Alarm goes off. Haul myself out of bed, trip over various objects on my way to the bathroom to put in contact lenses which invariably pop out of my eyes and fall into the sink.
On treadmill at gym, daily sleep-running commences.
At this stage I have the stitch and the constant Jennifer Lopez music videos are making me nauseous. YOU HAVE A BIG ASS AND I DON’T WANT TO LOOK AT IT.
Home. Am pretty much shagged and ready to go back to bed. Peel off sweat-laden gym clothes and get into a cold shower because stupid bloody flatmates have used all the bloody hot water.
Coax Ben out of bed with promises of eggs benedict. He gets in the cold shower while I set about tidying the lounge that my flatmates and I had trashed the previous evening.
Hugo stumbles out of bed looking like he’s been dragged through a gorse bush twice but still maintaining air of sophistication and good breeding in general.
Sitting in Plum. Jeremy smokes four cigarettes consecutively, does all the crosswords and has mini orgasms whenever he gets a particularly difficult clue.
Realise I am forty-five minutes late for a lecture, and reason that I am better off spending my time watching The Office on DVD at my house and drinking tea.
The buzzer goes in my apartment. Amanda is outside on Cuba Street demanding that I join her for lunch. I’m mildly concerned that if I go out for lunch I probably won’t be able to pay rent this week, but really this is a minor problem in the scheme of things.
Exhausted from lunch, during which Amanda updated me on her love life, which is so interesting that I found myself living vicariously through her. Ooh, a sale!
Ten minutes to a lecture. Kyle the trombone guy and Charlotte the virtuoso violinist have saved me a seat. For the first fifteen minutes of the lecture I update them on Amanda’s love life, and discuss the quality of the three coffees I have just drunk.
Yeah, I’m kind of shaking.
Um, the lecturer appears to be a little over enthusiastic. Shouldn’t we be on our way home now?
Okay apparently this is a two hour lecture. This is a little embarrassing considering last week I walked out.
Charlotte and I draw a cartoon of Beethoven doing a poo, and begin giggling uncontrollably. Our parents would be so proud.
Back home, I am overcome by a desire to clean something – anything – and begin by pulling Charlotte’s choco-latte wrappers out of the insinkerator.
I sit outside my flat with Jeremy and Hugo to enjoy the last sunny remnants of the day. Jeremy is chatting up the hot American girl who lives in the next apartment. She tells us stories about meeting Julianne Moore in a restaurant, and Hugo asks the American if he can touch her. The American laughs, and stops abruptly when she realises Hugo is serious.
I make a cup of tea and sit down at my computer hoping to be hit with some inspiration for this week’s column.
Charlotte bursts in the door and suggests we head down to the Warehouse to buy a roasting dish. Am overcome with excitement at the prospect of roasting something – anything – and so we dash off with our handbags flying.
We return with not only a roasting dish but also a free carving knife! Hugo tests out the knife on his finger to see if it’s sharp. It is.
Watch television. I do an awesome impression of Guns N’ Roses that has everyone in hysterics.
I make another cup of tea and settle down once more in front of my computer.
“Do you want to come to Matterhorn with us for a drink?” asks Jeremy.
“No,” I reply. “I have to do this column.”
“That’s right,” Hugo adds. “You do your column.”
“Are you sure?” says Jeremy. “It’s just one drink.”
“No – no, thank you.”
“Okay. We’ll see you soon.”
“No wait! I’m coming!” I cry. I hate being left out of stuff.
Arrive at Matterhorn where we are served by one of the most beautiful bar men I’ve ever laid eyes upon. I flirt outrageously and pretend to know heaps about different brands of gin. Then I suddenly recall a rather embarrassing encounter with the same bar man. It was several months ago, and I’d (obviously) had a bit, and I spotted the bar man from a distance. I grabbed the person nearest me, who happened to be Kyle the Trombone Guy and I said loudly, “Oh my god. Look at him. He’s so beautiful! Oh my gosh, oh my gosh he’s walking this way. Quick, act like I’ve just said something funny.” Kyle said, “Huh?” and looked thoroughly confused, and so I instinctively grabbed his arm and burst into raucous (fake) laughter as the bar man walked past. Unfortunately a moment later another girl came up to me and said, “Uh, Emilie, you do know that he heard every word you were saying?”
Hugo and Jeremy have both taken up new sporting pursuits. Jeremy is doing boxing, and today was wasted by a skinny five-foot chick. Hugo is doing yoga, and is currently struggling to hold in his farts when forced to lie on his back with his legs up around his ears. Apparently it is a common battle that many yoga participants face.
Jeremy says, “I have a joke. But it’s racist. I’m going to go to hell if I tell it.” To find out Jeremy’s joke, email emilielestrange [at] hotmail.com.
Home again. Ooh, Letterman! Hugo hangs out his washing, Charlotte practices the violin and Jeremy jumps up and down on his bed to establish audibility of squeakiness.