(Right.

I simply can't be bothered to write.

Here goes.)

I worked 1pm - 9pm yesterday with a stonking hangover. Stonking, I tell you. Went for a festive Pizza Express on Saturday night, followed by numerous cocktails. Preceded with a bottle of wine. Eugh. Fucked. New rule - don't drink anything luminous. Oh my goodness though, if you like hot food, have an Etna (or "a Etna", far better) at Pizza Express. Holy cow! NOM! Just don't make plans for the next day, and stock up on loo roll.

I'm at work at the moment. I finish at 2pm, and after that it's back to the Hall where I will have precisely one hour to pack, clean out the fish, and tidy my room, before dad arrives.

You all know this won't happen.

This is the fifth or sixth time dad has had to come and get me for Christmas and I've never been ready. One sole exception was 2005, where I had to get the last bus home back on Christmas eve after working a full day in Waterstone's, laden up with parcels and carrier bags of clothes. I arrived home so traumatised that mum swore she would never allow me to go through it again - hence, Dad has had to take the day off work today. I would rather possess some semblance of organisation, however, I don't wish to disappoint him. I know he loves standing in the doorway of my room, waiting for me to throw things at him and bark orders, informing him to "get over it" at least 14 times.

One fish, William, needs to come home with me too (that's going to go down well). I know I recently mentioned he was close to death, but he seems to be battling through whatever caused something to eat through his gut and out of his side, causing all food and poo to come out in a big bloody mess from a hole that shouldn't exist. He surived two nights in what I call the Death Jug - ie, where I plop guppies to die to ensure they don't consequently get eaten by Hastings and Japp - so I declared him to be a fighter, and now he lives in a clear plastic drawer with a bit of weed, with regular medication that contains formaldehyde. He has a scab on his side, is eating like a pig, and isn't so pale. Now I just need his tail to grow back too. Go William! Oh, won't the evil dwarves get a surprise when they see him back in the tank. Muhahaha.

OH. MY. GOD. I WILL SEE SUPER HANS TONIGHT AND CUDDLE HIM FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE SEPTEMBER. Oh my god!!!!!!!!! *SCREAM*! Oh yeah, and Lucy.

And lovely friends :)

Christmas shopping is sort of done. My sister has done most of it for mum, and I did dad's stuff (Jezza's latest, and a personal DAB radio - no more sitting and listening in the car for him!). She also got herself a present from me, which she is putting in a bag for me to wrap up, so that at least one of us will be surprised at what she gets off me. I also bought her Minger Top Trumps cards (sexy), and I'm going to get her a DVD on Tuesday after meeting a poof for lunch. Yes, a DVD she has requested. We're not really into spontaneity and surprise in our household.

I am excited about Christmas dinner at nanna and grandad's house. I have bought a black top that covers my tits. Nanna will be pleased. I am harbouring a little resentment at the thought though, so I better not get too plastered, else gawd knows what'll happen.

That'll do, pig. That'll do.