18 January 2004

Last night I attended a party in the wonderous city of Cambridge.

I stayed with some friends overnight, and spent all of today trying to catch up with people I haven't seen for months, even years.

This afternoon, a friend and I went for a lunchy/dinnery type meal (at 4pm). During the course of the conversation, she used the following quotes on the subject of my romantic life:

"I think you're stuck in a rut. You need to go out and actively seek a girlfriend."

"You should take up golf. Then you could meet lots of other lesbians."

"Oh, so you're getting around a bit then. Was she any good?"

I have a very sore hand. Pussy injuries. This morning over breakfast I kept just finding more scratches on my left hand/arm where I got attacked in the night. Patchy knew she was in trouble. Everytime I found another scratch, Morag spoke Patchy's name in a tone which would instill fear into the most hardened being.

Everything's changed. Even my most favouritest pub has closed down. I miss Cambridge. I drove past my old house. I miss my old house.

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