An average night out at Crowbar - although I did give someone my number. Eerily, he had the first name of No. #20 and the last name of No. #18. Just a leetle beetle odd there.

Not interested, though. Granted, he was older than me and knew a fair amount about my home country, but just... Thank you, flattered, but no.

On a completely different note, I am beginning to find Pete Doherty strangely attractive. Wtf? I am not usually drawn to boys with baby faces, and certainly not to heroin addicts - Russell Brand excepted, of course - so I can't understand why I've suddenly taken a liking to him. My only explanation is that he's a modern-day poet of sorts.

Time for bed, I suppose. Ugh.

In a sour mood, possibly due to low blood sugar level, plus increasingly late nights. And boy trouble. Or rather, lack of boys. That's the trouble.

Or else, the ones I don't want keep coming back, and the ones I want can't seem to wait to get rid of me. And bombshells being dropped oh so casually.

Oh baby, what a shambles.

Oh and I'll never...
Sever the ties
And fuck forever
If you don't mind
See I'm stuck forever
I'm stuck in your mind, your mind, your mind, your mind.
- 'Fuck Forever', Babyshambles

20!

So was not expecting that. I'm having a quiet art-deco bar glide with a close girlfriend, when suddenly, he's wearing my hat and buying me a Sailor Jerry's with lime, and then I'm outside in the cold, wearing his jacket and kissing him in a doorway.

And to think I only came out for a bit of a dance...

Yes, the more I think about it... I suppose I would like to have you as a lover.

Best media meeting conversation I have had in a long time:

Aspiring Music Journalist: I hope they start the meeting soon. I have laundry to do.

Me: I know, I have a roast in the oven right now. If it hits forty-past, I'm out the door.

Fuck. Why hasn't Will Turner been texting me?

Bollocks. See, this is what happens once a boy cooks you dinner - you get all dependent and start thinking that it's going to be love forever, then they don't text you and the world starts to fall apart.

I am now desperate enough to text No. 18.

Perhaps I'm just a bit tired after my all-nighter last night.

There's a horrible suspicion in the back of my mind - that during my conversation with Maisy, he was in the same cafe and overheard everything I said. Just....

FUCK!!!!

Over breakfast with Maisy, of indiscreet conversations:

Me: ...So the invitation was there, but I couldn't take it up, of course. Not with the painters in and all that.

Maisy: That would have been so embarrassing.

Me: I know.

Maisy: You don't really sound that keen on him, you know.

Me: Really? I suppose --- I suppose I do like him, but I just don't want to get into anything serious. Not now.

Maisy: When you're about to leave.

Me: Exactly. I'm just not feeling that inclined to commit. It's such bad timing. A couple of months back, and I'd have jumped at the chance.

Maisy: Well, try not to pick up anymore guys at Metropolis.

Hmph. She has a point, I suppose.

Did I mention I have a) a hangover from last night's half-bottle of wine and b) cramps? I am feeling rather shite.

A text from No. #18: 'I'm heading home this weekend, but if your still around next month, it would be great to meet up when I get back. Xx'

Shit. How to turn him down gently, and graciously? I really must stop giving my number out so flippantly. I've basically been deleting all of his texts. If they're not there, technically he doesn't exist, and I never pulled him.

Feeling rather shamefaced from last night, having made my apologies to the various parties involved - my housemates, for opening my bedroom door with the delicacy of a SWAT team; FB, for being a spanner in the works of the boys' night out; Indie Queen, for texting her at what-time-do-you-call-this? o'clock - I went to Will Turner's house for dinner.

He very sweetly went to the trouble of cooking me a three course meal: tiny portions of risotto stuffed into a butternut squash, roast pork with all the trimmings (including stuffing, mange tout, potatoes, gravy, and more), then upside-down pineapple cake to finish. I was really touched by his effort.

I think it's only been Boy #3 who's cooked for me before - cottage pie, when we were just starting our relationship, and then lamb chops with buttery mashed potatoes and courgettes. The latter meal stays closest to my heart because I was under pressure to write an essay, and he came to my rescue by cooking dinner that evening while I worked. That was when Boy #3 was still my dependable Aidan. How things changed after that summer.

After dinner, I looked at some of his work, and then we watched a film. The usual routine, I suppose. I'll admit, I was clock-watching the entire way through. Plus, it didn't help that the boy I'd pulled last night - No. #18 - kept bloody texting me throughout the film. I lied and said that one of my housemates had food poisoning, but the ease with which I can lie is really quite disturbing.

I suppose I managed to smooth over my guilt about kissing another boy. It's not the first time - of course it's not - that I've done this, but I really don't want to hurt Will. It's just that I was so drunk at the time that, really... I wasn't thinking. Will actually asked me whether I'd been in Metropolis recently, so I gave him a very abbreviated version of my night. 'You didn't miss much,' I told him. Just, you know, me getting very giggly with my ex-boyfriend's best friend and then my pulling a Mancunian with a good haircut.

There was that awkward moment where I had to decide between staying at his or going home. He did say to me, 'You can stay here, if you like.' An invitation, I suppose. I was always going to choose to go home, especially when wearing contact lenses.

He walked me home, like a gentleman. I think we were running out of words, or I was, at least. But still, we talked. And then it came to that even more awkward moment where we said goodbye and goodnight. I wondered if it would be that tentative peck on the cheek, or maybe the lips, at a push.

It almost was. But then I reached out to him - put my hand lightly on his shoulder and drew him towards me, very gently. And finally, he kissed me. Tenderly, and softly - far cry from No. #18, which pretty much required me to extract myself from the grip of a steel vice. And then he reached up and tucked my hair behind my left ear. Oh. Boy, oh, don't you know that's a weakness of mine? Oh.

At last. I think it was worth the wait.

Okay, I have basically:

• Pulled # 18 - is it #18? I'm trying my very best to count accurately after three doubles. He was, um... I might regret it in the morning. Nice hair, though.
• Talked/flirted with Boy #2's best friend. Oh, fuck off - why shouldn't I?
  
• Left FB to wander off by himself.
• Um, I have dinner with Will Turner tonight. Oooops.
  

After dinner at a Female Half's house tonight, I left her house at about quarter past 11. I hugged her by the door and stepped out into the street - it was chilly, but mercifully dry.

A few steps away from the door, I heard a kissy-kissy noise and turned around, thinking it was Female Half joking around - although it seemed like an odd joke for her to make. I couldn't see her, but it was so dark, I assumed she was standing in the doorway. I walked on.

Another few steps, and the kissy-kissy noise came again. Once more, I turned around and finally spotted a figure standing in the porch of a house a little further away. Seeing that they had my attention, they waved, at which point I quickly started walking away, cursing my own stupidity and muttering something along the lines of 'Fucking idiot...' (This time referring to him, not me.)

I kept walking, but instinctively, I could sense that I was still being watched. I looked behind me, and sure enough, whoever the person was - definitely male - had now stepped into the street and was walking in my direction.

Fuck. Fuck. Was I being followed, or was he simply walking in the same street because he needed to go somewhere? Oh God. I could feel myself becoming more alarmed, and I rummaged in my bag for my phone. I thought about who to call - maybe a coursemate who lived nearby, Female Half, one of my housemates, Will Turner...

I looked back again. Now he was speeding up, picking up the pace to run towards me. I still didn't open my phone to call someone, but as his footsteps got closer, I switched to the other side of the road. There was someone else in the street, another man; the fact that there was someone there calmed me slightly - surely the person running after me wouldn't try to harrass me in front of a potential witness.

He caught up to where I was on the street, just on the opposite pavement. We were separated only by the strip of road. He didn't actually seem to be paying any attention to me. Perhaps he had just been heading in the same direction I was. No justified reason for the kissing noises, though. Then ---

'Excuse me, madamoiselle, madamoiselle,' he called. I kept my eyes down and walked forward, ignoring him. If he walked towards me, I'd scream at him to fuck off, tell him to stop following me, ring someone on my phone - or all three simultaneously. Or maybe I'd dropped something? What did he want???

And then he suddenly just gave up: 'Okay, goodbye.' He turned a corner into another street and was gone. That was it - I didn't see him again though I kept checking constantly, even once I'd reached the main road.

I had to call Female Half; my voice was trembling as I told her what happened. I suppose he might have been trying to be friendly, but I refuse to acknowledge that I actively encouraged him to follow me - at what point did I ask him to walk with me, to follow me? I simply checked to see where the noise was coming from. How dare he.

And the thing is, it could have been worse. I have heard stories. Women need to be safe, to feel safe. To reclaim the night.