I've been bitten by a spider.

If I don't post for 3 weeks, you know my leg's become infected and fallen off (because a lack of a leg would stop me typing, naturally.)

Housemates are strange people. I should know, I've lived with a couple.

One who sticks in my head is a girl, S. S was nice enough - she wasn't my friend, she belonged to another member of the house. She did have one disturbing obsession though.

In a fit of girly giggles we had stuck attractive, half naked men up the stairs (posters of, not real, worse luck) just to brighten up what was, essentially, a dossy student flat. Imagine our suprise when returning home one day (in time for Countdown, naturally) when we saw a new picture on the stairs.

A picture of S's dad.

A signed picture of S's dad.

Does anyone else think that's a little bit odd?

I got caught in the rain this morning on my way to work. In a fit of Blue-Peter-do-it-yourself-with-a-roll-of-sticky-back-plastic-ness I wrapped a cream pashmina around my head.

"That's ok." I thought. "I look a bit like Grace Kelly."

I got into the office and looked at myself.

Less Grace Kelly. More drowned rat with matching soggy accessories.

I have an excuse.

As a good friend blogger pointed out to me today

"If you've got a life, you don't need a blog"

Hey, she said it, not me.

Honestly, I feel bad for the lack of a post over the last couple of days. So, just so as you feel you're completely up to date with my life. Have a quick run down:

• Hours worked: 48
• Cups of tea drunk: 14
• Glasses of wine consumed: 3
• Cigarettes smoked: 40
• Rugby matches played: 1
• Tried scored: 1
• Hospital visits: 1
• Painful painkillers given (don't ask): 1
• Slings given: 1
• Days sling worn before becoming fed up and realising that actually, no one on the train/tube cares if you're injured or not, they'll still wallop you: 1
• Newsletters edited: 25
• Paracetamol popped: 8
• Lusty dreams: 0
• Times been stood up by N in favour of the sound of music premiere: 1
• Covert conversations on gmail: many
• Rants: 3
• Strops: 5
• Genuinely happy days: 0
• Days neck has ached: 3
• Bars of chocolate eaten: 1
• Dreams of packing it all in and leaving: countless
• Mysterious conversations with boss about possible job offer: 1
• Times I have berated myself for not blogging: 0

P.S. 20 points to anyone who can guess the relevance of today's picture

They were all there. David, Jonny, some chavtastic woman in a pink shell suit. Oh, and me and N. Jonny and I got on well. Very well. Nothing happened but I was being a bit of a flirt. Giggling. Touching his arm, playing with my hair. I could feel N's heavy gaze on me and I felt a twinge of guilt. He had a forced smile as he sat there surrounded by these luminaries. I noticed him there alone but in my selfish daze I ignored it.

I woke up with a start.

I am in one of those situations where I am so tired that I cannot work but I am so busy that I cannot sleep.

I never normally have problems with sleeping. Show me something semi flat and warm (or not in the case of camping in Henley the other year) and, much like a cat, I will sleep there.

Not recently. I tried to do a check list the other night and figure out what was what could be stopping me sleep:

• Bed - yes
• Duvet - yes
• Comfy pillows - yes
• Sufficiently dark room - yes

All that was fine. Then, I tried to think what could be keeping me awake:

• Potential psychopath in cupbaord - no cupboard therefore no psychopath
• Yelping foxes outside window - nope, chucked stones at them very early into my occupancy. They know who's boss.
• Unputdownable book that had been put down - no, haven't read one of those since the last Jilly Cooper
• Something I'd forgotten to do - can't remember so doesn't bother me
• Hungry? Thirsty? Sober? - who are you kidding?

I am at a loss.

Any ideas?

I feel battered.
I was kicked, I was hit.
I was stamped on, I was pinched.
I had my hair pulled, I had my side poked.
I had someone on top of me, I had someone beneath me.
I have bruises on my legs, I have finger prints on my arms.
My neck aches, my side throbs.
There was swearing, there was drinking.
There was singing, there was crying.
People were lost, people were found.
We did win though, 27 - 5.

She's making a list and she's checking it twice…

People I would dump N for if they glanced my way:

• Mark Cueto
• Rupert Penry-Jones - oh c'mon, he's pretty - and he got his arse out on TV
• Ben Fogle - In fact I did see him once. He didn't glance my way. He was on his phone and stalked past my drooling mass as if I were his Labrador and he was his way to an important fox hunting meet.

I don't think it's wrong to have a "list" and I don't think that, just because I've been with someone for two years, it means that I can't find other people attractive - especially if they're completely unobtainable. I think the main thing is, I don't and wouldn't do anything about it and I never would.

And besides, what's the likelyhood of any of the above men rocking into my life?