Been at it again. Must stop putting my foot in the shit.

Am very bored. So bored I may find myself watching Desperate Romantics in 20 minutes or so. :S

I have a crush on the one what looks a bit like Chad. And the one what plays a vampire in Being Poo-bum(Human).

Seriously... you didn't add this journal for wit and insight did you? Because the disappointment in that case lies at your own feet. Shame on you.

It's been such a time of change recently. All around me everyone seems to be shedding skin and moving on in some form or other. Some are happy in this and others not so much. It's odd how much you take for granted in life. Some people for example who really don't play any part in your own existence split up and it leaves you somewhat confused. You'd mistakenly thought they were one of those constants in life.  It reminds you that nothing is certain.

So Stay Beautiful went out with a bang, or so I hear. I was trapped at home for the 11th day running thanks to the Swine Flu. To be honest, a particulalry pointless and childish argument a day before the final bell made missing out alot easier. Stay Beautiful was this beacon of glam-trashy hope for so many people I know. It's what drew so many of us to this smoggy city. A little home away from home. A bubble of glitter and random snogging. I made so many friends in that little club, spent many a good night (and a few I cant remember) dancing like the world was going to end.(You know arms flailing, like a pelican in flight) And now it's over. Granted I haven't been going very often for quite awhile, a story that I share with many people to whom the club played some part in their London lives. But you sort of expect it to be there all the same and now it is not. I thought I'd feel more sad about that, but maybe I'm just not as sentimental as I used to be.

I'm meant to be heading home this weekend, but it seems like everyone is off away elsewhere. I don't know if I should stay or go. It will of course be really good to see my parents again, but 4 days in each others company is a risk. Conway's going to be in Gran Canaria, Rur may be in 'thlone and Dishy will be fecking aboot in Scotland. Yeh there are other people who won't be away, it just seems odd the idea of going home and not seeing three of my closest mates. This is my first trip home alone since Christmas and I was looking forward to catching up with everyone. 'Tis not to be.

Everything's just a bit confusing. I feel like I've lost track of most people in the last year or so. I've been too busy hiding from the world and unfortunately now that I am ready to re-emerge and be human again, most people have fecked off to do more interesting things than await my return to sociability. I'm not really sure quite what to do. Some days I feel like Gaz is all that I have and I can't remember how to make friends. I've brought it on myself of course, but that doesn't make it any less scary or lonely. The fact is it's my own fault and the few friends who did remain I fear I've moaned into disinterest. I'm a twat. End of.

The new eyes are working out wonderfully. It's a revelation not having to wear glasses or contact lenses anymore. I just wake up and I can see. It's brilliant!

Can't be bothered to sit here and think of an appropriate ending. Slack I know, but there we have it.

How do alcoholics do it?!

My liver hates me, my brain is a pumping discoteque of pain. My tummy is full of evil.

Alcohol FAIL.

Had some sugarry tea and some chocolate hobnobs.

Sorted.

I want the one on the right. Look at 'em. That dog doesn't stand a chance.

So no miracle has taken place and I should have landed in Dublin an hour and a half ago but instead Im sitting in my little Hackney-home tearing my hair out and wanting to smash things.

So the police wont give me a crime reference number or a letter stating that my passport has been reported as stolen which I need in order to make an application for any kind of replacement; until I get documentation from the embassy stating that I did in fact have a passport to lose in the first place. Not wanting to go down to South Kensington (and convinced that I'd find the passport somewhere in the house. Waiting on a miracle, basically) I spent half the day trying to get someone in the London Irish passport office to answer their phone. I couldnt find anything on their website about what I might need to bring with me to them in order to get this and I wanted to go down their fully prepared so that I could sort it in one take. IThe phone rang for hours without answer ( intermittent phone calls) and when someone did finally answer she was the most loathsome and unhelpful Irish bint of the lot. In a moment I was both thrown into complete despair and rage combined with the renewed conviction of why I didn't like living in Ireland.

The punchline? 'We don't give out letters like that.'

I'm sorry, what?! So I have to have a letter from the police saying my passport has been reported as stolen in order to cancel my existing one ( you know so terrorists or whatnot can't use the damn thing) and sort out a replacement, but the police wont do so without a letter from the embassy saying i didnt imagine my passport or Irish citizenship and the embassy say they wont give me such a letter. Ummmm... what?!
 

Fucking ineffecient circles. My Grandad just died, my belomgings stolen and I really dont need the added stress of a broken fucking system!!!

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!

First thing in the morning I am going down to their offices to wreak fucking havoc unless they help me out. Enough is enough.