Being good and staying home

Ive been rather TOO well behaved of late. That, and I really cannot be bothered leaving my room when its just wet, and suddenly freezing, and miserable. Productive Saturdays have all but blown out of the window.  Instead I am starting to enter hibernation mode, stay home, get straight into bed, and watch Netflix. This, understandably, does not make for particularly thrilling blog entries.

But thats to say I have thrown all hope of a social life away entirely. Of course I have still been going out for ' just one drink' and five hours later passing out fully clothed on my bed.

There has been fierce debates by the dudes and wearing out my tastecard at Pizza Express. And if fifty per cent wasnt enough, Dean put half the tableware in my bag. Naughty.

I started to get a little socially fatigued at Gem this past Friday. Bruce and I sat nursing out free drinks like spoilt kids, bored shitless. Every Friday at work we listen to Kiss FM which essentially plays a megamix that I can pretty much time my watch to. They play So Solid Crew, and then Fresh Prince of Bel Air, and then Kriss Kross. You get the drift. I started to feel like I was trapped in Groundhog Day; it could have been any Friday in the past year. And then I would end up in Gem, listening to the same songs, drinking the same pink wine. URGH. Thank god my friends are at least interesting to talk to eh?

On Sunday me Erica and Rebecca had a little mooch around Spitilfields and Petticoat Lane, where you can essentially buy clothes from Primark, Topshop and Newlook for cheaps. Oh, and apparently, Tesco, where I brought my coat from last year

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We were only out or a few hours (read: broke as, and it was cold) but its nice to break up a day that would have otherwise been spent in bed with eyes on a screen to get out, get a coffee and a cupcake and do what girls do best: bitch about people we know.

That said, I did come home, eat a pizza and drink cider watching tv. Well....it WAS a Sunday.

So a product of me being at home is actually applying myself to a creative project. I have been bending Alastairs ear for some time, getting him to read my work and give his (brutally honest) opinion when he told me of a site he and his friend have set up called Black Milk - they take new and interesting writers, illustrators, photographers, you name it, and publish their work. Well, apparently I am both new and interesting as Al said he would publish a story if I wrote one. CUE/; MELTDOWN.

I have written on and off for years, but never finished anything, and certainly never showed anyone. Putting my pride to one side, I knocked out a story thats been in my head for some time. Well, chapter 1 at least. The Irish, Erica and Al all helped and encouraged me and it went up on the site last wednesday. its pretty scary having a piece of fiction up - its feels different from crappy blog writing. People will judge you more. Anyway, I since got over that fear. Judge away by clicking here

 If the Carnaby Street christmas decorations dedicated to the Rolling Stones new album wasnt enough, I have just clocked that Oxford Street is sponsored by Marmite. Christmas just died.

Last night I went out with The Irish in Shoreditch where I stupidly matched him beer for beer. What an amateur mistake. I woke up this morning still drunk and couldnt get up for a few hours without my head spinning. Still, excellent night, even if there are huge gaps in my memory- how did I get home again?

Im not sure why he thought he could hide behind a lampost.

The next few weeks look set to be busy: two events on Friday, pub quiz, two sets of christmas drinks with the solicitors, something called bongo bingo, birthday party, christmas parties...yikes. I best detox my liver in preparation!