Good fucking grief, what is this? “Assume Alasdair’s a miserable sod night”? Walking home this evening from seeing Amelie (about which more another time) Andrew observes that I seem kind of tightly wound, which confuses me slightly, and then I get home to find a flood of e-mails saying that sitting about my room moping isn’t good for me. I’m touched by the concern, kids (and slightly less touched by the “It’s no wonder you can’t get laid if that’s how you spend your time” mail) I can only assume it’s the bit about “songs of loss and regret” that’s got everyone calling me a miserable sod.

So point the first – I defy anyone to listen to a song with lyrics like:

“I made a golden promise

That we would never part

I gave my love a locket

And then I broke her heart

And it’s such a sad old feeling

The fields were soft and green

And it’s memories that I’m stealing

But you’re innocent when you dream”

and tell me that’s not a song about loss and regret. Were I in another sort of mood, yes, it could set me to sitting about my room, moping.

But fuck that. Sideways. With knives.

Point the second – I spent last night attempting to write a love story. Or at least, the pitch for one. Every time I try and write it, it twists and turns on me, and I put it aside for a while. So every so often, I come back and spend and evening locked in mortal combat with it.

When I am trying to write this story, I have a very mixed playlist. I mean, if I’d written that blog entry earlier, I would have had Voice of the Beehive, or maybe the Pixies playing. As it is, I wrote it after I’d downed tools for the night, and was unwinding, and just letting the playlist wind through.

The candlelight, whiskey, and listeing to the rain: I *like* all those things. They help me relax. What, you’ve never just sat and listened to the rain? Are you even human?

So once again: I am not a miserable bastard, you fuckers. I suspect that what had Andrew asking was that I seemed kind of distracted after Amelie, partly because I really enjoyed the film and was being all soppy where no-one could see (or something – you must have some idea what I mean), and mostly because I was trying to nail down an idea in my head that I’ve been incubating for the last few weeks. I still haven’t managed it, but y’know, I’m sure it’ll come to me.

I mean, I’d be lying if I said my life has no down points at the moment – I’m a little worried about finding a new flatmate, because my oldest friend and former flatmate has just left the coutry. But y’know, if the worst thing in my life is that one of my best friends is going away to get married and live a happy life, then yes, I do know just how lucky I am.

So don’t you fucking dare tell me I’m miserable. Or I’ll smile at you.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to light some candles, drink whiskey, and listen to songs about murder.

Which probably makes me a sociopath, according to you people.

It’s Saturday night. I am not out partying. I am instead lying on my bed, in a room lit only by a couple of candles, sipping whiskey and listening to the rain fall outside my window while Tom Waits sings songs of regret and loss on the stereo.

Because sometimes, staying in on your own is much, much better than partying.

So the weekend just gone:

Friday: Huw’s leaving do. Clubbing at the Underworld. Suprise encounter with WEF clubbing people. Good laugh.

Saturday: Went out to meet up with WEFclubbing people for trip to Uptight. Complete non-attendance of WEF-clubbing people, and Andrew and Andrea have my heartfelt gratitude for saving me from an evening of kicking about in town doing nothing, as we went for food and drinks at Garlic’n’Shots followed by cherry beer in the dutch pub that I can’t spell the name of. They sodded off at about ten, leaving me with an hour to kill before Uptight, so I went for coffee.

Went on to Uptight, met Dan and Sarah who I hadn’t seen in ages, so that was ace, but frankly, the club was shit. The music was less interesting than last time I went, and the crowd were older. Dull, dull, dull. Won’t be back. We left very early, and I spent a few hours wandering about town on my own being depressed. Which I really ought to have learned not to do by now. Got harassed by random drunk people who had evidentially decided that they didn’t like my face, which did nothing to help my mood.

Going to be one of those days. I have a not-quite-hangover, just enough that I’m feeling a bit headachy and dry, not enough to actually qualify as a proper hangover and I could really do with a few more hours sleep. Nothing’s working as it should, and all in all, I just want everything to fuck off and leave me alone.