One week later - THURSDAY

Have had to revise diet to accommodate new commute from Oxford. All my things are still in London flat with hot flatmate but Jake very much of view that if I have forced him to move into big flash house I must be there. Breakfast is therefore at 630 when get on bus from Oxford. Is currently special k cereal bars (90 calories per bar) but in my opinion this just kick starts appetite as am starving at 9 when get to work. Try to run at lunchtimes round Trafalgar square to Buckingham palace and beyond. Much harder when tired from commute. Managed Monday and Wednesday runs only, this week.

Allowing self prunes or dried apricots in afternoon. Claudette often comes over and perches her tinyness on my desk. ‘Have a kitkat’ she says. ‘No’ I say. ‘Stay in London’ she says.’ No’ I say. ‘You are not only fat but are a deserter’ she says. I entertain self by teaching her to say cunt and then laughing hysterically at her French accent.

Normally get back to Oxford for 9pm. Jake gets annoyed as commute should not take this long. Monday and Tuesday I try to cook nice meals for him when I get in. He has normally snacked while making and argument brews while he watches me stuff food in own mouth while at same time yelling at him for not eating his after all my efforts. Hysteria levels rise each day with the tiredness.

Dinner situation culminated tonight as mobile phone cut out on bus home from London and I did not get in to big flash house till 930. Arrangement for today was that Jake would do dinner as long as was low fat and of course, simple as it was him cooking it. Got in and Jake answered door and yelled where had I been and why was I so useless with phone. I stormed past him straight to kitchen as had eaten only one finger of kitkat all afternoon. Found he had cooked himself spaghetti and tomato sauce but left the rest of spaghetti still in packet uncooked. ‘Would it have been too much to ask to cunting cook mine so I could have a night off cooking when I got here?’ I shrieked. ‘I didn’t know if you were coming home’ he said sullenly ‘you didn’t answer your phone’. ARE YOU EIGHT? I yelled ‘Are you? Are you EIGHT?’

In morning at 6am he got annoyed that ‘selfishly I woke him up’ when opened draw to get socks out. I was still not speaking to him but as I walked up road to get bus I could hear English accent yelling bla bla SELFISH blab la PHONE bla bla socks. Decide to stay in London with hot flatmate for rest of week.