Dark Ghana Chocolate Saturday vs my Jeans.

Forgot to mention that Prague does a great line in public loos. Not quite as good as La Paz, but quite a bit cleaner.

The weekend has been the kind that involves wearing no bra, only pyjamas, and eating leftovers, watching extremely bad vampire films and being a bit of a nerd doing proofreading that I have hired myself to do at work. Freelancing for the company is all good, even if we don't pay that well.

Drank too much on Thursday night with James, Dan and so on, and decided when I got to work on Friday morning that, actually, I'd be better off at home so I grabbed a pile of proofs that I'd been avoiding because they were difficult and had a day on the couch in my PJs, getting a remarkable amount done, despite the hangover, probably because I didn't have commissioning editors wandering past asking ridiculous questions about their books. Got the horrible proofs out of the way, which means I can now spend this week concentrating on the other pile of awful proofs that make me want to cry they are so complicated and covered in red pen. Woe is Pen.

One of the extremely young commissioning editors, who stopped asking me if I wanted to get a pint once he discovered that I was, gasp, 30, sent me the spiel he wrote for some educational thingy, on how to become an editor. It has spelling mistakes in it. I am waiting for the opportune moment to point this out.

Friday night was James L's leaving and as my hangover had cleared up I trotted off to quaff shandies with quite a large group of people, loitering in a little cobblestone street, letting Mike and Kruse tell Katie she likes perverts, discussing youporn and the remarkable things you can do with a vibrator and a go cart if you only have the gumption to try. And then it was 8.30pm, which was declared the leaving hour for those I live with and, after a round of shots to farewell James, who had already left (Mike's spectacularly bad timing), we started off for the tube, Kruse taking a champagne bucket, glass and bottle, which is probably stealing, although he had paid for the bottle, so ... We got as far as around the corner before Skye and my bladders had a chorus of 'Full, full', so we ducked into another pub and Skye insisted that we have another round of shots because we used the toilets. Made it to Stratford, having watched Kruse commit a crime by drinking on the tube, and decided it was dumplings for all. Skye and I sort of lost Kruse and Mike at this point - they claim they were being hassled by youths wanting Mike's tie, but, like, whatever. I ordered the Chinese (basically a million dumplings) and then she and I decided we may as well have a pint in the mean time at the pub where we got chatted up this one time and possibly we were hoping the same would happen again. No such luck. We failed to do very well at drinking the pints, as we were too busy talking, so by the time 15 minutes dumpling cooking time had passed we decided to do a Kruse and just walk out with our drinks. Our stolen pint/wine glass collection is coming along nicely. Sadly, having just implied that this is what Kruse does all the time, most of them were taken by me.

And then we went home and ate so many dumplings and then I had to lie on the floor and just loll for a bit, listening to the sweet sound of James Woods and the fat Baldwin kill some vampires.

Saturday involved some Bloody Mary drinking for breakfast and then some nerding out by me and some making of garlic soup and roast lamb and then some eating far too much and wondering why my jeans don't fit so well sometimes as I made chocolate sauce for dessert.

This week's points of doom go out to Angela for sending Kruse a tuckbox from home, which I have eaten a great deal of (caring is sharing), and Ruthie, who sent quite a lot of the same to Skye, Mike and I. Even if she didn't sent Dark Caramel, like I requested, but Dark Ghana instead. And accompanied the stash with a note that reads: 'Share them out in whatever way you think is fair, or share them out in a completely unfair way and then harbour secret grudges against each other - whatever works'.