Another good weekend which involved an indoor barbecue, going to a trashy club called Roxy in central London and, of course, the Arsenal-Newcastle match. The football was really enjoyable, even though I couldn't muster up the enthusiasm I might have had if I'd actually supported one of the teams. I loved the spirit there though - I know there's a lot of singing at footie matches but the crowd gets so unbelievably into it! As one of the New Bloke's friends pointed out, it's like being in a choir. Well, I only joined in with one of the songs as it was the only one I knew the words to, which even a particularly dense parrot could have picked up, as it went 'Thierry Henry, Thierry Henry, Thierry Henry, Thierry Henry.' It's a lot more tuneful than it looks written down though.

I have also been suffering from dreadful PMT (it's surprisingly got a lot worse since I went back on the Pill) which my poor boyfriend has had to bear the brunt of. I realised I was being somewhat a moody annoying bitch when he felt ill and began coughing and spluttering while we were on the Docklands Light Railway, and the only words of comfort I could offer him were, 'Would you like me to help you shuffle off your mortal coil?'

What a nice girl I am, but at least I made it up to him by buying him some Lemsip yesterday. I also nearly fell down a giant hill at Greenwich park, but that's another story.

No word on the job yet and I can't work out if I want it or not, but at least that means I probably won't be disappointed, whatever the outcome.

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