It was his birthday on Wednesday and we went for sushi (again! And I recently sent him a text message starting with "Yo Stu-shi!" And he didn't dump me over it...result!) and saw Dylan Moran live (fab), went for drinks (yay) and other assorted loveliness (woo).

Last night was also one of his friends' birthday parties, so I got to meet a ton of people he knows and wow them with my witty repertoire (read: chat semi-drunken bollocks at them whilst attacking several plates of canapes) and had lunch in a pub today, read the papers and taught him how to play Rummy before going back to his and watching The Witches - one of my birthday presents to him and which, insanely, he had never seen before. One of my favourite childhood films and yet it still has the ability to make me cower in terror when (the bloody brilliant) Anjelica Huston takes off her mask to reveal herself as the Grand High Witch.

I make a good adult, really.

Fear not, kind reader, for my life isn't all roses and candy (a bold statement to make considering how spoiled I've been this week): yet A-FUCKING-GAIN I'm being made homeless - a bombshell dropped on me and Jenn via email late on Thursday evening. Sighety! Landlord came round to collect his post one day this week; we don't mind and leave it by the front door for him, he lets us know when he's planning on doing this and all is fine and dandy. Onwards with life for all!

Only this time he cuntishly went snooping around the place, "without our prior consent and knowledge" (OH YES, I am up on my tenants' rights after the hell we went through in January), sent me an arsey email about how the cleanliness of the place wasn't to his liking (there is bike oil on the stair carpet - a carpet that already had a multitude of stains adorned upon it when we moved in; a carpet he promised he'd be replacing for aforementioned reasons, but never did) and ending his delightful email by informing us he's selling the place, therefore we aren't going to be able to live here much longer.

I feel so sad about this - I love our house so, so much, but more than that, I CANNOT PHYSICALLY BE BOTHERED TO PACK UP AND TRANSPORT MY BELONGINGS ANYWHERE. If anyone fancies giving the invention of teleportation a go in the next few weeks I would be grateful beyond belief.

I consoled myself by going to the Japanese Centre in Piccadilly on Friday after work - a shop which sells everything your heart could desire in order to make your own sushi (did I mention I'm obsessed with those fishy little treats from heaven?) and I now have everything I could possibly need to make sushi rolls - a bamboo rolling mat, nori, Japanese rice, rice vinegar, pickled ginger, even a motherfucking little trinket to pour out soy sauce.

Who needs somewhere to live when you have Japanese cuisine at your fingertips?! I ask you.

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