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Wednesday 21.8.02 | Quickie as am prolonging my lunch-break, but I've just read that Colin Powell says that 'we cannot wait for evidence that Iraq is threatening the world' - so in other words, we've just got to go and shite on them for no perceived reason. Nice one, Colin. Thursday 22.8.02 Right. From Saturday morning onwards, am going to be essence of virtue. I will have been out every week this week, and got trashed either five nights or four (depending on tonight - it's my leaving do from Waterstone's tomorrow so any proposition of sobriety flew out the window long ago) of them (how *crap* is that?) and I shall spend time in libraries being studious and photocopying stuff for next year etc etc etc. I shall not eat the huge amounts I have been munching through recently (no reason whatsoever for that - have just been FAT) and I shall plan my imminent departure for the south of France. Yes. Talking of which, I think I've found a flat (or rather Anna has) which is joyously welcome news. If everything falls together (rather than if the flat falls apart - we're taking a massive gamble in taking it) then I shall be over several moons. Friday 23.8.02 It's my leaving do from Waterstone's tonight, which, without a pea-sized doubt, will be the mother of all drinking sessions. I therefore do not expect to be heard from for several days. Monday 26.8.02 Interesting weekend spent farting around in the hall and generally gearing up to move my life to France, which, incidentally, is going to happen three weeks yesterday. Shit. What has been a distant and far-flung plan for so long is suddenly a smack-in-the-face reality and I'm suddenly mildly apprehensive. I mean, I know I've got shit-loads to do in the next three weeks, but I don't *actually* know what. Anyway, main thing is that I'm a fingernail away from finalising a flat with a lovely old French bint of a landlady; one slight worry is that she seems more than happy to accept our money, but hasn't mentioned anything about contracts. Now I'm sure she's lovely, but given that she is French... Anyway, enough of that. Was my leaving-do on Friday, at which I managed to get completely off my nipples without spending a penny - so to speak - as was plied with cocktails by just about all the staff there. Still, was a great night, and managed to make it five nights out of five last week at which I stumbled home in a state of, well, complete off-my-face-ness. Saturday was spent largely in my pyjamas, just because I wasn't selling books and I could therefore mess around in the hall for hours doing Saturday things. Yes. Yesterday was a quiet day, spent mostly on duty and concluding with a stroll to Bayswater. And today. Day off, of course, and was wondering what to do with myself, so I ended up a bit randomly going to Docklands. I've always wanted to go and explore round there, and I figured before I left it was a good thing to do. And so it was. Went, saw Canary Wharf, and gawped at the skyscrapers. Got back on the DLR, went to Lewisham, got off, looked around, got back on again, and decided to go to Pudding Mill Lane. Evidently there's more than one PML in London, because this one was in an industrial wasteland that positively needed an inferno rather than commemorating the Great Fire. So that was that. Just two more four-day weeks and I'm out of here. Tuesday 27.8.02 Slightly late advance warning. Next two weeks are going to be an interesting descent into organisational chaos, and how often I'm going to be able to write on here is very much up in the celestial wind-chambers. Also, how scintillating it will be is a matter of doubt (with this I am presuming that it fascinating and I have people addicted to my life - a rather large assumption, I will concede) so bear with me. At the moment, the plan is to contine this throughout my year in Europe. Whether I'll be able to is another question, but the general momentum-gathering and subsequent panic about what a crap organiser I am will shine through, no doubt.
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