AWOL

It had to happen eventually, didn't it? Either my liver was going to grab some essential possessions and slink out of my slender frame, or my brain was going to call 'Time.' I think it is the latter that has happened, although it may be a combination of the two: I developed a sore throat last Thursday after my choir night out, and now appear to have two colds running concurrently, a delightful circumstance that offers me continual surprises as I never know which merry new symptom is going to hit me next. This is despite taking it relatively easy over the weekend. I had a great night out on Friday with a lot of old faces, held at a Hammersmith pub, where I felt simultaneously comfortable and strangely out of place. Before the booze kicked in we talked about new media and Twitter and politics and the Middle East, and after about 9pm we talked about kissing and flirting and, honestly, I have no idea what else. I am the Queen of Sincerity, I tell you, earnestly engaging in these chats with true interest and then sweeping down the decks moments later to make room for some other gems.

After the party, I took a minicab back to my parents, driven by a man who was, himself, the size of a taxi. It was a bit like an Escher drawing and I couldn't work out how he managed to fit inside the car's frame. The next 36 hours are a haze of Christmas familial love and involve me wearing a huge jumper, lying on the sofa listening to festive music, while my mum brings me amazing snacks and cooks beef brisket, sitting up briefly to eat lunch and dinner at the table, even standing once or twice to help put up the Christmas tree, and then sitting down again to watch Gavin & Stacey and Take That's incredible Circus tour at Wembley over the summer. God they are amazing, aren't they? What lovely young men. I'm very proud to have supported them since the start. Gary's voice is just gorgeous. Yum.

On Sunday I went to Waterloo to meet Grania and we watched In The Hood or Into The Hoods or In Da Hoodz or something, which was (as it was billed) a cool, festive, dance-off thing for teenagers, so I couldn't be legitimately disappointed, but it was all a bit Sylvia Young Theatre School and not enough genuine edge. The fact that Gra and I knew most of the music suggested it was a little more mainstream than it tried to suggest - more The X Factor does hip-hop than convincing urban grime. Fun though, with a kind of depressing undercurrent as I had to face up to the fact that, even after a thousand hours of classes, I'd still never look that good on the dancefloor. Still. I have many other special talents.

Then I went home for another early night, and my body, I think, saw me relaxing a bit more than I have of late, and sent a message to HQ that this was the start of a permanent hibernation rather than a brief hit of R&R before getting back onboard the party train to oblivion. Since the weekend, I've been in an ME-esque haze, my face contorted into a permanent yawn and my desire even to put on a bra at its lowest ebb. The concept of getting dressed up in high heels and putting on make-up makes me want to laugh very sarcastically, weep a bit, and pull the duvet up over my head. Last night I went home after work and wrapped presents in front of the TV, and even that seemed like an excruciating amount of effort. I am meant to be going to a party tonight, a lunch tomorrow and a party tomorrow evening, all of which are full of fun people, but I think my chances of making any of them are slimmer than I'll ever be. It's the kind of day when I feel like I should get high fives and back-pats for even turning up at work at all. Mmmm... massage...