New job offer!

These things only seem to happen to me, but at least they keep me busy. I am, of course, talking about the last few hours of my life which have been interesting if not slightly traumatic in places.

The problem started with the phone running out of battery, which was exacerbated by the fact I got tiddly at the Forest do last night and then ended up in Annabel's with my friend drinking a Joan Collins (it's like a Tom Collins but with no mixers...) or some such. Time ticked by and I realised that I had rather missed the last train home. So I called up Mingy and arranged to stay there, except that the phone cut out. So I call DK as he was also at the do and he kindly says I can stay with him and to leave now. So after a small argument with the barman at Annabel's regarding two glasses of champagne I have no recollection of but paid the bill for, I hail a cab and head kitchenwards.

A few minutes later I arrive and press the bell. Phone is completely dead at this point. No answer. Hmmm. Press bell again. Nothing. Press lots of bells, someone has to be up and about. Someone swears into intercom, which is fair enough as I probably would have done. Decide that standing outside in summer clothes in the early hours of the morning is not fun so I will lean on DK's bell and hopefully the lazy fucker will wake up. Lean on bell for about 5 minutes continuously. Nothing.

Walk to phone box around corner which amazingly hasn't been smashed. yet. Wonder why I can still remember the mobile number of an ex boyfriend and yet never remember to pack clean knickers and toothbrush in handbag for these kind of emergency situations. Unfortunately, the 3 button is stuck. Ingeniously decide to fix it by smashing receiver on the 3 button, which doesn't do anything. Then decide that I can prise it up with a key. Not my key, I notice. Whose keys are these? Ah, fuck it. Manage to dial number but it rings out. Keep trying for a few more times as quite frankly I'm tired and cold and I want to go to sleep, but not on the street. Nothing. Am in a mixture of anger and frustration so stomp back to flat and bang on the window on the corner of someone who is still up and about. Scare them, but they let me in so I can go bang on DK's door.

Right, surely if he's fairly near the door my continual banging will wake him up. Nope. Nor does the screaming 'wake up you fucking bastard' through the letter box. Remember have extra top in bag so put it on and settle down for a nap. Change mind; am not the sort of girl to sleep outside ex boyfriend's flat. Does rather scream 'stalker' even if it is all his fault. Go to flat where people let me in and when they open in, promptly burst into tears. They are absolutely divine which makes me cry even more and they set me up a little bed on the floor of their sitting room. Nice girl lends me her phone so I can call Minge and he answers and tells me to go to his. Then He calls back and says he's managed to wake up DK and he is coming down to find me. Cry some more. It's all coming out now: stress with work, abandonment issues from when I was six (maybe), concerns about credit card and sadness that it's the Gina sale today and I promised myself I wouldn't buy anything even though I need new shoes for the garden party. And, of course, the fact that I'm a bit pissed and a bed is in sight.

DK finds me, I cry some more. I'm really sobbing at this point. The flood gates are open and quite frankly it's going to take a lot to shut them. Cuddle helps, though, as does glass of water and the lit cigarette which appeared in front of me. Finally climb into bed and cry again. (I could win awards, but no wonder I was so dehydrated this morning). DK manages to shut me up, calls me 'old baggage' which I think is some sort of endearment and we go to sleep. (Old baggage at least an improvement of his all time classic when we were together of 'you're just a more inconvenient form of a jar of chopped liver).

Wake up this morning and realise that the cast of STOMP! are rehearsing in my head. There are some men outside also erecting scaffolding. This is not helping. Still, after months of always having to go to work whilst DK stayed in bed, it's nice to be the one staying in bed, even if it is my death bed. Burst into tears when realise there will be no hair conditioner and Estee Lauder face wash. Pad around flat and notice that last night I bought a jar of peanut butter, a tin of spaghetti hoops and a lump of Jarlsberg 'lite'. Why? What was I planning on doing with that combination? Brush thoughts from mind and notice that I also bought a Fry's Turkish delight! Climb back into bed and eat chocolate for breakfast. Why didn't I buy anything to drink? Find small dribble of orange juice in fridge and drink it. Feel guilty for about 2 seconds for finishing it off but then remind myself that if I hadn't cried so much and lost so many pints of water I wouldn't be so dehydrated. Clean bathroom. Cry again and realise that instead of having complex and really rather fascinating psychological issues I am just looking for a father figure. Call Minge to express disappointment that this is really run of the mill and he tells me to dig deeper and find an unusual problem. Maybe later.

Put clothes on and gather bits together (those spaghetti hoops are actually rather heavy) and call Minge to inform of impending arrival at his flat. Try to open door. Door is locked. It can't be, I'm just being a bit dumb as this has been known before. No, the door is locked. Call DK to ask if he locked the door from the outside before he left for work. Yup. Oh fuck. First of all I couldn't get in the bloody place and now I'm stuck in there.

But lo! The scaffolding! I didn't get all those badges at Brownies for nothing, you know. Have never actually managed to open the door onto the balcony before but realise this is a challenge I may have to master now that it's my only realistic chance of escape. Open door slightly and manage not to break it, but the nice scaffolding man has seen me struggling. Possibly thinks have been left there locked up for own safety as have mad hair and mascara running down face but opens door for my by jumping onto balcony and opening door from outside. Inform him of slight problem and ask if he can help me down the outside of the building, which he can. Great! Feel only slightly hindered by Jimmy Choo handbag, 3 inch heels and four shopping bags (fucking spaghetti hoops, am really regretting that purchase). Ladders are those very long, thin ones but I'm doing pretty well actually. Only one floor to go and there isn't a ladder, so one is brought down and put over the edge and a nice man goes first to steady it for me at the bottom. Trouble is, getting to ladder requires me to climb onto a metal pole 4 ft above wooden platform, twist around and then cross other leg behind me to get foot onto ladder. Think will take shoes off and thrown them down first. Thank goodness nice man took the random food purchases with him.

So, finally, after all that, I'm sitting there assessing the evening and morning adventures. I'm feeling slightly more chipper because it's not everyday you leave the flat via the outside wall but I'm still not happy at work and the stress of that is creeping into my home and social life. But, fate helps me along a little bit as one of the scaffolders walks up to me and asks me my shoe size. 'It's toe cap boots and a hard hat for work tomorrow' he tells me. 'The job's yours if you want it; it takes a bit some something here (bangs chest with fist) to do that, you know.'

Well, I did say that for my next job I wanted a 'left at the traffic lights' and I do get bored sitting at a desk...