I made it out for an hour last night... got there at 11:30, saw the new year in with me peoples and headed home at half twelve. Glad I went - i would have been utterly miserable had i stayed in all night.

Anyway, today I am reading a highly amusing interview with Alexander McQueen on Show Studio. In response to the question "Does fashion really matter?" He replies; "Of course. Does sex?" Smart.

I've got this one 'internet friend' who i used to message a lot. Nothing more than flirtatious banter really, and chit chat about footwear and shopping for which we both had a passion. I hadn't heard from him for a good six weeks - two months, so, when I saw him pop up on an internet site I was on just before Christmas I sent him an email saying words to the effect of;

 "Ah! So you're alive! Mail me..."

A few minutes later I got an email back from him saying his mum had died two weeks previously so he hadn't been up to much, but what had i been up to? God I felt hideous. Proper stomach tightening sicky feeling. So awful. And it felt strange. Like I wasn't sure if I'd wanted him to tell me at first. It was as if some kind of virtual line had been crossed, that took our messages from the realms of the utterly frivilous to a much more deep and meaningful level. It was the first time either of us had made any kind of reference to important stuff in our real lives.

I just  wanted to give him a big hug. I mailed him back saying I didn't feel like I could email him frivilousness but he quickly replied saying

"no no, send me it!"

So I did. Sent him a really long newsy email about stuff... Italy, my antics, footwear... And I felt good. I was happy that he'd crossed the virtual line and let me into his real, emotional life. That kind of thing freaks me out about the internet tho. How initially people are just words, just text on a screen. And then you start to learn more about them, they confide in you, you in them, and, yeh. So, that, I suppose is internet weirdness or wonderfulness.

It's all go back for the new year here at 20six...

i am currently in london rushing around like a headless chicken meeting people i haven't seen for ages, delivering belated Christmas pannetone and wine to people and desperately trying to not get ill again, although i think i may be failing.

met up with meeja friend earlier, who is gonna help me on my quest for fash-on related work experience when i come back in May...

Ooof, so don't think i'm gonna be well enough for teaching on wednesday, the evil headmistress will not be pleased.

laters peoples...

xxx

 saw me going out with old university friends. Three boys- 1 gay, 2 straight. How did it happen that i ended up holding one of the (straight and living with girlf)'s hand for the latter part of the evening? Like what the FUCK was that all about? He is a boy who i think had a crush on me in the first year of uni, and i wasn't that fussed about him as potential boyf/shag material. Well, when he ended up going out with his current girlfriend, C, I always thought that when they broke up we'd probably have a bit of a thing. Little did i know that six years later they'd have bought a house together and still be going strong. Anyway. The boy clearly fancied me back then, but it was C who chased him and obviously got the mortgage with him and one day the 2.4 kids i shouldn't wonder.

But what was monday night all about? I am going to have to email one of the other boys present and find out if he has any clue what went on because my memory is suffering greatly from alcohol damage these days, and it seems that whenever i get drunk i have absolutely no recollection of what went on.

Gotta teach in a bit. Andrea. Am afeared. Ciao...

Urgh! My feet are causing me grivances. Why oh why did my creator give me thirty-fucking-nine size feet dammit? Everyone in the entire world is a 39 and this is wreaking havock with my sale shopping. The scenario that has repeated itself, oo, at least half a dozen times only today:

I look in window of shoe shop.

See beautiful boots.

"oooo!" I think, "those look a treat! Must buy must buy!"

I enter shop.

me: "posso probare questi stivali, numero trenta nove?"

evil shop person who has already sold the last pair of 39s: "Mi dispiace signora, c'e in 38 o 40."

Me: "Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."

My feet are the only thing i would change about my body at the drop of a hat. The rest of me i'm relatively happy with, but if there was a magic surgery that could give me size 38 feet i'd book meself in tomorrow.

My quest for footwear has brought me here. I am off to look for boots, and if successful will widen my search for leather goods to bags and belts.

Mission underway.

Agent stylish logging out for action.

Over and out.