Teach a Man to Fish and He Shall Stink Out The Place

Walked into the kitchen last night to check on my fish in the oven. Overheard the following exchange:

Eyes: The ham on my sandwiches today was SO much nicer than the ham we usually buy.
Scarf: Of course it was baby, it's way more expensive.
Eyes: I know. It goes so well with this new cheese too, it's.......(voice trails off into the distance)

The voice trailed off into the distance because I was doing back flips out the kitchen in my effort to reverse direction. You think I'm lying about these conversations, or at the very least exaggerating. I'm not. Honestly.

Got to work today to find this e-mail sent from colleague's computer to entire company after stupid colleague neglected to log off whilst away from his desk:

By popular demand here's my mobile number... so we can meet for drinks or casual sex...

0771 xxx xxx ;-)

What a funny little world I live in.

I've had something akin to writers block the past two days. It's not that I have nothing to write about; it's just that when I put fingertip to keyboard it all comes out funny. Wrong funny, not ha ha I just peed my pants funny. So far so good though; I'm not reading this back going, what language is that you just wrote in?

Friday night was Jem's birthday at the Whitehouse in Clapham. It was a really good turnout - everyone and their neighbours' grannies arrived for the shindig, which was good as we got there so early we were the only people in the bar. There were some moments which stood out from the usual drunken debauchery. Britney giving me half her prawn dim sum that distinctly resembled a jellyfish, saying: Go on, try it - it's lovely. Me acquiesing - and promptly choking and spitting said dumpling back into my hand (note: I do not make a habit of doing this in public, I will usually swallow anything to save face; but it was that bad). My hand smelling strongly of fishy feet for the next hour, even after I washed it (fish + stinky feet being the worst smells that I can come up with outside of toilet related topics). The smell of fishy feet slowly permeating the air throughout the bar as some tossers in the corner ate their extremely fishy, feety dish without regard for other patrons. The expressions that came over everyone's faces as their nostrils picked up said smell. Miss M, Britney & I ganging up on a guy that we didn't know - well, Britney knew him, but she was so drunk it was like she didn't - and trying to set him up with....anyone - absolutely anyone. Just because he was single, and, oh I don't know, we felt like abusing an unfortunate soul who had done nothing but be polite to us. I think we scared him off females for good. Dancing on the small section of dance floor to some salsa-ish type music; being silly and doing stupid, 'look how hot I am at Spanish dancing' type moves. Having a random dude come up to me and go, yeah, rock on! Like he thought I was serious. Getting home in one piece, only to practice doing pirouettes on the kitchen floor with housemates. Coming short. Hard.

All in all a successful evening. Woke up with Level 6 hangover on Saturday morning. No actual alcohol induced nausea, but sick feeling anyway due to the lemmings pounding away at my head with their evil anvils. It's been a while since I've had a headache. Thank god for 38p paracetamol, the 5 minute wonder drug. Who says cheap pain killers don't work.

The rest of the weekend was spent sitting on the couch and eating chocolate. We ate more chocolate in 24 hours than I normally eat in two months. Everyone was at it. Hungry? Have some chocolate. Making a round of tea? Wouldn't chocolate be nice with that? Watching a movie? Definitely need another chocolate. Disgusting. Am now in an anti-chocolate phase which I am going to try and stretch out til I go on holiday - it can't hurt to deprive myself of extra padding for my hips for a month.

Tonight I am off to Koko to act as producer for one of our station's sponsored gigs. Alphabeat are playing, along with CSS. I have to chaperone the competition winner who is going to report on the gig, and record all the audio bits. It's quite exciting, and a bit nerve wracking as well. I'm scared I'm going to do something really blonde, like forget to turn the flash mic on. Can you imagine me coming in tomorrow morning armed with my sound bites, only to hear nothing but static on playback? I'm going to press the record button twice each time to make sure it's on. But what if that stops it? Oh dear, I'm starting to panic.