I lost my mobile phone. Yes, it was alcohol fuelled, as Ex-Flatmate-Colleen put it. It was last Saturday night. Next morning, when C discovered it wasn’t in my bag, I asked him to ring it, so that we’d hear it ringing and we’d know where it was. It was switched off. Which I thought was odd because I’d charged it on Saturday morning and switched it on. On the Monday I phoned (using the landline) the place I been on the Saturday night; they hadn’t found it.

I phoned a taxi company. I didn’t actually know which one to phone, so I phoned the biggest company in Cambridge; they said their drivers hand all lost property in to the police station.

I phoned the police station. They told me I’d need the IMEI number if they had it, so I had to phone my network up. The police gave the number - very good of them, I thought.

I phoned the network; they barred all outgoing calls and gave me the IMEI number.

I phoned the police station again, where they put me through to lost property. Eventually, lost property answered, and they hadn’t got my phone. They’d phone me on the landline if they found it.

They didn’t find it.

So C bought me a new one yesterday because he’s nice like that. It’s the same make as the last one, but of course the charger doesn’t fit, because my old phone is defunct - it doesn’t even appear on the manufacturer’s website anymore. I’ve kept my number by the magic of mobile phonery, and the old one has been magically disassociated with my number. C thinks the microwave oven is black magic, but mobile phonery is truly of the dark arts.

All I need now is some phone numbers…

Yesterday, I saw fit to practice throwing a tennis ball in a non-girlie way so I could throw it further - useful for rounders. Today, my shoulder is in complete agony. It hurts and hurts and hurts. I also had a fuzzy head this morning, due to excessive alcohol consumption. My eyes were particularly puffy - someone asked me did I have hayfever, they were that bad. I drank lots of “Sunny Beer” and lots of wine - including a free glass of red wine (I don’t drink red wine for a good reason, but as it was a sweet gesture, I forced myself) - and an Aftershock. Blue. Not red, like everyone else. I much prefer the blue one.

The taxi driver also tried to rip me off three quid - cheeky sod. I didn’t give it to him either. But apparently, I was all upset, so I had to phone Geri, who came and walked me home. *shakes head in despair*

He said that I was a “shambling wreck” last night. I like that description muchfully