Been to Leister Sq and so to meet Paulina and Kamil, a couple of friends of mine. Took me a century to get there, as the Northern Line was being particularly difficult, and also 'cause I got off at Oxford Circus by accident — or rather by the horrible carcrash that my memory is lately.

Obviously, marijuana makes your short-term memory go poop, but I am not the one to ever resist a temptation. This is partially 'cause I'm being bored instantly by anything that hasn't got a clitoris, and therefore am constantly looking for new things to do. Well, smoking up is certainly not a new thing for me, but it lets me focus on a vaguely difficult activity like, say, writing a senile blog entry that even if my family reads, it will only be to put end to my nagging, which lets me happily waste a couple of hours.

I think I'll skip the school tomorrow. Commuting from Tooting to Sheperd's Bush during the morning peak hours is a tragedy in making. It is only a matter of time until someone stands up (or keeps standing, more likely), shouts "I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!" while ripping off his jacket to reveal an interconnected bundle of home-made pipe-bombs, and does something that will have to be promptly attributed to Islamic extremists to keep you happy and docile, you obedient consumers you.

Shagless for a month now. My palms are definitely starting to grow hair.