Unnnnnnnnh

So unwell, went out last night for Richard's birthday. Went to a bar and then to G-A-Y to watch Porn Idol, which is a night where they get a bunch of young guys, get them wasted, drag them up on stage, they strip to music and then this panel of bitchy homos calls them fat/ugly/insecure. Stupid, evil gays. Anywho I watched the first couple of guys get humiliated and then went out to smoke for the rest of it, which is a shame cause apparently the guy who won was basically an Abercrombie and Fitch model - hot, hot, hot. On the plus side I made out with a hot Brazilian guy called Diego, who is the first person I ever kissed in a club! The whole time I was thinking 'I'm going to get Hep C, I'm going to get Hep C, I'm going to get Hep C'. Who says romance is dead?

Clubbing on Monday is a great start to the week: makes you realise there a whole world of possibilities in the evenings after work and you should get out there and make the most of them. However, throwing up in the sink at work makes you realise you're much better off under a blanket, on your sofa, watching Beauty and the Beast with a cup of hot Ribena. I can't even begin to describe how many typos, syntax/grammatical errors I just had to correct in this post, should probably avoid doing any work today. Had the Corporate team meeting first thing and I was sitting there trying to look like I'd had more than 3 hours sleep and had put food into my body, rather than out, thinking 'must not die, must not die, must not die, must not die' and the lawyer sitting next to me suddenly went 'Oooh is that a stamp on your hand? Were you out clubbing last night? Where did you go?'. All eyes turn to me and I'm thinking 'this is not how I thought I would come out to the office'. So I didn't. I denied I'd been out and hid my hand under my pad for the rest of the meeting and now stupid ink won't wash off.