When I'd finally got rid of last night's (he just refused to leave) I rang Barry and we arranged to postpone lunch (because my head was hurting too much) and turned it into a late afternoon drink. I went back to bed for an hour or so (hadn't slept much) then woke refreshed and bouncey at about 4.30pm ready to shower and get myself out of the house and into Parisa.

So. I've figured out that I only need to do ten billable days a month for me to be able to live quite modestly whilst I'm away. The thought of just over a week's work a month really does appeal, somewhat, so I'm looking forward to that.

Took Irish Gareth to the Granby in the evening, and there were eyes following him wherever he went. Of course, he was looking absolutely stunning and, frankly, fuckable as, er, fuck. Really. I have such a soft spot for him - at the bottom of my spine, oddly enough - but I don't think he's anywhere near being in my league. Which is somewhat disappointing given he's luscious. Oh well.

Cute goatee boy was there, ironically, because I'd had a conversation with D about him earlier on in the day. Apparently, after having gazed at him in the Wellington the other night, and having sent Max the text ("I want his babies"), the bar staff took it upon themselves to warn D (last night) of me, which we thought particularly amusing. So that'll be two customers they've just lost then. I was outraged when I was told. Fucking cheek. Didn't mention it though. At least I know what last night's secrecy was all about tho'