And Yet More Cheese

From 8 Weeks is Nothing

St Gile's Cafe, Thursday Night. An exhausted and low key but lovely end of contract booze up. BBC Scotland's parliamentary unit playing the name game. I was Carla Bruni.


The most famous people rumoured to show at the Hope St Xmas party, Friday night. I was drinking water and sharing out chocolate peanuts. It was suprisingly easy to stay sober and dance until 2am. My husband managed to sell "rat poison" as a great new drug to a stupid girl, but we had to leave before Babyshambles (minus the famous front man) appeared because he was threatening to punch Mr Doherty as he deemed him a waste of space. Needless to say, Ross wasn't on the water. A meaner wife would post the picture I took of Ross hungover but I want my Christmas presents...

Saturday afternoon I managed to squeeze Friday's run into the meagre daylight hours. It's been snowing for so many days I'm getting blase about it. Running on snow is fun. (: 40 careful minutes to the train station and back, home just before another snowstorm.