three days from Valentine's, gird your loins.
I really hope this is helping Niamh because first it got me punched and now it's started me thinking about Becca again.
It never happened for me in the first place, it'll never happen for me again and I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life. As soon as I come to terms with that life'll be easier.
Jesus fucking Christ. It's pathetic still pining over an ex who walked out on you but it's even more pathetic when the ex is two years dead.
What the fuck am I supposed to do?
Drink. Try to forget. Party. Drown in nihilistic hedonism.
I depress myself.
I was better off high.
Friends, Romans, countrymen, ladies, gentlemen, and slags (if you please). Sut ydych chi? I've got an appointment with Ambrose tonight at Honeydukes itself, or something. Making my selections for Valentine's Day, you know I've got some girls to tend to and my chocolate stash is running thin as well.
Now's about the time when I usually bring up wherever it is I'm planning to get myself and anyone else who tags along drunk, so I guess I should mention -- I made a deal with Myron Wagtail (formerly of Etain Detained, now of what's it again? The Sweetbreads?) that we can crash his house in Essex on the night of Valentine's Day. Couples, singles, I don't care, we'll just keep the liquor flowing until everyone goes home and gets laid.
Of course I'm planning on celebrating St David's (named after him, aren't I, sort of required to) so mark your calendars if you haven't yet, you want to get good and sloshed the night of March first is your time to shine. More on that when I've got a venue, checking out Cardiff bars near the bay.
Speaking of. Been hanging about the bay a lot. Taking my lunches there. Sort of gorgeous, if you haven't looked, well, I'll bet you probably haven't. The whole Southwest coast could fall into the sea and I'm pretty sure most would only notice once they missed Holyhead. Still, you ought to.
Iechyd da, everyone have a brilliant night.