Saturday the 12th

I went to a young writers group thing in Soho. Dad was almost for it but didn't like the Soho bit, cos he thought I'd overwhelmed by cannibals or prostitutes or paedophiles, of course. If only he knew I knew the place inside out. Soho is pretty hip, and practically the only place in London I feel comfy in, maybe because its full of gay people, and artistes.

Anyway, it was mine and Ria's day. We met up after a bout unorganised messiness and got to Tottenham Court road easily. On the train Ria had to write a poem for later in the group and I wrote about her addiction to sweet medicinal thingies ie: Recreational Soothers. I love that title...

Walked down Oxford Circus which I hardly ever do and I found that Dean's street is the road I saw a miserable Avid Merrion, classic. The place was Soho Young Writer's theatre. The people in there were so lovely, and it would have been weird meeting all of these people who love reading and writing if it wasn't for my other creative writing club in College. The people were lovely, lots of pretty girls and sensitive intelligent boys. After getting acquainted we talked to one person and wrote down our first impersonations of each other and gave them to each other. I was seen as funny, friendly highly likable and laid back. We did writing exercises: building a sensory descriptive scene eventually building all five senses into describing a setting. Then we had to make something horrible and make it beautiful - mine was nails on a blackboard. Aargh, even the thought of it makes shiver, but I managed to make rather sensory. It was a laugh. And suddenly it was over, I bought cookies with Ria and she bought her present for Patrick. Gone, and I miss her more than ever. I think it was from walking around in Greenford, seeing my old school, hearing Ria talk about Wiseman as if everything is normal and I had no idea whats going on there in that mini universe. Was the first time I almost missed in ages. I just miss my old friends, I've lost nearly all of them. It's pretty sad if you say it like that, but I only had three or four real friends there in the first place, so...

It all rather cheerful at my Grandma's house. The week has been hectic for all of us, so we decided to have a pancake party. Dad made his spliffing chicken, Elliott got his hair done by Aunty, my sleeves almost got rolled up and we all watched Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? Main subject of the night was Dad's chicken, which uses a secret recipe unknown to anyone in the world, lol. Also, last week my cousin was trying to kick her little sister, fell over instead and fractured her arm. Only thing was that we didn't believe her at first because she still couldn't let go of her mobile phone. Then, we found out her arm was actually fractured and she needed a sling and everything, v. funny. The chicken pancake avec cashew nuts and veggies was delish. Also, I've found a new recipe: ice cream, lime juice and sugar - uh huh. I also tried flipping my own pancake, but that half failed. I only had three until I felt full. My stomach's shrinking...

Got home around midnight. Fabby day. But I still had things to consider. I recieved a letter which stopped me dead in the morning and I showed Ria on the train. The psychiatrist has tracked me down. In a short, patronising problems, my doctor told him I've been having some 'problems' and wants me to see him on the 24th in "Windmill Lodge" to talk about it. I'm terrified. If I put a foot wrong, if you sees me breaking down, what would he do? It's sounds a like a home. It sounds like group therapy. It doesn't sound like anything I may ever consider. He even asked if I would bring my parents along!! I don't know. I just don't like it...woo, that alcohol has gone straight to my heart. Just some Barcardi Breezer. Yeah, little freaked, little depressed. But I'm going shopping. I have a valentines date (albeit with a guy) and I'll be fine...