That weekend, I told Jake needed one more weekend with friends in London. Told him to bring car down Sunday and we would both take last of my stuff out of London flat and move me into big flash house.He was disaproving but I was still mad about his inablility to cook dinner for me when I had enourmous commute for his benefit so felt justified in spending time with less annoying people.

Friday of weekend went out with Dario and Lee and other gays. Had lovely mohitos in crowded bar then went on boat where we talked about my boobs and how the gays love them but not in a pervy way. Was 12 pm when I stumbled in and hot flatmate was up drinking whiskey. He was exuberantly drunk. Was unusual as normally it is me who is hammered. We decided to take whiskey into garden.

While drinking in garden at midnight, flatmate lurched over and gave me drunken snog. I then hurriedly got up and lurched indoors doing full body slam on kitchen door and then picking self up off inevitable ground. Had managed not to eat dinner earlier though so was good eating day.

In morning woke with hideous hangover from whiskey and although stomach felt flat as had eaten no dinner, had to get out of flat in order to never see flatmate again. I texted Hermione who lives round corner and said have caused shame by drunken snog. ‘Meet me for breakfast immediately’ she says. She has croissant as she is thin and not hungover. I have muesli and soy milk and fruit and try not to vomit into it. I hold head in shame for course of breakfast. ‘Am whore’ I say. ‘Am whore’. ‘No’ she says. ‘It is possible that Jake is just not man for you. Perhaps you can marry hot flatmate and move to Australia with him?’ I gag into cereal bowl. Text Gay John to see what he says. ‘You are whore’ he texts back.

Loiter round corner of house till flatmate leaves, rush inside get changed and then head to soho for friend Nettys birthday. I am first there in v posh bar. Meant to be having sushi which would have been good for diet but at last minute all the English boys want to have Chinese. Probably they wanted crispy duck. All English men love crispy duck. Is v fattening so I had steamed dumplings instead. Looked at their crispy duck with lust though and slight bitterness.

Stayed in restaurant drinking beers till 1am until Chinese people kick us out. Wake up in London flat fully clothed, contacts in and fat from Chinese. Flatmate appears to be nowhere about. Horror dawns as Jake arrives and I have not packed anything in my flat for the move. Jake erupts in fury at my gallivanting and complete inability to pack even a single shoe. ‘Selfish’ he yells. ‘Have been at home getting our house ready and what do you do - gallivant’. He is also hung over and after putting some things in plastic bags and tossing in his car I promise him I will buy him McDonalds to say sorry. Is v bad diet day. When get to McDonalds I have only £10 and food costs £11. Jake has to put up one pound. He asks me for pound back when we drive back to my flat. I scream at him that he is tight English cunt and throw change at his head hitting car window. He drives back to Oxford leaving me behind in London.