I seem to have been a trifle slack over the past few weeks. No one complained, however, so I didn't do anything about it.
I've had the flu. This has been a particularly unenjoyable experience and has not made me deliciously thin, as so often happens in books. If anything, appetite has gone beserk but, interestingly, only for things savoury. Had very strange week of not wanting any chocolate at all. Was obviously very ill, indeed.
Have had some stranger than usual dreams lately, as well. The best (or worst) involved Chook and me being very fat, naked and hanging out with a talking pig. Last night's dream, where Justin and I were dancing to Milli Vanilli and enjoying it, was much less stressful.
Have celebrated two 36ths and one leaving party in the past few weeks and probably overindulged slightly in the drinks department. During one such evening, Skye and I managed to get off the tube at the wrong place, losing Kruse and Mike, so when we eventually got to Stratford we decided, in our slightly boozed state, that we should not go straight home, where they would very likely gloat about the fact that we made a navigational boo boo, but instead go to the local. This proved to be a brilliant move for our egos, as people tried to chat us up. Hugely cheered by this we charged home and proceeded to have a few more drinks, which in retrospect was not a good idea. Sore head in the morning.
The weather has not been particularly clement. Sometimes it looks as thought it might be and you get all excited and go outside and then find out that it's exceptionally cold and the bra you are wearing shows your nippples.