Last night I was chatted up in a very bizarre manner - I'll get on to that - by the drummer of tribute band Fakeophonics (not their real name), who was in the Loaded Dog passing around flyers for their gig. Let me laugh:

Hehehehhehehehehehehehehehhehehehehehhe.

Hehe.

He came up to me while I was at the bar and paid for my drink. Nice of him, we chatted briefly about music. He asked me where I was from (Stevenage, Hertfordshire) and pretended he knew where it was, although I knew the bastard was lying. And then I announced I had to go back to my friends and went on my merry way.

And then, THEN...! He sends the sodding barman over to get my number for him! I've seen better ways of asking people out in a primary school playground. I let him down gently and sent the messenger back to tell the Fakeophonics drummer that I have a boyfriend. Slightly more polite than 'Fuck off' but has the same effect.

And then I came home and sliced my thumb open on a can of soup. It hurt like a bitch. I had blood dripping down my hand and started frantically running around like a chicken that was in love with an illegitimate turkey. Luckily I had Tori there to put a plaster on it, at which point I calmed down. Stupid digits being all soft and fleshy. In my next life I want claws.

Oh yeah I'm meant to be in a lecture right now. I'm simply a model student.

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