I've always tried to write honestly, though with an at-times inconvenient conscience that tells me (scarily enough in a voice reminiscent of my grandmother....) that if I can't say anything nice then I shouldn't say anything at all...
So here's my next question - what if you want to say something nice (or ever indeed otherwise...) about someone you suspect reads your silly musings. What then? What if you were, say, hypothetically kissing a lovely boy who, hypothetically, knew about your hypothetical blog and you hypothetically wanted to write about your lovely hypothetical date to the London Zoo last Saturday but kept tripping over the complete head fuck that is writing something that you'd say to their face anyway but then publish online instead? Answer me that. (Not you hypothetical boy. You can find some other blog to read......) Modern forms of communication are just so confusing and socially complicated - the text message, the facebook status, the group email. Oh for the days when someone just asked their friend to ask your friend or even just simply declared their affections on the back of a toilet door....
So yes. Anyway. I went to the zoo last Saturday, walking through Regents Park where the tulips and daffodils are gallantly starting to appear and had a lovely afternoon wandering the zoo proper before wandering the zoo Camden. Meerkats and otters and hippos and lions - and then punks and goths and North London hipsters. Twas a lovely afternoon - even with my snotty nose.
I am so rundown at the moment. I have been sleeping appallingly or not at all thanks to a winning and varied combination of insomnia, stress, a blocked nose, too much diet coke and a too-often inebriated flatmate. I need to move... And medicate perhaps...
You'd think with my new bar job I would be better skilled when it comes to having a lot on my plate. I have yet to drop any plates (or bottles or glasses) at work (I hesitate to say yet) but my jaw did drop yesterday as I walked to the theatre. Blackfriars tube station, where I normally get off, has now been closed until 20forever so I've had to start going to St Paul's tube station. Yesterday was your average pissing down with rain soon-to-be-Spring day but in a brief reprieve at dusk I found myself walking past the cathedral only to see it lit against a breathtaking sky. It was a classic picture postcard moment - as it was again walking past it several hours later drenched in several litres of sodding rain.
I'm really enjoying the job - it's pretty cruisy actually and lovely people. Lots of good looking charismatic gay men and lots of other good looking charismatic sexually-indeterminate men with faux scruffy hair and cool record collections. It's amazing the extent to which charm and a well-timed one liner can compensate for a lack of ability with a bottle opener....
Last night was only my third shift but my first without a hangover - which sounds worrying I realise but last Wednesday night wasn't my fault. Without really going into the particulars, an accidental evening of cocktails and bar trawling (which began innocently enough with pizza and a bottle of pinot grigio) turned Shoreditch into Whoreditch as my lovely friend Cleo and I found ourselves sampling endless cocktails from a series of endlessly dizzying fabulous bars. It goes without saying that I was far from fabulous the next day. Or the day after that.
It's been a while since I wrote myself off like that. I think I really need to start looking for somewhere new to live - one less stress to drink about. I think I also need to go now and blow my nose....
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