This is the story of how being head over heels for someone at work can lead directly to being hungover, in Camden, typing on a French keyboard.
Woke up in Camden this morning with my liquid eyeliner halfway down my face. Went out with French Girl
last night, started out in Soho, in Trash Palace and the Candy Bar, then on to World's End in Camden (which of these things is not the same?)
This is all because after work on Friday my colleagues invited me to the pub (shock! horror!) and I sat there as they all discussed the amazing and wonderful things they were doing this weekend with their husbands, wives and lovers. I realised what a total saddo loner I am, and panicked for a while.
So I was proactive: I phoned French Girl.
"I am watching Battlestar Galactica!" she exclaimed down the phone: "I am so in love with Starbuck! She is so butch!" (don't forget to imagine the French accent. It makes it all that little bit more interesting.)
"Let's go out drinking!" I pleaded.
"I will take you to gay bars in Soho," she said: pleased, I think, that I was finally coming out from under my duvet. Her text message the next day read: We re gonna have some fun :)x
And it was fun, though it all went a little crazy around the time we got to Camden. We walked into this old-man-style pub and it was like one of those anarchic scenes in a St. Trinian's movie - hundreds of people just... rioting, basically. I immediately felt about 100 years old and grouchy. French Girl got straight up on one of the rickety tables and started dancing. I hoped the table wouldn't collapse.
Luckily, because I'd slept all day at home, I didn't fall asleep on the bar. We left at about two and made it back to her place, which continued the tradition of the evening: there being NO toilet roll in the whole of Camden.
French Girl has woken up now. She started talking about BSG immediately:
"Shit name, Starbuck, though. It makes me think of the coffee and I prefer Caffe Nero."