Bank Holiday

Dear Diary,

Bank Holiday was pretty cool. Following on from waking up in a strange bed with a comatose classmate, the day was gorgeously sunny and bright and Mum was away for the weekend. Pottered around all day getting ready and clearing my hangover away with a Subway (this is getting to be a ridiculous habit, I feel) and getting shit together for my trip to Liverpool.
Kyle and I decided the best way to spend Bank Holiday would be for me to go and visit him, get inordinately wasted and buy Tori Amos's new album the next day (it came out last week).

Well, it was fun, I SUPPOSE. The trouble, as is so often the case with nights out that are organised, was that the night ended up being pretty rubbish. It just never really lived up to what it was supposed to be, if you catch my drift. Obviously, whenever you go out in jeans and a t-shirt with one layer of mascara and your hair in a ponytail, you end up having the best night out EVER. Sod's law, I guess. I went out in the Boob Monster and heels (twice in two days, my GOD I'm paying for it now) with about 8 layers of eye make-up and all the bangles my arms can hold. Naturally, our night just wasn't that exciting. We ended up walking fucking EVERYWHERE, were joined by a mutual friend off the course who I secretly don't like (he's an annoying obnoxious prick who seems to think of himself as a fun-loving popular gay man-about-town and takes the piss out of me relentlessly) and Kyle was in a shocking mood all night (boyfriend troubles, apparently).

Ended up taking my shoes off, joining the masses of Scouse girls in their mini-dress and WAG-hair, walking barefoot through the streets, being unable to take the heels-pain any longer. Truth be told, I think there's something strangely sexy about it - these girls walking barefoot after a night out, they're not walking tall in their leg-extenders anymore, but look unusually more alluring than they've looked all night. More human, if you like. They're not just boring beauties all done up, it's like the layers have been stripped away and they're back to the normal girls they were earlier in the evening. This inspired me to do a poem as I walked along, but before I could think about it, Kyle insisted I took his shoes. He walked in his socks. How gallant!

Woke up tangled in sheets on the sofa and lay there for about 4 hours, waiting for his Royal Laziness to get his white arse out of bed so we could get breakfast. Sat on the balcony for a while, listening to my Ipod and gratefully tucking into the sandwich Dad packed me, plus the Quavers and Wispa I found in my handbag (mmmm.... 24-hour booze shop visit....). Joe rang me, sounding badly nervous and (apparently) hoping to get my answerphone. Anyway, we closed on going for a meal on Friday. Woo!!

Finally dragged Kyle out of bed. We went for a fry-up and bought Tori's album, wandering seperately into the store and pretending not to know each other at the counter as we both inquired - so as to spread the Tori-word! Got home and went to see "Angels and Demons" with Dad. Hmmm.... the book was better, but I always marvel at Ewan McGregor. In a cassock too!! Lord have mercy.....

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Current Mood: knackered out
Current Music: "Everybody dance now" - Black Box