Je regret rien

Sarah looks like a french mime artist, but has a loud estuary English accent and works in a perpetual stressed out frenzy in something broadcasting related. Men fall at her feet in a pathetic jelly and she picks the most worthless of these spineless wretches to become her new found love. At the moment her "fella" is a jobless, homeless waster, who has Liam Gallagher hair but none of the frontman's debonair wit and charm. The few times I have met him, he has failed to string anything more than a few monosyllables together, punctuated with expletives, in lieu of conversation whilst succeeding to systematically insult everybody at the party.

She's coming this evening from her exciting London life, for some important filming thing, to revisit University haunts and stay with me until after the weekend. This is the best news ever, as she does not know the meaning of regret or being wrong. She also thinks I'm great and I think she's great, which is the perfect person to hang out with when you have the nagging suspicion that you might be a bit crap...

Hooray!