Valentine’s Weekend

Do you believe in Valentine’s day? I don’t think I do. The idea of everyone celebrating love on the same day seems like a really nice idea but I think we should celebrate it like we do St. Patrick’s day. Everyone gets a day off to go to the pub but instead of playing Irish folk songs we could play The Beatles “All you need is love” and Madness’s “It must be love, love, love.” I’d prefer that to everyone trying to book a table for two on the same night.

The idea that everyone should have a really intimate night with their loved one just seems like you’re starting this massive national contest where everyone ends up sitting in restaurants in pairs trying to out romance their fellow diners. Perhaps staring intensely at the one they love while trying not to be distracted by the fact that the couple at the next table are out coupling them by playing footsie with a rose clamped between their teeth throughout the meal (despite the trouble they’re currently having with their steaks).

Hungover

Today I am so hungover there’s a small chance I might die. A small but very real chance. The man from Scope, John phoned to talk to me about something Scopey and I had to politely explain to him that I was the most hungover I’d ever been in my life. We had a brief discussion about how I hoped to one day regain my sense of self and that he was very welcome to phone me then. I felt that John understood me and when I hung up the phone I felt a sense of loss at the potential friendship I had just missed out on.

I was supposed to go to the Natural History Museum today but the only history I’ve seen so far is yesterday’s dinner. Because I was violently sick. You might, by now have cottoned on to the fact that I am writing this to satisfy Simon rather than because I want to. I don’t want to do anything. Ever. I’m going to be sick again.