I really should stop pouring myself a double Rum and Tonic before my "dates".
But, call me an alcoholic if you want, the prospect of yet another night with French Guy somehow made me nervous to the point a drink was in order.

The presence of Australian Fiona in The House yesterday evening certainly didn't help. (By the way, she's moving back to Australia in a month, and I know I am going to miss her more and in more ways than I'd like to admit.
Shit. I really wonder how exactly our farewells are supposed to happen...)

As a result, I was pissed on the tube to French Guy's place, staggering around and bumping into people and wondering why on earth I was defying the Hammersmith and Shitty line in that state.

Worth the drunken journey though...
What a great night. French Guy and I got to the point we're actually comfortable enough to hang around eachother completely naked, joke, and laugh while at it.
Very much like if we had been in an actual relashionship for a while already...
How bizarre!

But it was so nice that I actually called in sick this morning, and didn't leave his flat until noon, feeling I was worth a billion dollars.
This is quite weird, especially since we both established that "this" is NOT supposed to go anywhere.
Hmmm...