about me having "the sort of behaviour you would expect from clerical staff". "I'M NOT CLERICAL STAFF!" I yelled. No one cared.

The security guard proved quite nice. He picked me up so he could scan my finger tips on his electronic scanner on the wall, and politely informed me I was barred from the establishment. Then he offered to carry my bags while I went to check in. Not before having a quick trip to the local hypermarket, which turned out to be as big as my desk here at work, but Burly did offer to carry my many bottles of lemonade back to the hotel. The receptionist decided to attempt to fellate him instead of checking my passport, so I kicked her. Room 750! 

We set off up the 14 flights of stairs to room 750, me struggling to carry a single bottle of lemonade and my warranty-less mobile. Opened the door, and who should be there but the only other person I recognised, who I actually haven't met yet, although it was nice to dream about her nonetheless, as I then woke up to 3 messages from her. I said that already didn't I?

And then the door shut behind me, and I woke up, and text her back. An eventful 2am.

I would like to move away from the exciting and fast paced world of Student Financial Matters and become a zoo keeper. Or run a pet shop.

Now I just need someone to arrange this for me.

Bzzzzz, beep.

'I've got 2 pairs of your pyjama bottoms and those slobbing trousers i bought you from gap here. Could I maybe send you them?'

'Sure if you want to, obviously your new bit of stuff is going to be needing the drawer space. You don't mention the top I slept in, will you be keeping that as a reminder? No hurry though. I have a large pile of your stuff here, do you want it?'

'Ummmm what is there? Is there a lot?'

'I'm not sure, I haven't looked at it for months, [Flatmate] shoved it all in bags for life a) because I couldn't get off the floor with grief, b) I was shouting something about lighter fuel, and c) she's a much neater packer than me, and it's been behind my door since.'
 
'Well I was just wondring how much there was, to save you postage'

'Well I'd ask you to pay for it but seeing as I owe you £300 I won't mention that Well I don't think I'm going to be able to go through yet, not on my own anyway. So there we go. The thought of handling your clothes that probably still smell of you and have random hairs on them is too hard.'

'That's cool, i'm not in a rush for it'

And so the pile remains...

I quote Jeremy Vine, Radio 2 presenter, about twenty minutes ago:

"There are street riots in India, protestors are burning effigies of the organisers of Big Brother".

Really though, talk about an overreaction.

Take away the colour of Shilpa's skin and her accent and she remains a very patronising woman with an extremely high opinion of herself. Call it culture shock if you will - I call it 'these people don't worship me like they do in India' syndrome.

I do not, however, dispute that the other three women involved in the are all vile beyond words and nasty pieces of work. But this isn't racism. Shilpa didn't cook a chicken properly and didn't take kindly to this being pointed out, despite her giving everyone a bad stomach.

There is NOTHING for them all to do in there. They're bored. And all girls. And another girl has pissed them off. They are going to bitch, and it is going to escalate, and others will get involved, and she will become victimised. This happens in schools, colleges, workplaces everyday, across the whole country. Her being Indian has very little to do with it - it is just an aspect to her that is easy to focus on and use as a bitching tool. Did I mention they're all rough as a yardbrush and she's stunning? This is a competition!

'Poor' kids at school always smelt, remember? Did anyone actually bother to smell them?

Woohoo! A decision! I MADE ONE! ME! Well, almost.

Come April, my rent will be fully paid up until June 30th. Therefore I'm going to be working, but paying no rent or bills, for 3 months. I'm also going to find a weekend job, and I've been putting away £10 a week since December (it'll add up eventually). Come June 30th, I shall leave Hull, and go on an adventure, which will either involve a very last minute ticket to anywhere (cheap), with a bag, traveller's cheques and a Barclaycard, or I might blow the money on a ticket to New Zealand and go live with the rellys out there for a little while. The only risk withthat scenario is having no money once I'm there and becoming a babysitter for my cousins every weekend. But they have a boat. A boat!

It all seems so obvious now! Why didn't I think of this before!?

Where should I go?

1. Are you going to heaven or hell?
Purgatory, endless Limbo. Story of my life.

2. Would you want a trick or a treat?
Treat me. Trick me and it shall be your last act, small child.

3. Do you wear silver or gold jewellery?
Being allergic to rubbish, it's white gold for me.

4. Politically would you have been a Cavalier or a Roundhead?
I'd have been the peasant that nicked the money bags of the dead and prised out their gold teeth.

5. Which do you prefer, dogs or cats?
Dogs, who can actually prefer a creature that holds you in utter disdain?

6. Which would be your takeaway of choice - Chinese or Indian?
Chinese, bring on noodle heaven.

7. Have you angels or demons?
DEEEEMONS!

8. Do you prefer electric or acoustic guitars?
Acoustic

9. Would you like a fast car or motorbike?
Fast car. With heated seats. Acceleration makes me horny.

10. Do you watch TV or listen to the radio?
8 hours at work listening to Radio 2. 6 hours at home watching Channel 4.

11. Are you a sinner or a saint?
A saintly sinner. Always the quiet ones.

12. Do you prefer football or rugby?
Rugby has NO RULES! I don't get it AT ALL! I don't like either.

13. Do you think with your head or your heart?
Heartheartheart.

14. Are you using a laptop or PC?
PC at work.

15. Would you rather be married or single?
Single in long term relationship that won't end. Figure that one out.

16 Do you believe in resurrection or reincarnation?
Give me proof. Ditto deities and aliens and krakons.

17 Are you more at home on the land or on the sea?
Land. Lacking in the fins and gills department.

18 Do you prefer to see the sunrise or sunset?
Sunset, day over, chalk it up.

19 Do you drink pints or shorts?
Cheap white wine, duh

20 Do you like members of the opposite sex hairy or shaven?
Wow...I'm so not answering this question

DVDs, CDs and clothes. I don't give a shit, just keep them. I would prefer it if you wanted to keep memories and reminders of our time together, but if Shrek 2 is more important, you're welcome to it. Shrek 2 just makes me think of going to see it with you and sneaking into another film as soon as it finished and then going down on you in the toilets afterwards. So keep it. I don't care.

I'm on the 5th floor of the Brynmor Jones University Library, Hull. I am surrounded by students and books, and shelves I have endlessly paced for the past three years. The view is exactly the same from any of the three sides available to sit at. The Humber Bridge is still there. The only differences are that the book I am reading is one of my own, the computer I'm using is a new shiny black one (as they all appear to be - what a waste of money, UPDATE THE SHAKESPEARE AND JACOBEAN DRAMA SECTIONS!), and that I am no longer a student, and I rather miss it actually.

I've lately dallied with the thought of doing a MA in Nineteenth Century Studies - my favourite period to study - but doing this has a few barriers: One, I'm not entirely sure there's a great call for it in the workplace. Two, that would mean having to find somewhere to live, staying in Hull, and paying over £2500 for the privelege. Three, I don't have £3200 to pay for the damn thing in the first place. As a Student Finance Adviser, I would recommend myself to consider doing it part time, or not at all. Maybe for once I should take my own advice. 

Have just been speaking to Ex Girlfriend online for a while. Found it quite easy. Talking perfectly normally. Getting to the 'Well that's not like you, I remember you being like that, jolly laughter all round!' stage. No bad feelings, I didn't care a jot, until she told me about the 5 gigs she was going to this year. Perhaps I should've risen above it but instead I told her that I didn't want to hear about anything They were going to do together, ever. Of course, then she had to go. I've no doubt I'm blocked. I think that's all I'm bothered about actually. Rejoice!

Been a while since a fishy update. The tank politics are becoming unbearable. Juliet has revealed her true machiavellian colours. She is a biter. Alan looks a bit worried all the time. Maddy looks pissed off. Juliet just looks pleased with herself. Who needs TV?

...that my snot is neon green, and my nose is flaking, requiring an hourly smearing of Savlon.

Great stuff.

What would be your first act as ruler?
Channel an enormous amount of expenditure into researching a cure for the common cold. It's out there somewhere. Kryptonite-esque.

Who would you banish?
John McCririck. This man is surplus to the nation's requirements.

Who would you give a knighthood to?
Bill Bailey.

Where would you build your palace?
On a rather sexy bit of British coastline that takes away the breath of all those lucky enough to view it from my roof, before I chuck them off the edge.

Who would you put in the Tower of London?
Janet Street Porter. See Q2.

What law would you abolish?
Paying for higher education. I'd put everyone to manual labour anyway.

What law would you introduce?
Free gastric band operations, in return for 1 year of servitude in my kitchens, as a test of commitment to long term weight loss. My kitchens would be full of lovely temptations. 1 lapse = 1 extra month.

What building would you have demolished?
Hull.

Took the day off work yesterday. My illness is undiagnosed, but I have heard the term Commoner's Colde, and 'Influenza', bandied around my sick bed in hushed, uncertain terms. On my apothcary's advice I took to my bed at the first symptoms, the like of which include Violente and Volatile rushes of air and bodily humours from the nasal cavity. Such terrible afflictions are upon me, but I shall bear them bravely, and suffer a day of labour, the martyr'd trooper that I am.

One did quaff a bottle (and extra glass) of cheap Chardonnay monday evening, but this had no bearing on the terrible pressure in my skull the next day. Haven't you seen the Sudafed advert? It's not snot - yuk - it's the actual size of my nasal passages.

On monday night's usual pub trip with Poof #1 we were accompanied by Poof #2, recently dumped, in a significant state of shock, and requiring consolation in the form of two bottles of wine and chocolate fudge cake. I made him go through his phone and delete all the messages from the recent ex, explaining that they were just pixels forming words that now mean nothing at all. Perhaps quite hypocritical of me, given that 3 months after the event of my own dumpage I still had a folder of messages from Ex Girlfriend, half of which I'd been transferring from phone to phone for over two years. Note the word 'had', as this was duly discovered by the Poofs, given my known tendancy to do this. That and I left my phone on the table while I went to the bar, and they're nosy bastards. Cue sudden hysterical sobbing from our end of the bar while I read them all aloud for the first time in months. Select, delete, Delete Folder and all its Contents? Ok. Sob. More cheap wine, and a snog from Poof #2, which was marvellous as always, long overdue, and savoured. Plus, it got him over the hurdle of First Kiss as a Dumpee, even if it was with a lezzer.

I have managed to catch up on my sleep, and for the first time in a week had more than 4 hours in one night. There are various reasons for my sleeplessness of late - namely a chocolate pit, a portal, a Vauxhall Corsa, fish food, snuggles and late night incantations - but I won't be going into that right now, as lovely as it all may be.

I'm 2 hours into my working day. Thus far, I've taken a file out the filing cabinet to retrieve a bank statement for a student, noticed she was awarded over £2000 from a hardship fund by mistake, and kept quiet about it. Piping up may mean making calls.

Surely another productive day ahead of me. I shall spend it clicking back to a spreadsheet whenever the boss walks past, sniffing, and watching the clock to time the next Lemsip perfectly. And I'll do some thinking. Lots of thinking. Won't be going into that right now either.

• Turned on computer.
• Forgot passwords...
• ...
• Logged into Academic Systems.
• Did nothing with this.
• Checked emails.
• Ignored emails.
• Had a 20 minute meeting of nothingness.
• Called boss a miserable bastard.
• Logged into Messenger.
• Wrote a letter to a student implying they are commiting benefit fraud.
• Re-checked student's bank statements.
• Cursed the efficiancy of the postal service in this place. Wrote an apologetic letter.
• Had a mocha.
• ...
• ...
• ...
• Messenger
• ...
• ...
• ...
• Checked clock again
• ...
• ...

Productive day. 44 minutes to go. Good to be back.

she says:
i love mens reactions to toys
like my flatmate came into my room to sort out rent, and i forgot to .. tidy up.. some stuff
he got all jittery and left quickly
i says:
i want to live somewhere where i can strew them all over my room like ornaments
must rock for guys to live with a lesbian in a relationship when living with men and having the other half around
i always half expect them to invite themselves in and ask if we need a hand
they'd panic and run away
or end up feeling totally useless and leaving
even better
theyre so not needed to have hot sex
there is only one unique thing they can do. and that is the only thing that is specifically not hot.
tis true
it can be transformed into hot if you remove the man and replace with woman and strapped on bit ooh yeah
less chance of pregnancy also
significantly so
that really is all they're needed for
poor creatures
they must be getting pretty worried
i mean.. sex is clearly better without them, and all sorts of gadgets are replacing them in the homeand we're taking over the workplace
and the road too now apparently
we have dogs for company
and cats
and fish
and we have girls
lord, they really arent needed
unless you're a gay male, then you'd be pretty depressed if all the men disappeared
but if women didnt need men would they all turn to each other?
they should
they could have mass orgies like greco-roman times
we should put all the men including gay men into one big country and women can have the rest
i actually dreamt last week that i found a portal into a purely lesbian world
it rocked
it's out there somewhere
BANGOR!
hah!
it's in a sandy cove somewhere

So now you know. Do all keep a lookout for this portal won't you? Cheers!

Gosh I REALLY don't want to go back tomorrow. Not just because I have to go back to work on Monday (yes, yes, a week later than everyone else, yes I'm lucky to have had all this time off, blah blah BLAH! It's not the point!). The HE Institution That May or May Not be Hull University is a boring, routine and thankless place to work =(

I've been trying to find another job, but Hull is not the opportunity capital of Britain. To put it mildly.

When I get back the first thing I will see is all her stuff still piled up behind my bedroom door and on top of my wardrobe. Box upon box of photos, cards, presents, toys, knick knacks, jewellery, her clothes, her books, CDs I can no longer listen to, CDs she made me, her shampoo, her razor, her hair bobbles, her dressing gown, her towels. Everything. She doesn't want it back, I don't want to get rid of it.

I was awake until 4am last night crying, because I don't know what to do. In the end I fell asleep and dreamt that I took it up there, stopped her on the train platform where she waits to go home from work, left her with it, told her it was nice to see her, that I missed her, and went to wait for the train back down.

This plan would work, if it were not a 12 hour return trip. I would not want to bed down in Glasgow central station. Shudder.

I want a fresh start but can't kick myself into doing it.

On another note, today I spent half an hour trying to find the perfect fish tank ornament. Something tasteful, as I don't like tacky tanks. Something they could hide in, but not restrict their swimming room. Practical and functional.

After going through 3 boxes of natural rock and shelf after shelf of shitty plastic crap, all ridiculously priced (justify charging £13.99 for a pirate sat on a rock?!), I found The One. A 46p clay plant pot.

They're yet to use it, but Fish Boy assures me this is normal. Alan has headbutted it a few times though.

I stood and watched the tropicals for some time. I want a shoal of Blue Lumphead Cichlids in a tank with a violet background to bring out their colour. Gorgeous. One was transfering all the gravel from underneath a rock to another corner of the tank, and any fish that tried to get under his rock got butted. I liked this fish. According to that site they are "Territorial, nage souvent en groupe dans la zone libre, le mâle est polygame". Oui oui. I'd also like a large tank of Mollys in these specific colours. Beautiful.

NANA NANA NANA NANA NANA NANA NANA NANA, FISH GEEK! FISH GEEEEK! FISH GEEEEEEK!

At 2am last night I developed the mother of all sore throats, something I tend to do once a month. Strepsils are useless to me now - they don't take away the pain, and make me feel sick when I inevitably overdose on them.

Down with modern science. I need some tried and tested remedies that get rid. Any old crones with generations of mystical knowledge out there? Ease my suffering, I beg of you.

...title is pretty self-explanatory really.

I'm bored with my life. I'm pretty much at a point I could move anywhere. Hull is wearing me doooown, man. I'm sure I needn't explain how and why, anyone in any way familiar with the place or it's reputation should know why.

My home town is Grimsby. Ditto above.

Wales is pretty and is reeeeaaaallly far away. Manchester has gaydom and isn't TOO far away...

Achievable?

Cheers Sixpence!

I am... uncomprehendingly dissatisfied with my life.
I will... go feed the fish in a minute. 
I want... to be able to stop eating these Celebrations. They're rubbish anyway. Heros are better.
I see... a large to-do list, or three.
I need... a drink.

Hmm. There we go.

I tag...
FunkyFarmer
Jackopus
Nathan1
ThePigg
Znethru

Courtesy of MSN News:

"Eight dangerous dogs have been seized by Merseyside Police in a series of raids across the region.

It is believed some of the dogs, which were all pitbull terriers, were being trained to participate in underground dog fights.

The raids on Wednesday follow the death of five-year-old Ellie Lawrenson, who was mauled by a type of pitbull terrier at her grandmother's home on Monday.

Six of the dogs were taken from an address in St Helens, the town where Ellie died, and two from an address in Widnes.

Inspector Ian Whitfield of Merseyside Police said that in addition to the six animals found in St Helens, police also seized a collection of protein dog food supplements.

He said that one animal had its ears trimmed back, a "common occurrence" in dogs bred for fighting.

Officers staged the raids after a tip-off from a member of the public.

Insp Whitfield said the dogs were now being held by police and inquiries were ongoing to decide whether their owners would be prosecuted."

Inquiries are ongoing to decide whether the owners will be prosecuted?

The dogs are illegal. Dog fighting is illegal. The dogs should be immediately destroyed before they kill someone else or have the opportunity to rip each other apart, and the owners jailed. And for more than 6 months, which is an insult to that beautiful little girl's memory and her family.

Why do we have to live in such an ineffectual country? I despair of this place, I really do.

Frustrated and annoyed at Party Fish Boy's lack of texts following our 'date', come midnight I decided to torment Manchester Boy, who is desperately in love with me, and has been for years. I could not be less interested, but it is amusing to torment him nonetheless. Especially as he knows I'm doing it on purpose. All I had to do was send a photo of my boobs. Tastefully done, naturally. Nothing to be seen. Did the trick though, kept him amused until about 1.30am, after which I ignored his desperate messages and slept as soundly as the proverbial baby, guilt free, devoid of any resentment towards Party Fish Boy as I knew how annoyed Manchester Boy was.

Interestingly, they have the same first name.

I haven't thought about Ex Girlfriend today. Up until now.

But after her text last night, now I can't stop thinking about Ex Ex Girlfriend. Sigh I still miss her after 4 years. Damn our enduring friendship making it SO diffcult for me to drop my overwhelming need for her love into casual conversation.

I'm sure there's a classification for someone like me, probably in a dictionary of psychological terms.

Enough with this nonsense! A husband I must find!

I've put a liddle home movie of the goldies in my media. I can't resist introducing you all properly. It's terrible quality, curtesy of my mobile.

Alan is the big red Mo Fo, perpetually hovering around the front of the tank awaiting The Feed. Maddy is the lemon one. She's gentle and lovely. Juliet is the whippet-slender creature following Maddy about.

I promise I'll stop talking about them. Soon. I promise.

Number of dieting adverts counted: 6

Number of bags of Sensations Peking Duck flavour crisps eaten: 1

Number of Celebrations eaten: 8

Number of guilty moments: 24

Number of texts from Manchester Boy who is in love with me but won't leave me alone despite my requests to the contrary: 6

Number of texts from Party Fish boy: 0

Number of Ex Ex Girlfriends (the One you NEVER get over) telling me she needs to talk as she's now single and depressed and I know her better than anyone: 1

Feelings resurfacing: Innumerable

First, a fishy update. Juliet has been shunned. She floats about one end of the tank while Alan and Maddy perform water aerobics at the other. She seems quite depressed actually. I hope she doesn't die a recent-pet-shop-purchase death.

So, Male Fish Party Friend calls me at 5.30pm and asks if I'm ready with my list of Shakespeare names to name his 50 fish. Oh yes, I say, very ready. Great, he says, he'll pick me up at 7pm. I swear there was something flirty in his voice. Action stations. Spruced myself up, even putting my expensive perfume on. 6.30pm, I was ready, and sat expectantly in the window.

He arrives! Anticipating a late evening, I yell to mum I'm off to the pub (if I told her I was going to see a fish tank in the hope of securing myself a husband, she'd probably have me committed). Hop in the car. Talk about how work went for him today. Lots of laughing. Get to his house. Sit in his living room. Really do look at the fish, for they are beautiful creatues, and the baby ones are adorable, about 5mm long but perfectly formed, named quite a few...I digress.

So we talked fish. And looked at them. Lots of talk about their mating rituals and how they actually go about doing it. But didn't look at each other. And then he said: "Let's go see your goldies". I mean, really? He wanted to go look at my goldfish? But hey, as you know by now, any excuse to talk about my goldfish...! So back we got in the car. Back to my house. Back to my confused mother who had said goodbye half an hour ago.

We talked and admired goldfish. I won't repeat those bits. Although he agreed Jules looked a bit low.

"Well", he said, "I suppose I better be getting off, some studying to do". We had one of those standing by the back-door moments, where you don't want to open the door because it's like kicking someone out, but you don't want it to get to the point that they're looking at the handle. I think I got the balance right.

With promises on both sides that when I'm over this side from Hull next we must go to the pub, that he's around until August before his branch send him off somewhere in the generic north of England, we simply must go to the pub. Lots of hesitant pauses and looking at each other. I imagine he was wondering why I was staring at him so much.

No kiss, no wedding, no husband, no life. Damn him!

Thank GOD for that, £2.73 is a small price to pay to be rid of those flaming ads!

So ends another day. Night night.

Meet Juliet, the comet shubunkin!

Best I could do, she wouldn't keep still. She's a tiny little thing and I will NOT be surprised if Alan has murdered her while we sleep. She seems to have taken to Madeleine and follows her around a lot, which is nice.

Today I have been wined and dined by the Gay Boyfriend at an all you can eat Chinese buffet. Nice. I also purchased two M&S bras in the sale for £9 each, reduced from £20. This is the Bargain of the Year and I will not beat it.

Male Party Friend has invited me round tomorrow night to look at his tank and baby guppies. I showed him a picture of Juliet and he thinks she's lovely.

So the question now is: how do I seduce this man into marriage? And what else can we talk about for the next 25 years if not fish and tank set ups and ammonia test kits and fin rot? I'd look to my own parents for inspiration and guidance, but all they've talked about for at least the last 10 years is what channel to watch and where to go on holiday. Nevertheless, this is the normal life I long for and plan to procure for myself 24 hours hence. Then all my worldly problems will be solved. Won't they?

An important announcement.

I may buy a new Julian today.

Nothing will help me move on more than a replacement for the fish that never was.

Story of my life!

I shall try and find a calico common and name her Juliet.

If I don't find the perfect fish, I shall be coming home empty handed, apart from a bottle of dechlorinator and bag of bloodworm. Yum.

I depart on my adventure....now!

We were together 2 1/2 years in a very intense and close relationship. Then in the space of 2 weeks we had broken up, on what I thought was a temporary basis to clear our heads. And then I found out she had started seeing someone else. I found photos of them together from a month before. She didn't even confess when I asked her.

It sounds trivial, but this is the third time it has happened to me and I was - I still am - absolutely devastated that she could treat me in such a way, after being the one who put me back together after the second time it happened. I haven't handled it very well. She was my best friend and I currently feel very lonely and, well, sapped. But people think I'm ok because I put my gladrags on and have a drink and make them laugh.

But, I haven't cried since Christmas day. Chin up and all that.

This is the problem with lesbian relationships. They're intense and painful and bittersweet throughout, but they keep you coming back for more. Straight relationships are a rollercoaster, I don't deny that, I've been there - but there isn't the added complication of you knowing exactly how your girlfriend is thinking and feeling, because you're a girl too. Men are blissfully ignorant in that department. Hence why I want to marry one.

Something wonderful happens when you play Damien Rice's 'Sleep Don't Weep' from the 9 album and 'Cold Water' from the O album. Sound amazing together.

If anyone wants me to fall in love with them then take me to see him live. Every hair on end, tears in my eyes. The levels of energy and passion in his lyrics and music are incredible. Lisa Hannigan is beautiful. I love this.

I made my younger sister watch that and told her the effect it had on me. She said she felt the same when she went to see Kelly Clarkson. Seriously, there just aren't enough curses in the world for that comment.

i want you here tonight, i want you here
cause i can't believe what i found
i want you here tonight want you here
cause nothing is taking me down
except you my love

except you my love

Oh my word.

I barely thought of her all night.

There was one instance. I think I muttered something about so much being able change in two years, before loudly declaring that I didn't care anymore, time to move on.

I'm not sure if I was trying to convince myself at that point, or if it was more the benefit of Male Party Friend. A desperate act.

I'm scared I'm going to get over her quicker than I want to. Desperation and heartbreak are my bread and butter, they get me through each day. If I do ok one day, it's a reason to congratulate myself.

I can't depend on her to make me feel real anymore, so now I need to depend on the mess she's left behind in order to feel anything at all. Otherwise I'll end up feeling numb and void, which scares me. I don't like it when I'm there.

Don't like feeling this way. I'm opening a tin of Cadbury's Heroes. I will not think of her.

Happy New Year, everyone! Best wishes for a happy and prosperous 2007!

Argh, no, I can't do it, I can't even keep a straight face as I type it! Everyone please calm down, the world is just as shit as it was 24 hours ago, if not worse, as it is now January - shudder.

I did in fact end up going to the pub last night. At about 9pm I realised that I was sat watching Heartbeat with my parents and silently wanting to slit my wrists. Half an hour later, primped and preened with spangles, make-up and a perma-smile plastered on (tears of a clown and all that), I had a glass of wine in my hand. Again. Now I'm not saying I drink a lot, but I do have it on good authority that the staff behind the bar, upon being made aware of my arrival, went to get more bottles of the medium white. Well, poo on a stick in their faces, I was only there 2 and a half hours, I'm not a fish.

Speaking of which, I'm not allowed Julian. We are to be parted forever. I'd even set up an antibacterial quarantine bucket for him. Farewell my love. Should we ever by chance meet again, I'll be sure to surreptitiously scoop you from your watery world of doom into a medium food bag and whisk you away to a better place, even if that place is Hull.

And speaking of a love of fish, the old school friend from the party the other night was there too. Ok, maybe the reason I ended up going may have been due to him texing me at about 8.30pm that he'd be there. The final shove to get me off the sofa and away from Heartbeat.

I don't know what's the matter with me. I'm becoming fixated that the only way I'm going to be happy is to finally be done with girls, who have always broken my heart and destroyed me for years and years. I should find a bloke, and get married. I seem to have decided that this fellow shall be the one. Perhaps that's why I came on a little too strong. I didn't throw myself at him, just demanded a kiss at midnight, which may have scared him a little. Everyone else was doing it. Apparently it's a tradition. My only new year's eve tradition is an Indian takeaway and beer - perhaps it was my breath that scared him?

Everyone else was part of a couple, so I was stood by him all night. We rowed over who was going to the bar next, whether or not it was too girly for him to look after my handbag while I fought my way to the loo, and who should get to wear the one remaining party hat - which, in the tickle battle that followed, ended up ripped into pieces, which I claimed as my own and shoved down my top. My victory was shortlived, as he duly retrieved them (I was agog - boys never do that! The failsafe had failed me!). For a couple of hours I felt like I was in a normal relationship, with someone I haven't spoken to for years, and have seen twice in one week. On both occasions I behaved like an alcoholic. I know I have an obsessive personality but even I can see it's ridiculous.

I don't imagine he's naming our second born yet either. The first born is 4 or 5 now. He did insist on walking me home again though. (Did he insist?)

I know I over compensate for my nerves and depression by being bossy. I'm not sure he liked it. He also agreed that my love of naming things after Shakespeare characters was boring. Not a good start.

But, if we're to be married, he better get used to it.