I hate Chrismas.
For me Christmas equals an over-crowded Oxford Street, office parties where everyone wonders why they're mingling with people they spend more than enough time with at work, and a very hypocrite family gathering, which always ends with an argument over the turkey and someone leaving smashing the door.

Tonight, everyone I know in London is attending a office party of their own, and even if I could have joined, I simply don't want to.
I was also invited to join the lesbian crowd in Scala, but a night of gay clubbing isn't very appealing right now.

I was also supposed to go and see Hihes and his band playing, but that seems out of the question now.
I simply don't want to do anything else.

My phone keeps ringing, and I deeply offended the Usual Suspects, my clubbing partner in crime Stella, and all the others, by answering that I'd much rather stay on the sofa watching Pierce Brosnan in Tomorrow never dies. (Pierce Brosnan is the oldest crush I ever had as far as I can remember, and meeting him in person through work last May, was a definite way to confirm that my crush was entirely justified. Even if he had over-estimated the amount of fake tan needed, he was still absolutely-totally-gorgeous, with that great voice of his, and, cherry on top, really really tall as well!)

Anyway. I eventually gave in to my friend Liz, who was making the best offer so far tonight: A night spent at the Schmoking Creek's brand new flat. That seems to be the only thing I can think of to cheer me up. So, I'm going there. After both James Bond and my Cadbury bar are finished, that is.