I'm not a great thing of things that try too hard. Or people who try too hard. Stragngely, I have a very low tolerance threshold for people who are precious or things that desperately want to be something they're not. The only problem with that is that I also try very hard to be non-judgemental although I find myself doing it all the time anyway. Then I feel bad.

The thing is though, when I go out and see all those precious little loves doing their "I'm so wonderful" routines my instant reaction is that of instant boredom, followed by the thought that really, they might be quite nice. But then invariably I'm wrong and they are indeed precious little people who don't seem to realise they're a small fish in an equally small pond.

I don't know what brought that on, really. I was just thinking it whilst I was in the Granby watching some kid wearing sunglasses (an indoor fashion accessory I've never understood) and a half teeshirt who clearly loved himself. I was just standing around thinking "You sad muppet."

Hm. Of course, "my life is so fucking huge," so I have nothing to worry about! Uhuh.

Whilst I was thinking about things and smoking (bad bad bad), I got chatting to this guy called Nick who was quite fit and suitably laid back. We nattered a while and then when I disappeared to buy a drink, this other guy called Ian came over to Nick and started chatting about me, and how, apparently, I was gorgeous. Then when I came back we did some eye contact and smiles and things and then his attentions were diverted back to Nick.

So. Ian was 25, tall and dark with deep brown eyes you could drown in and a bit of stubble which topped off the jawline nicely. Nick's a rower, 22 and really not unpleasant at all.

At first, of course, I thought he was a guy just out on the whore, so I left him and Nick to it. A bit later, I wandered over to check all was OK and Nick explained that Ian had asked whether we'd both be up for a threesome, but that initially Nick had declined the offer and decided not to pass the request on to me. Then, whilst we were chatting about it we both thought, "fuck it, why not?" so all ended up leaving rather conspicuously and doing stuff.

When that was all over (with a rather spectacular firehose moment from Nick) I gave Nick a lift home and stayed there until 5am before heading back here.

Quite a bizarre but pleasing day, really. Home to Newbury (now Saturday) at 6am. Dirty stop out!

The occasional but not too intense chest-area pains I've noticed haven't really disappeared, which could be considered somewhat dull. Last week I toyed with the idea of heartburn (my coffee consumption rate is sky high at the moment) but hm. I have BUPA whilst I'm at AI - I had better use it, even though it only runs for another 20 days.

I have decided that France will be the turning point. Whilst I was at C2, I was walking to work (although not as much as I should have been), going to the gym (again on the same scale) and just little things like that. Since I've been at AI, I've had no excuse not to use the car (it's an eight mile walk) and arrive, sit at my desk, eat lunch, sit at my desk, get in the car, go home, feel tires, cook, chill, sleep. It can't be good for me. In fact, I'm quite surprised my waistline hasn't expeanded by at least three times the amount it seems to have. (Although people assure me it hasn't.)

I also need to figure out whether I'm going to be a smoker or a non-smoker. I can't go on benig stuck half-way between the two. Perhaps if I stop drinking I'll stop smoking. Hm. I might try de-tox next week. (Ha!)