Friday 25 January

The hot water is fixed!

I secretly celebrate this fact throughout the weekend, while paying lip service to Petra Couture’s birthday bonanza (young, pretty and talented – how much more does she wish lavished upon her?) With Daisy leaving on Sunday it is also imperative that I get drunk for 48 hours and, by and large, I succeed. Three happy excuses thus combine and before I know it, it is thirty-eight-past-four in the morning and Mimi Pixel and I are back at the flat, talking God and Relationships over a bottle of my emergency pulling wine. Just as I am pressing home my irreconcilable proof of a godless, barren universe (breaking both legs as I throw myself from the roof - twice - to make my point) Mimi inhales once too often (I fear she imagined it tobacco) and plunges into an unholy (alright, angelic) sleep upon the ottoman. Next time Mrs!