I always knew, since the days I worked part-time in Argos when I was 16, that any job involving customers was not for me. I mean, back then I managed to enrage a customer so much that she swore to never shop there 'EVER AGAIN' and it's not this episode per se, but more the fact that I'm oddly proud of it, that persuaded me that this wasn't my destined career.

Staying on the subject of my job, I have now been asked no less than fifteen million times where I'm going and what I'm doing. To remove this irritant I think I should organise a parade whereby I waltz up and down the street waving a placard with the aforementioned details on it. It's the only way.

Anyhoo, due to the excitement over the purchase of my DS Lite (which I love so much that I think of it as the child I never had) I neglected to mention my night out Friday. This involved a pub/bar crawl along the High Street and leisure park, and because several venues were visited, my party inevitably got split up. Around 1.00 am myself and a friend attempted to find the majority of the people we'd been out with, who were in the over-23s nightclub Envy. I was asked for ID, which I did have on me but unfortunately it quite clearly stipulated I was not yet of age. To my surprise I didn't kick up a fuss but instead merrily ambled away singing my own completely tuneless version of the Ash song Envy ('En-vy, en-vy, ennnnn-vy,'). Then some of my friends emerged and we all went home, The End.

Perhaps related to the above, my body has decided it hates consistency - on saturday night I slept for 16 hours and last night just three. Huh?! Consequently I felt like it was dinnertime around 3 o'clock today and with no food available downed a succession of hot chocolates from the free drinks machine to appease my pestering stomach. Routine, where art thou?

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