Hangover hell. At John's for lunch on Sunday. 2.30pm start - sparkling dry French white - went on from there. Not a drop of water, and many a drop of wine until 10.30pm.

Woke up I felt as if my head was being cleaved in to fine slices. That was at 3am. I think I slept about an hour or so after that.

No Sign Language course again today - starts next week. Sheesh.

Danny's still not returning any of my mails. I wish I wasn't so bloody paranoid. I mean - I have very little understanding of what I'm getting so uptight about. I think it becomes a problem for me after two years (nigh on) sharing the same work space for like, uh, ten hours a day, you end up with a sort of shorthand way of dealing with each other. Without that constant accumulation of experience of someone, I can't get a handle on how everything's going. Three weeks without really talking to each other is a bit freaky. Yes, I do attach myself too strongly to my friends, but you know, it's the way I am, it's the way I've always been. Let me tell you, I'm one hell of a lot better now than I was. But anyway, doesn't stop that yawning gap in your knowledge of how someone is doing when you're used to having a tediously bloated knowledge of how they are. A bit freaky.

BAFTA.

"Let me get some action
From the back section"

Yuss. The perfect late night in the office album. Tired, slightly drunk and writing film reviews. What an idiot.

Did nothing, basically. Meetings all day and the parts of the day I wasn't in meetings I sat like a fucking blanded out moron doing no work. Then went to the pub with Chris and Stef. Oh! My Jakob Neilson came through from Amazon. It's got the worst fucking cover I have ever seen in my life. Genuinely, it would put you off buying it if you saw it in a shop. Hey - maybe that's what they want - so only people who *really know*, man, will buy it.

14.47 BST.
"You remember in the deposition that Miss Lewinsky said she had no sexual relations with you" ...this is the freakiest fucking netTV I have ever seen. "I believe that most American people would think that a sexual relationship involved two people sleeping together".
It's insane. Bringing down a president because he fucked a girl. A girl who initiated contact with the man purely because he was the President. So - he's a weak man willing to give in and feel comfortable with being slack because of power - but for fucks sake. He shagged a young woman. That is it. He has to deal with that, it came in to the public eye. Does that mean he's a liar? Of course it fucking does - what's he going to say, "Oh, yes, her, sure I fucked her in the Oval Office as it happens". This versus Watergate. I mean, they really hate him don't they?
Bloody right wing shysters.

On a different note, I am not pregnant, thank god. I thought I was, being a whacking 6 days late for my usually on the nail 24 days splurge and groaning attack. Funny experience, looking at the stick, waiting to see the colour changes. Somewhere in amongst the clamouring of the different voices is a premonition of the future. A future in which you look at the stick, the two windows get a blue line and instead of that sickening thud of horror you feel a smile broaden across your face at the idea of the life you could be carrying in a month or two. Well, it ain't happening for a while so that's that. I don't know what's wrong though, I mean - I knew there was no physical way I could have been pregnant - no way at all. A week late? A whole week - what the hell is going on with my physiology?

So I've been lazy again. Well, not lazy exactly, just too tired from working here and at home to think about anything at all. Except sleep. A dream: I dreamed that I slept for two and a half months. When I woke, I had only just woken up in the dream, so I felt amazing for the first few minutes. My dreams are shockingly real to me, for the first few seconds I'm awake I usually believe them. An addendum to that dream was, yet again, the idea that I have murdered people in my past. I've had this dream so often now it becomes less improbable in a brief acceptance way when I first awake. The other day it was three people, including Fuzzy, a lad - well, man now I suppose, that I briefly had a strange on-off fling with when we were teenagers. Plus two others. I had killed them, and I had chopped them up, and I *was* close to being found.

I would just like to reassure you that Fuzzy, if he is by some quirk of history, now dead, he was not killed by me. And I don't think I've ever killed anyone. Honest.

The move. Oh GOD. The horror, the horrorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…
Ok. So. We'd been packing up stuff most of last week. You know, coming home in the evening and taking down yet more books, dismantling yet more shelves… not enough. Not enough by a long chalk. Various friends said they would help, that is to say: Paddy dropped out, Becca didn't come, and Stephen could only stay for a while because of his dust allergy. Deary me, I was concerned. That sounds so damn mean… bloody hell… but honestly, I woke up on Sunday morning and my hands were still shaking from Saturday, *then* I had to start all over again! And it was worse!

Danny turned up at about 5pm on Sunday having said he'd come over Saturday afternoon (? Explain that one if you can) and Des had been womanfully helping out all day. Huzzah. Except no one told her to put "This has been left out, therefore it does not need to be packed away in the storage room" on any of the boxes of "surface" shit from the front room - so Kai has lost his diary and his passport (htfdth?)

The new place may well fit the description of "three bedroom house" but in name only. In reality, it's "Storage room so full we can't close the door, front room so small that now we've got it arranged sensibly, you have to sit directly opposite the TV - and I mean with it approximately two feet away from your face; box room we can't fit two desks in to and bedroom that is exactly that - it's a room, it holds a bed in it. End of story. Nothing else. A foot around the edge of the bed. Then the door.". Oh, and a kitchen you can walk in to, walk three steps then turn 180 degrees and walk back out of. JOY!

From Sunday till yesterday we had to clamber over the sofa which was blocking the front door in order to actually get in to the house. We've had to keep all of the windows closed because of the cats, so *that* means that it's dusty as hell. So Kai's got a dust allergy which means that he could do next to no tidying up! He had to sit in the bedroom with the window open and sort through clothes! And by tidying up, I don't mean putting away a few plates, I mean lifting and huffing and puffing a huge amount of crap. The whole of the front room was stacked with boxes.
Bloody, as they say, hell.

But the cats are doing ok - Elliott is sooooo annoyed with monkey it's shocking but there you go.

Stef came back mid-week, going down the pub tonight, a few bits and bobs to over the weekend (try to get the second desk in the box room (yeah, rrrrright), and find all of the damn computer cables) - plus, on Sunday or Monday, gently begin introducing the cats to their new outside environment. And the signing class starts on Monday.