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26th June 2000 Monday, 18:00 exactly.

Found a fiver on the floor. Cool. 

Went back up to Edinburgh over the weekend, you may have gathered. First, Taxi train, reserved seat, found with minor hassle,  considering I had two massive bags full of clothes. Then, actually, think I might have a bath, if I can find my razor. And if . Oh? Done anyway, couldn’t be bothered shaving my legs, so the giant inflamed <thing> on my leg didn’t come into the equation. 

After sitting next to really smelly old guys on the train, one of whom took like five hours to get up and down, and whome I made get up and down to let me get to the toilet, then when I was back in, somebody clapped when he managed to get up, someone in the party of english twenty somethings females who were going up to scotland with their token scottish friend. I don’t care if you highlight it in green. Got up there, Mum was pissed cos of some stupid thing I won’t put in here so I’ll forget it. Then laxed around all Friday night, doing nothing much. Feeling sorry for myself because I dropped all my CD’s and Godel Escher Bach on the pavement when the backpack opened of it’s own accord, and I had to pick em all up, mud sodden, and so far missing the Mum CD. Spoke to Jame a wee while after that, then made a bit of a cock up when exiting the turnstile, thinking he was going somewhere lese, I said bye and he walked along with us for a few yards. Whoops. 
 
Bed was great at home. Glasgow wasn’t. Mum was pissed all the time because of one tiny thing she had a screaming match about in the car. We all try and placate her and then she has a screaming match because we don’t want her to talk. Yeah, how true. If she would shut up we would have a nicer time delicately trying not to upset her all the time, while she wouldn’t have exhausting arguments with her husband, whom at first appearances, she hates. I wish I had some decent heritage. Senile Dad, and Neurotic mum. 

Got nice clothes in Glasgow, got serveryly irritated by all the completely similar fashion in highstreet shops, and the crap array of zero small fashion shops. Grrreeeaaat. 

Two top hats, I didn’t buy, again.

Thank the lord I escaped to Felicities house. Had some wine, got a bit of art explained to me. It was cool. Come to think of it, I’m sure she’ll like the picture of the MU. Went to the pictures, Saw, The virgin Suicides, which was great, actually really cool. Perhaps Being John Malkovich would have ben better, perhaps not. 

Michael Marshall Smith is a slipstream writer, I’m sure. 

Met a few dozen of her friends in the street. Lots of people sitting talking to beggars. Lots of art bods gone to glastonbury and missed the end of the course. Went around a little, to an all night Café, when Adel Heenan worked. Fliss ate something, I didn’t. Went back to the flat, decided to go out, to a club. Got in the mood in varius ways. I borrowed like, loads of Felicites clothes. Which was cool, because she has a lot of cool stuff. Well, at least a lot of diesel stuff. Didn’t let her feel too smug about being thinner than me, ha. Personally I like wearing my own clothes, cos I feel comfortable in them. Have to break em in in the comfort stakes, so to speak. Off to the club, which was truly great fun, Felicities wild dancing, really set a high limit for my embarrassment, so I could dance a hell of a lot more than usual. In a public place at least. 

Fliss kinda got pulled, gave some annoying guy her phone number, which was nice, borrowed a pen off the policeman outside, borrowed the ticket stub for the Virgin Suicides off me. To think of it, he turned up a bit late surely, must have been desperate, to start so late on us, a last resort. And fuck off will you? I don’t want to be taught how to dance to aga Do Do … Do. 

Placebo and Bjork, two videos I have to get off their singles. 

So didn’t want to sleep at flisses, got changed, walked halfway home at four twenty in the morning, till I got a taxi. God it was light. I hate it being light in the morning and light in the evening. Night! I want more NIGHT!. Snozzled, went to sainsburies, came back here. Done?   
 

Author information goes here. < That's Me! Or Meg if you want my full name. 
Copyright © 1999 by [weirdscience]. Most rights reserved.
Revised: 27 May 2000 21:14:14 +0100 .