No, I don't come here often, you cretin

Autumn has definitely hit London - it's cold outside, my office is arctic, my feet have frostbite and I am grumpy like a Disney dwarf on Day Three of cold turkey. I am in that mid-place between health and illness, where I am constantly convinced I can feel a sore throat coming on, yet one never quite develops, and I have an omnipresent headache looming on the horizon of my skull, not yet debilitating but enough to make me consider desperate measures such as having a nap on the floor of the loos, using my gym towel as a cover and my trainers as a pillow. What is definitely making my condition quantifiably worse is the ominous presence of tonight's activity, a singles event I am attending with Grania called Down With Dating, where there are ironic anti-date events such as Blind Hate and Speed Hating. I am feeling about as coquettish and attractive as a pre-menstrual sabre-toothed tiger so can say with confidence that the Hating part will probably be fairly easy for me. I do not, however, expect to leave the event overwhelmed by offers from possible suitors. Growl. Stupid me and my stupid gung-ho "Let's go to this, Grania, it'll be fun" stupid attitude. Growl growl growl. STAY AWAY FROM ME.