Woke up at 5:20am in a panic. Went downstairs, put the kettle on, prepared my coffee, went to the loo and then realised that I don’t get up until 5:50am. Turned all the lights off, switched the kettle off and went back to bed for half an hour. I hate it when I do that.
The war is well and truly on. Our troops have started invading Iraq and Baghdad is being bombed. Meanwhile, Iraq sent scud missiles to Kuwait, which has sirens and warnings almost constantly.
During a live report on GMTV, John Stapleton had to suddenly don his gas mask and flee to the shelter under his hotel.
A helicopter accident has claimed the lives of (approximately) 12 English and four US marines. No details yet but it was not brought down by any action.
Now I know why I keep a journal. It’s to moan about Nicole. Today there was a message on my voicemail saying she’ll be in late because her boiler’s stuffed. I have no problem with that, obviously. But then she gets in at 12:55 as I’m returning from lunch (by the canal as per usual but no sun and a bit chilly) and she’s quickly on the phone to someone about where she’s going tonight. Then she goes to lunch. Not to buy her lunch, mind you, but for an hour with Lucia and Gill.
At 5:20, she goes and gets her coat to leave. She suggested we catch the same train – I wasn’t too keen on this, the way I’m feeling about her at the moment. I told her we’d have to sit at the back because I had my backpack with me. She then went off to the loo, saying she’d meet me at the lifts.
I hung back a bit, took my time, went to the loo myself and when I arrived at the lifts, she wasn’t there and her bag wasn’t where she normally chucks it. I decided to leave. I figured she’d go with Mikey but he was at the station not long after me and on his own. Either she went early or was still waiting for me. On Monday, I might be in the shit.
I actually had a nice trip into town, reading in an almost empty carriage. Hopped into a black cab of a driver who didn’t know where de Beauvour Square was, meaning I had to direct him. That’s rather odd. I thought they had to know every street in London.
Mirinda was already home when I arrived. I suggested popping out to Islington but she’s got a presentation at work tomorrow and was concerned she’d get sick again so we stayed at the flat.
Yummy pasta and creamy sauce for dinner and bed about 11…I think.
