Perfected :: Her Body :: Greek Necessity :: Deep Throats :: Scrolls

Ode to the Flatmate My flatmate leaves for Canada in a few months time, and I’ve been living his travel preparations vicariously. We met during Fresher’s Week, one of those casual acquaintances you meet up with again and again until they become friends. We had a weekly ritual of watching ER together drinking tea with Golden Syrup in – an invention made after he ran out of sugar and we discovered we preferred it that way. Afterwards we roamed the rain-soaked city, wandering past the museum under yellow street lamps in search of biscuits. We talked about everything, we talked about nothing, we made plans to go to Madagascar where I would protect him from the prostitutes he was convinced lurked on every corner to jump on him. We never did go to Madagascar, and I have never fulfilled my sacred duty by protecting him against ladies of the night. We invented a survey to be taken to all the pubs in Edinburgh by which we determined the standard of the pub by how many Irish staff worked there. It was entitled, with stunning originality, ‘How Irish *is* Your Pub?’ I’m going to miss him. He has the same sense of humour as my father and since I am an inveterate Daddy’s Girl, this works out well. They’ve never met and I’m not sure what will happen if I ever put them in the same room together. Probably bond over my general scattiness and a mutual love of The Guardian. It was Andy’s birthday tonight, which involved me meeting all his friends, who I have spectacularly failed to meet, despite having known him for a year and a half and having lived with him for one. Inspired by copious quantities of red wine and a general sense of nostalgia for the past two years, he made a speech thanking us all for coming tonight, for being there for him and for our all-round fabulousness. He stopped before quoting Celine Dion lyrics, but later admitted it was a close call. I have my abrasive bitch tendencies, which he’s been on the receiving end of more than once. I can’t help feeling guilty for not always having been there when he needed me but I’ve tried and he’s repaid the favour. Anxious enquiries the other week about whether or not I used protection in The Infamous Encounter (after having laughed his ass off), sympathetic support during break-ups, and endless cups of tea on the rare occasions we have milk. I want to slap all the people who never appreciated his extensive greatness, and from the sound if it there have been a couple. Mostly I want to hug him and make him not be crying anymore, since he’s going to have a wonderful time of which I happen to be *uber* jealous. On another note, my other flatmate is making pancakes right now. They smell *good*. I leant her my Buffy Season 4 tapes. She should give me food in return… ______________________________ we have come so far :: it is over

Accomplishment :: The Moon :: Toga :: Night Flower