Okay you bastard. I’m going to write this down. I know it’s one of those things that’s going to change me. I can feel it working. Bloody alcohol induced stupidity. First though, before I pour my brain out for you to poke around in and examine. I’m going to get a twirly. It’s an old delivery note I took home by accident. Dewi has this really authoritarian, public school kind of signature. I might have guessed.

I even shook hands with Liam Jones! Isn’t that comedy!? Oh right, didn’t tell you did I? Well still it was a totally, like, I’m an adult employee kind of moment. Or at least me pretending it was such.

Okay okay okay. So It was Saturday night yes? I was doing my normal thing, making up a new design for my webpage. Paula’s got some friends over to go out with. I don’t recall the particular reason, if there was one. Anyway, one of them comes up and knocks on my door. (Strange, now I can imagine myself doing the same thing, if I was drunk.) And asks to be let in. I make some blurb about the room being a mess. But’s it’s late, I’m tired, (and y tired is not entirely dissimilar from my drunk) and I let her in. She (Claire) asks me if I want to go out with them. I say yes, I don’t know, I’ve been feeling kind of bored since Nickey left, and I guess I’m hoping there’s going to be hash involved at some stage of the proceedings. SO I have to get changed. I’ve got my weekend clothes on, some form of top and my dark blue, really baggy jeans. Recalling Felicities advice on white clothes I put on my black trousers red swirly top, red shoes and later, my blue coat. Got money not got keys. (These facts will in useful later) Well first I have to get changed while she’s in my room, not fun. Plus she has to say something like, don’t worry I’m not a lesbian, which, of course, my all time favourite mental voice answer is: Yeah… But I am. Nohow, soon enough I go downstairs, to do my hair, see the ragtag assortment of women I’m about to journey with. Then into the bathroom, Claire, of course has to come in, and do the toilet in front of me, not something I’m particularly comfortable with, now or then. Claire is blond, plainish, and with a grating voice (Grating now, since the sound of it makes me physically sick, but that’s this story, so lets get on with it.) a Bristol accent I assume, since I don’t know what one is. I don’t even want to describe her verbal mannerisms. Yeah, otherwise I will upchuck. I remember “Goodbye Meghan my love”. It’s the my love that grates. It’s soft and not overly insinuating, but full to bursting with insincerity. No it’s not a crush thing. You’ll see the point of this sexually powered disgust in a minute.
Before we get to the Taxi, Becky or somebody says I have to be drunk, and through out the night keeps going on about how I have to get completely pissed. So I drink this like 3 cm of Vodka from the bottle. It’s not hard. Though she keeps forcing me to drink it, later she’s amazed that I down it. So I just back up to get my keys but don’t have time. I’ve changed my coat from my black biker jacket to my three quarter length swede one, and at the end of the night it’s completely crushed. What a fool I am. How annoyed is my mum going to be. Great. Nohow, out, into taxi. Off to town. Clair tries on my glasses. I don'’ know why, it'’ something we did in school. And it wasn’t that much fun then. I’m sitting beside Donna. I mention that getting stoned is better than drunk, (Which is how I know my subconscious reason for this adventure.) We get to this place called Edwards, which is about as hip as two large elephants chucked off a building on top of each other. Ie, it doesn’t even know there is such a thing as cool. We go in there, get rinks. Claire’s brother is there, she drags me up to him. He has to try on my glasses too, bizarrely. Claire asks if I want to shag one of them. I say no. (One of Claire’s brothers friends.) I try to look bemused. I doubt it works. No how I’m left chatting to a few of the other women. One is a midget who’s done up with the bee’s knees, which is comedy, another is short too and looks like a school teacher, without the going on the pull bit. She doesn’t seem to have made an effort. And a black gril who seems quite cool. It wouldn’t be hard, in the company. Anyway, After a few drinks, a lot of not chatting, I’m getting pissed off with Claire’s incessant, Yahhh shag him’ – with the motions. Paula’s at the toilet. I tell her ‘You may not be gay, but I am’ I should have added so fuck off and leave me alone for good measure. But I didn’t feel like that then. I was drunk also. Anyway, she says ‘What you’r a lesbian’ I say ‘no. I’m gay’ ‘Well how can you not be a lesbian then?’ I was about to explain to her the ugliness of the word but then she comes up with one of those ugly fanny tickler like names. In fact it probably is that. And I recall her hand doing the movements. I’m not impressed. I’m about to use the word dyke, but something else happens. And the conversation stops.
After that Claire and Becky want me to dance. I laugh at the dancefloor, which is cobbled, tiny and empty, also it’s in front of the window. I’m expected a reply the same as Nickey’s when we were in the warehouse, a laughing fit at the state of it. No instead it’s a who cares and a pull. Claire wants me to take off my coat, I’m about as likely to do that as I am to take off my coat. Which is unlikely. She keeps on and on and on on this vein. Me all the same trying to dance, but having to interrupt to shout at her, No!. Eventually she just goes away, probably just annoyed I’m not the sorry ass sucker she took me for, and can’t push me around anymore. On to next pub.
Which is equally shite and has the added annoyance of a massive mirror I have to stand in front of. Claire has a habit of trying to squeeze my boobs, and once even trying to pull down my top to show my boobs off to some me. I don’t know why. Maybe she doesn’t believe me or something. Oh yeah, she asks me if I fancy her, after I tell her I’m gay, I say something like, ‘Not yet.’ Thinking at the same time (Not in a million years) but letting my politeness shine through. What I meant by that was however, maybe if I get totally totally comatose drunk I’d fancy you, but not before that. If then. So next pub, boob habit and she even has the impertinence to say ‘Meg doesn’t like me squeezing her boobs.’ I wonder why that is you insane bitch? Anyway, I’m sure she keeps telling men I’m gay and they can have a threesome with me and her and then she keeps beckoning me over, and I’m like yeah right, not in the earth’s lifetime. If Then. Have a couple more drinks. Feeling like that’s enough in terms of drinks.  I probably tell Becky I’m drunk. Ask what people’s names are and finally ask when we’re going to the club.  First we go to another pub. To meet some one’ friend. Who looks like they just turned 16, without achne and turned up the pump on makeup and revealing clothing. Annoying? Yup? Also, When I tell the black girl I’m eighteen in the first pub, someone says, wow I thought you were much older, I thought then ‘Yeah that’s cos I’m soooo ugly you bitch. Ugly people always look old, it goes together like Barbie and Anorexia. I mean have you seen the size of Barbies forehead? She looks like an alien. I would like to think it was because I was soo confident and poised an’ll. But I doubt it.
Have the one guy who just has to come up to me and ask, Are you a man or a women? Later, on Sunday night probably I think of a good rejoinder, other than ignoring him, which goes – ‘Are you a human or a man?’ I doubt if he’s have got it. Considering my pronunciation of human and his intelligence quotient. Paula says something like ‘Oh just ignore the idiot’ I’m like I know, I’ve had to put up with that all my life, I went into santa’s grotto and he said ‘allo son. I don’t say that. I just make a gesture. God I wish I could go back to those old days of not noticing things like that.
Everyone says I’ve got a perm. When I hear this, my brain does a brain flip. Nevermind that’s it’s uncontrollable, ugly, short and pretty much makes my head look like a football, why would anyone thing I actually paid money for this look? Black girl explains it to me. Apparently if I’m not black, I can’t have curly black hair. Obviously all white women have straight blonde hair. That’s when I realise, in my drunken state, that I’m surrounded by morons. Not y’know just stupid people? But people with IQ’s less than 70 that should have gone to a special school, a state school I think it’s called. She also says, like Felicity that I should grow my hair. And I’ll spare you the debate, suffice to say I thought it freaky the parallel nature of the advice. I mean it was almost the same words. Make’s you believe that I’m a computer game. I could be. I could imagine the state of future games. This would be like an independent character study with minor quirky rethinks of history involved. And post-modern obviously, cos when I write this, the game is being post-modern, and by writing about what I’ve written the game is then being post-post modern. Also, I shouldn’t have really wrote that, to should my independence of my computer game origins, but I have so there.  Maybe people buy slices of my time and animate me with their brains. Hmmm. Right I’d better get off this topic before I get too convinced of my own unreality. Yeah I’m waiting for the fun stuff too.
So we have that chat, Donna or someone, the done up midget starts doing one of those stupid dances on the back of a chair with someone sitting in front of her. Tammy probably. I don’t know why, it goes on for ages. I watch bemused someone else looking on in disgust. Claires happily pissed off somewhere. She doesn’t have to come up to me and roll her tongue around the outside of her mouth in an attempt at god knows what, because I’m sure I’m going to have nightmares about that image. I’m glad I don’t have to see her face again. That was going on in the second pub, by the way, she didn’t just suddenly unpiss off. I’m sure you know the sort of thing, the sort of vacant bedroom eyes and let your tongue dry in the air kind of think you see on the front of porn magazines. That’s supposed to turn people on? I knew other people came fom another planet. Possibly Earth. Yeah anyway, The Black girl, C-something, says I should just go along with it, just kiss her and scare the life out of her. I can’t say much to that. It’s be my first time kissing anybody and I don’t want to start with that vision of horror. To be honest.
Then it’s on to a club. At last. I have to pay 7 quid to get in. Which is when I find out Claire was true to her word and took money out of it to pay for drinks. Which didn’t improve my opinion of her. I may have put it in her handbag, but hell… I’m just waiting for the credit card report to see if she ripped that off to.
While walking to the club, had an interesting time where Becky decided to show the oncoming men her boobs, full frontal, completely dress down moment. I was pretty much shocked. I think they were too. Also paula went to another club. (Didn’t know that at the time) So I had to come back out of the club, get some keys for the house off paula and go home. I didn’t think I could get back in, I didn’t think I’d find paula again if I lost her, and I only just had enough money to get a taxi. A pretty shit ending then.  Tammy gave me some good advice though. She was after all, a nice person. After that, Bed! Bliss.

Then claire came around again, for a bodyshop party, like ann summers but bodyshop apparently. Knocked on my door twice. Think, obviously. If I’d been sure paula wouldn’t have heard and I’d have had the time, I would have told her what I thought of her. Not to be however and I instead told her through the door, ‘no’ several times. In a row. Probably without a moderated tone of voice.

The Sunday afterwards was bad, I had to read and read just to get the sickening feeling that I was a lesbian out of mind. That’s what usually happens. Self confidence? I finally get some, then bang. Bye bye. Thank god I’m leaving in two weeks. 100 miles is still far too close.