No. of entries in my blog - 19
No. of gorgeous women I've had encounters with in the blog - 7
No. of days left to sort myself out before I see H, J and L - 1
No. of packs of Prozac smuggled out of the hospital - 24 (you can never be 'too happy')
No. of red Porsches parked in the hospital car park - 100% (If all red Porsche drivers are crazy, maybe I shouldn't lust after one any more??)
It's a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the Prozac has kicked in, and I've said a reluctant goodbye to my 'second home'. (Don't worry, I've asked Caley to book me in for a small 'relapse' just before Christmas).
My first port of call was to pick up my bus pass, which apparently you have to do in person from a council office near Tower Bridge. It was almost closing time when I got there, but luck was on my side. As I exited, I realised that I was within walking distance of the Oxo Tower. Could this be a coincidence, or was it fate? Fate or not, a drink sounded like a good idea, so I headed up to the Terrace Bar, thinking that Milano might be on duty, which would cheer me up. As I stood there with my Diet Coke in my hand, a vision of loveliness appeared before me. It was Chelsea, telling me how thrilled she was to see me after all this time. Once I had made sure that it wasn't just a side effect of the Prozac, and/or the Diet Coke hadn't been spiked, I heard the whole story. She was mortified to hear that she had blanked me the previous week - she blamed it on being riotously drunk, as usual, and took a vow on the spot to become teetotal if only I would forgive her.
Well, dear readers, what can I say? I may have lost my dignity, my mind and my car, but I got the girl, with only 1 day to spare before my official birthday. (It will certainly be one in the eye for those 3 at dinner tomorrow night - I bet they won't believe how exciting my life has been for the last few weeks).
