Coffee black and egg white.

Even though I spent hours cleaning, filled the dishwasher four times, hoovered everything, went to the bottle bank, removed anything suspicious and put everything back in the right place, she knew the minute she got in, and gave me the most evil, depraved look and fired a series of pointless questions at me: why were there less things on the mantelpiece, why hadn't the cat been fed, why was there lemonade in the fridge; then pointed out some imaginary stains on the carpet, which I'm pretty sure were genuinely nothing to do with the party, then threatened to penalise me, and stormed off to her room.

It was worth every minute though. Every fucking minute. Completely the best party ever, and the best birthday I could hope for. For so many reasons. People who I was sure wouldn't come turning up, bringing presents and being wild, about 40 people all singing happy birthday, Chris making my rickety old piano sound beautiful somehow, Berengere actually making me a beautiful cake, Phil telling me I looked like 'Karen O in tin foil', Becky making me a sparkly mirrorwith a cello on it, Alvin of all people turning up (!), Tim and Jackson dancing wildly to Franz and falling around for hours, Paul Wells asleep on a chair, Ben telling me his life story, Beth and her brother, and countless others, Sarah grinning crazily while drinking ginger beer and talking to Helen Mackenzie, Liam giving me hysterics at 4am.

And lots of other things too. Thanks.

On Friday I suffered from severe withdrawal symptons and lack of sleep, and waves of anguish about my lack of revision, and lack of food, and loneliness and depression, but today I feel fine. Almost optimistic, actually. Had a very charming meal at Berengere's, she really is a wonderful cook. The chocolate-raspberry thing was divine, and it made a change from tea, breakfast cereal, and fairy cakes (though the fairy cakes were fucking amazing fairy cakes), which is basically what I've been living off for the past week.

I'm going to miss human company for the next few weeks.
It's lucky that it's nearly Easter and I can drown my sorrows in chocolate, hot cross buns and boiled eggs.
The house was so much more fucking peaceful without my parents.
x
PS Meant to post this link a while ago, thanks to Jack for sending it to me: "Some people claimed the IB was an international conspiracy"(!)