Memo to self:

Must experiment with theory that telephoning housemate mid-week for a chat may reduce instances of discovering her location only through other people's livejournals.

Mixed feelings on the matter. I had already discounted the possibility of going to Ed's bash (I spend little enough time in Manchester, and the idea of gallivanting off to Newcastle in answer to some vague plans regarding a mysterious pub, somewhere, on one of my precious weekends did not appeal greatly). Still, the old exclusionist paranoia is rearing its ugly head. I am sure bacony will return with tales of a wonderful night spent discussing philosophy and the arts with intellectual giants, and I will feel left out. And spurned.

In reality, of course, I spent a wonderful day at pkgem's house. We played Pictionary (more fun than it sounds), watched the entire third season of Coupling and John Carpenter's The Thing, and ate pizza. Much fun was had by all. And tomorrow will likely be fun too, as batelf will make an appearance with bad Ninja DVDs. Utilising the new house key that Katy has given him, no doubt.

But as with all my decisions, my inherent inferiority complex is making me feel that this was the wrong choice and I should have gone to Newcastle. Bad form to begin a paragraph with a conjunction, I know, but life's just full of little disappointments.