Large, multi-part entry.

I hate my job. I've just spent a semi-miserable weekend worrying about today. Today is going to be bad. Thank fuck I only have to work this week then I'm off until the 6th January! Whee!

This morning, I will be mostly writing to my line manager (cc'ing the HR manager) about Friday's increasingly bitchy email session about code styles. I'm going to detail everything I think is wrong with this company, it's working practices, and how it all relates to me. The HR manager is sympathetic (I've just been discussing it with her over coffee) and I think I'll get away with it. Cunty Boss^TM, however, will totally fail to get the message and probably fire me for some reason that only makes sense in his head. At this stage, I'm beyond caring. Much.

As for the rest of my weekend... (in no particular order):

Romantic gestures. They're not all they're cracked up to be. I went to Gatwick airport on Friday night to meet my hun. His plane was delayed by 1hr 40min. No big deal - I just sat and drank coffee and read my book until he finally appeared at about 0015.

Then we went to get a train home. No train until 0105. Bugger. So we get on the next train to East Croydon in the hope we can catch a connection to Clapham Junction.

We arrive at East Croydon. There's a train to CJ in 10 minutes - perfect! It's cold. We sit freezing our arses off. The train is delayed. The train is cancelled. There are about 50 people on the platform, all cold, all pissed off. A guy with a guitar offers to cheer us all up by singing a song. He launches into a really bad version of Bowie's "Low". We all feel worse. Then he starts on one of the really depressing Verve songs. I want to kill him, but am unable to because I'm starting to freeze to the metal bench I'm sitting on.

Eventually, another train arrives - it's the 0105 from Gatwick. So we ended up getting that one after all. When C and I finally got back to his, we were practically hypothermic after being on the platform at East Croydon for over 45 minutes.

But, at least, C was very touched by me coming to meet him. So it was all worth it in the end...

On Saturday I... finished my Christmas shopping!!! We went to High Street Kensington and I spent a fortune. I also got two pairs of cords from Hennes, which make my arse look huge (in my world, that's a good thing). Yay for retail therapy!

Apparently the venue for our office Xmas party is a kebab shop. But an "upmarket" one. So that's OK, then (err....). I am going to wear my new tan cords and a black kimono-sleeve top I got from (ssh!) Asda. Total outfit cost: �29.99. I am the queen of cheap chic. Or maybe just the queen of cheap...

On Friday evening I had a quick pint with the colleague-I-shagged and Mr Fuck-of-the-Century. They're planning on starting the Xmas party celebrations at lunchtime on Friday. I'm with them. The party officially starts at 4.30pm and I fully intend to be dancing on the tables by six. Why break the habit of a lifetime?

On Sunday C and I spent a 'sophisticated' afternoon down the pub. Sophisticated because our local is a really nice, Egon Ronay recommended, gastro-pub, where you can sink into deep leather sofas and read the Sunday papers. After we were nicely smashed (several pints of Young's pilsener on an empty stomach will do that to you), we stumbled up Battersea Park Road in search of food. We ended up at Antipasto, an Italian place that does half-price food on Sunday.

I had fettucine with smoked salmon, and pannacotta for afters. We shared a bottle of wine. By the time we got round to dessert we were both off our faces, and started laughing hysterically at how wobbly my pannacotta was (I swear, it was funny at the time). The management bought up two expressos gratis, followed swiftly by the bill.

I doubt we'll be going there again *blush*

I had two really weird dreams on Saturday night.

Dream 1:

I don't remember all of this dream, because it was really long and convoluted. It was one of my "hero" dreams I have now and again, which usually involves me being a young, usually male, hero involved in a war or other sort of conflict.

I can only remember the end. I was on the side of the "good guys" in a long-running conflict of some kind. I think I was a man, though I'm not sure. We were all holed up in this huge, rambling house next to the sea, and at some point earlier in the dream the "bad guys" had hijacked a cruise liner or an oil tanker (some sort of huge ship).

I remember seeing this ship approaching our stronghold, and everyone started running into the lower levels of the house, thinking the "bad guys" were going to invade us. I couldn't find anywhere to hide, as all the other rooms were full. I opened the door to a room - it was empty, with a sliding patio door at one end. Outside was a steep bank leading down to the window, as the room was below ground level.

As I opened the inner door, I could see the shadow of something sliding down the bank. It was the ship - the enemy had decided to ram the house, not invade us. As the ship started to come in through the wall of the room, I remember thinking three things: that this was it, I was going to die; that someone I loved was in the house and was going to die too; and that there were nuclear weapons in the upper levels of the house that would be detonated by the impact.

Then I was killed - I can remember being crushed by the ship as it ploughed into the house.

But the dream didn't end there: after a period of blackness, I "came back" as a butterfly (I know, this sounds really cheesy). I was flying above water, trying to find somewhere to land because flying was really really hard work. I can vividly remember flapping my arms and how much effort it took to stay afloat.

Eventually, I spotted a little patch of ground sticking out of the sea. Growing on it was a primula with black flowers. I landed on the flowers and realised that the plant was the reincarnation of the person I loved. The plant told me that not everyone had died in the collision: the nukes had detonated, but there were survivors. So I took off again in search of what remained of the house and the ship.

Then I woke up.

Dream 2:

More of a nightmare really. I was pregnant, and I was 25 weeks gone. For some reason, up until then I'd been resigned to having the baby and giving it up for adoption. Then I realised that labour was going to be hellish, so I decided to get an abortion.

Trouble was, I was so far gone that no-one would treat me. I went to see my GP, who was playing cards in her surgery with the other doctors. I asked her to refer me for a termination, and she refused to. She said that it was my fault for getting pregnant, so I would have to live with the consequences.

I started yelling at her, telling her that I'd been sterilised, for fuck's sake, and the sterilisation had failed, so it wasn't my "fault" that I was pregnant. She just carried on playing cards and didn't seem to care.

Then I woke up.

That sort of scenario is my worst nightmare - getting pregnant and not realising until I'm too far gone for an abortion *shudder*. Thank fuck I'm snipped. It may not be 100% bulletproof, but it's as good as you can get.

Right, I have an email to compose...