Weeks again.....

Dear Diary,

Oh, what a busy week I've had (well, 4 days). I tell you what, obvious as it sounds, it's so much more fun actually DOING things that sitting around at home all day, reading a book for the 80th time and numbingly searching/applying for jobs online.

Following drunken exploits in 5th Ave on Friday, I semi-hungover-ly made my way to work on Saturday. Tight as it sounds, I'm glad Sam left without a word - I've now got Saturday and Sunday afternoons as a permanent shift (well, for now) and truth be told, I don't really miss her. She was one of those late twenty-something types of women I never really know how to talk to, and who gave me the impression that she never liked me. No loss, really.

Saturday afternoon/evening was fan-fucking-tastic. After the lift home, and not really seeing each other properly for 2 weeks (myriad of factors - auntie's birthday, illness, work, Lady time, etc....) Joe and I spent the evening "re-connecting" as it were. Oh great, I'm talking in therapy-speak. Ah well. Went for an INCREDIBLE meal at a local mediterranean, slightly expensive but worth it beyond all belief. I can highly recommend the Pork risotto - despite the fact that it wasn't actually me who ordered it. But oh my god, there were live guitarist accompanying in the corner, and holes in the walls with candles in them. And a chocolate pudding that melted when you cut into it! Not to mention amazing oh-my-god-I-haven't-seen-you-properly-in-two-weeks! sex back at his. PERFECT evening. At least he isn't ill anymore.

Monday was pretty dull, as per. And once again, for the 4th week in a row, there was a children's gala on at the swimming baths. Oh CURSE those thoughtless halflings interferring with my desire to lose weight! Especially since we ended up traipsing to Pizza Hut instead.

Good news though, Mum's announced that we're all off to the Lakes at New Year, to hang out in a Bunk Barn. You know, to drink, enjoy the good times and be merry with other families/friends. Had no idea this was even planned (apparently it's been booked since January this year) but I've been told to bring Joe, who's well up for it. There are only 3 drawbacks:

1) We are not allowed to sleep in the same bed. Fair enough, as they are bunk beds. But even worse - we have to sleep in seperate allocated rooms, ie: all the men together and all the women together. CURSES!! Have already attempted to devise a way around this...... All advice gratefully received!
2) Joe is unendingly polite (annoyingly so, sometimes). This means, when round at our house, he apologises for so much as setting foot in a room, unless he's been expressely invited by Dad. And he calls everyone "Mr." or "Mrs. " *INSERT SURNAME HERE* It's sweet, I suppose, but how on earth will he cope when there's 40 of us getting pissed, running from room to room and dancing in the lounge?
3) This is a walking holiday. You know what that means. There will be walks. Incredibly fucking LONG ones. Possibly whilst hungover.

So, thus begins the rigorous (and vigorous) mutual promise made last night - that we will strive to either lose weight or at least get marginally fitter before New Year, so as not to humiliate selves or DIE on the long trek round.

My approach to walking is either lag along at the back, away from everyone else (who really wants to walk with a moaner?) grumbling to myself, or to storm on, Ipod firmly buried in ears, keeping my own pace and my own company. Until I'm caught up by one of the enthusiastic adults, taking a sudden interest in "what I'm up to right now." Sweet ball-all is the answer to that, Uncle Graham. As I told you at the last dinner party my Mum threw. And the one before that. But thanks for reminding me of my uselessness!

Tuesday and Wednesday were boring. Tuesday, Damien came round for tea, for the latest round of inter-parental "jokey" put-downs and the usual package of food thrust upon him (I swear, it's like being back at uni, seeing him helplessly accept Mum's prepared food parcels).

Today I went to town with Mum and bought a gorgeous brown low-cut top (the kind you can wear as a top or a dress) and some Armani Code aftershave for Shaun's impending birthday. Chicken in a basket! The AMOUNT of people with September birthdays is MIND boggling!! Had my usual pub shift and was pleasantly surprised with a visit from Alice. And even better - the pub was dead, so she had no leering men to deal with.

Tragically, the Landlady revealed something the other night - apparently it's not just a "dead spell" we've been having recently (3 weeks, at last count). It's hit everybody, it would seem. And not just because of the Recession, either...... according to the Landlady's bleak prediction: "British pubs are on the way out." I protest angrily, saying that it's a tradition, and part of our culture and what makes us Britain. She refuses to believe me. How depressing a thought is that? Can you imagine a rough day without nipping out for a pint after work? Or old men meeting to play cards with their friends? Will they now have to relocate to loud, impersonal, trendy bars just to hang out for a quiet drink? Will we all? Pubs are part of the community, and I find it wildly unfair that such a huge part of the public's lives should be shunted out the way just because of quiet spell.

Having said that, I'd rather be on the other side. I'm getting really fucking fed up of working there at the moment.


xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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