I've had to alter my cycling route to town. See, some builder types are building an Asda right near the town centre and I've had e-fecking-nough of the builders! I'd rather walk through a pack of starving hungry hyenas! They must think 'Oooh a young, nubile female. Let's whistle at her and talk at her and beep at her and stare at her and just generally make her feel uncomfortable because, you know, it's fun!' I also had to stop going past them because I was getting increasing urges to grab a random spade and twat each and every one of them round the head. That'd learn them. (And the police station isn't far away either...I'd be able to wave at them from my cell and instill fear in them. Mwahahhaa.)

I only went to town to buy tights, if you were wondering, which you probably weren't but never mind. For tonight is �1 a drink night and it will be my third visit to a nightclub in as many months (this is surely a sign of ageing...) and probably my last until I go back to university, so...yeah! The Drunkenness! I was thinking back to two years ago when I used to allocate THREE HOURS to prepare for a night out. One hour for shower, shave legs and armpits, iron clothes, one hour for deciding on what to do with hair then doing hair, one hour for make-up, putting clothes on, preening in the mirror and finally leaving the house. I used to vastly over-estimate the time actually needed to get ready but seriously, three hours! And if that's not silly then I be Queen Latifah.

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