Mr Smith and I gardened. We waged war against ground elder, bindweed, brambles, nettles and that blue thing that looks like a giant forgetmenot and we dug and scraped and scratched and pulled and hacked until our garden looked splendid covered in plastic bags of weeds. Now I will plant things and pray they don't all die. They usually do; or Mr Smith pulls them out thinking they're weeds.
Wearing long sleeved garments to cover our scratched arms, we went to Internet Dating Jane's birthday dinner which was fabulous. Someone was wearing the same dress as me but at least we weren't sitting next to each other so I didn't have to scream at Mr Smith to take me home and change. Jane looked lovely in something pink/orange and expensive. I sat between a married couple who were both very nice and didn't have a row across me which Mr Smith and I certainly would have done. I sat opposite the most lovely gay man who was so rubbish at being gay - no boyfriend and no idea of how to get one. I think he secretly likes women so he can wear their clothes and use their face cream. He asked me whether I'd know he's gay - I pointed out that not only does he make Graham Norton look straight but had he failed to notice how much attention he was getting from the sashaying waiters? Mr Smith was surrounded by beautiful women at the far end of the table - what a lovely time he had. I was so so so drunk. My hangover is um er ... maybe I'll garden tomorrow.
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