Inland Revenue appears to own this entry also
29.10.06, 5:31 pm

Today I shamelessly pushed in front of a small boy at the bus stop because I am an adult and allowed to do such things. Ha, I knew being 21 had some advantages. Disadvantage of being 21 � horrible letter from the Inland Revenue today babbling on about paying taxes on any interest I earn from the bank. As if. The last time my account was in credit the continents were still joined together.

Lisa and me are on good terms once again, especially now I�ve realised that she�s basically colossally stressed about uni work, Linda and no money, and just uses the flat as a scapegoat. I realised things were better when I came home one Friday, said, �Lise, it�s the weekend, don�t clean the bin� and didn�t get my head chewed off, but they�re officially fine now. Plus I think she�s realised that she�s been taking out everything on me, and is a little worried that I�m going to want to move out once our 6-month contract expires. I don�t though. We�ve been friends for far too long to let something like OCD ruin things.

Went to the wonder that is Netto Ghetto yesterday to buy fish pie for lunch. There I was privy to the following conversation between two of the workers.

Worker 1: It�s in case you steal anything.
Worker 2: What the hell am I going to steal from here? It�s Netto, you know? If you can�t afford to buy it, then what�s the bloody point?

Ha! Never a truer word spoken. You just can�t argue with those prices. Speaking of conversations, yesterday morning I was dragged off to Morrisons by Linda and Lisa for an �amazing breakfast�, which translated into a bacon cob (lingo like that totally gives away that I�m from the Midlands) and the bacon from Lisa�s fry-up because she doesn�t like it. The old woman waitress pointed to our plastic number card and said, �Can I have your number?� I sucked my breath in through my teeth and said, �Ooh, go on then� and pretended to search for a pen, but she chose to ignore me and just stumped off. Her loss. I�d have rocked her world.

Then, we were at the checkout (on a sidenote, we had to queue for 900 years just to pay for 5 items. Express aisle my frigging arse) and me and Linda decided to have the following very loud conversation:

Me: So yeah, she�s decided she�s now in love with this boy. You know, the one who gave her chlamydia.
Linda: She should get herself a nice girl. You should get yourself a nice girl. Once you do you�ll never look back.
Me: I can�t believe you�re still telling me to get a girl even now I�ve got a boy. Also, why are your items in my pile? Make two piles!
Linda: Can you imagine what it�s like to actually have piles? My friend Pauline, when she was pregnant, said that she had piles for the entire 9 months and that�
Lisa: Oh my God, please shut up.
Me: Do you get the feeling everyone�s listening to our conversation?

They totally were as well - all twenty-eight old men around us had fallen completely silent. I guess it didn�t help that a few minutes earlier Lisa had referred to Linda by the charmingly affectionate name of Dyke Hair.

So, I�ve been seeing the new boy a lot this week (just back from seeing him now actually), and Friday night he met Lisa and Linda and we had a lot of fun. We ended up playing pool, and for some reason I was absolutely rubbish and managed a foul shot every time, which obviously did wonders for my fanciability stakes. I did pot the black from halfway down the table though, so all was not lost. Lisa and Linda have both said that he�s �really, really lovely� and that I should hang on to him.

Angstiest entry ever to follow this one (angst is present and correct right now, but didn�t want to turn this entry into a complete novel), but for now let us revel in the fact that I�m getting paid on Tuesday, even if I have a sneaking suspicion that I�m still on emergency tax and will therefore have precisely minus �46 once rent, council tax and broadband have all been paid for. Hint to the world: don�t ever lose your P45 or the Inland Revenue will own your ass for forever.

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