orangina and vodka in a two litre bottle, but only half full

I am awfully worried because I am already fifteen minutes late to meet Magda, and I have only just left the house. I get to the bus-stop and ascertain that I have missed the bus by two minutes; my body goes into shock mode. To my internal jubilation the bus is actually two minutes late, and turns up in time for me to get on. I show the driver my travelcard and it works, to my relief, even though it looks like a train ticket. On the bus I am worried about my hair because in a poorly planned rush I did not have enough time to wash my hair, and it feels a bit greasy. The bus window acts as a mirror, and it looks okay, and this reassures me - although I am aware that these reflections are quite murky.

I get off the bus and phone Magda but she is looking the wrong way, the silly sausage, because I am behind her. We go into Richmond tube station and get on a carriage. We talk about books and music and London. The train stops and to my exhaustive relief Magda realises that it is Earls Court and we need to get off. The next train we get is incredibly loud and sounds like a bag of nails being shaken around like a bag of salt and shake crisps times a million.

Just like tourists we get lost in Leicester Square. We decide to stop and ask some friendly looking strangers for directions to Ku Klub. Graciously they adhere to our request. Outside Ku Klub we arrange to meet Harry Wong by text and he comes out with a lollypop in his mouth. I offer him some of my orange soda soft drink, he has a bit but he doesnt like to get too drunk because he always makes a fool out of himself. Inside; I go to the toilet. As I am taking a leak, I hear some commotion behind me and turn around to see three young lads running out of the cubicle - they were probably playing hide and seek or something with their good friends. Downstairs in the club, there is not very many girls and I think that Magda may feel a little out of place. We sit down, we watch some people infront of us who are dancing jovially, untill Harry Wong comes down and we dance in a circle with some of his fashionable friends. Generously he gives us both these tickets that we can exchange at the bar for a free shot of apple sours; which we do. We dance for a while, it is wonderful to see the cultural diversity - two boys kissing on one side of us and two girls kissing on the other. Regrettably they are not playing Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture and we decide to leave. Harry's magnanimty continues to impress and he takes us to another venue to make sure we have a fun evening. We dont have enough money for the club though, so we pretend to walk to get some money out, as to not render his helpfullness fruitless. Male cannabis plants.

We walk around the town for a little while and stop at an automated teller, where I withdraw ten of her majesty's finest. We take a bus to somewhere, but it seems to be simply retracing our footsteps with tyre-prints and exhaust trails. We take another two buses, I reduce myself to urinating on the street of our capital city, and we end up outside Hyde Park. We talk to a man who works for a high-class jeweler, but he doesn't have any freebies available at this time.

We climb into the park and walk past a delightful group of foreign exchange students who are sat in a circle engaging in community. We walk around and I sing Red Hot Chili Peppers. Dreadfully. We find the river Thames, well I see the lights reflecting from the river's surface. Magda disapproves of it's existence. Closer inspection proves me right. Some people are coming towards us, and for some reason we pretend to be statues, like scarecrows we frighten them away. Magda tries to push me in the river. Unsuccessfully. We stand, inches from the water, light beams bouncing into us, ducks are swimming past us, the moon is shining, it is silent. This is the most romantic thing that I have done in a long time. We climb onto a small pier, Magda has heels on, we have no oars for the boat. Duck couplets swim past us, an island in the water behind us sounds like a new years eve party, only with ducks not people. Quack. On the way out, we hide from people who look menacing, climb out and catch a bus.

The bus is full of zombies asleep sprawled all over the seats, apart from a group of chatterboxes on the back row. We get off at Richmond and wait for a bus: the sixty-one. Magda has never seen Louis Theroux, we sit on the top of the bus. On my walk home I need another wee on the street and I catch a group of foxes gallivanting around Hardwicke Road, on the road where the cars drive, on the garden wall where the cats sit, under the car where the rain doesn't hit.

04:51 AM: go to bed, pores bursting with alcohol and garlic. I have an appointment with a reflexologist tomorow in the morning, I will probably need to do a poo in his waiting room.