10.41 p.m. Oh God. Really feel like having sex, though. Have not had sex for ages.
10.45 p.m. Maybe something on New Labour New Britain? Like after the honeymoon, when you've been going out with someone for six months and start getting annoyed with them for not doing the washing up? Scrapping student grants already? Hmm. Was so easy to have sex and go out with people when one was a student. Maybe they do not deserve bloody grants when they are just having sex all the time.
Number of months have not had sex: 6 Number of seconds have not had sex: (How many seconds are there in a day?)
60 X 60 = 3,600 x 24 =
(Maybe will get calculator.)
86,400 x 28 2,419,200 X 6 months 14,515,200
Fourteen million five hundred and fifteen thousand two hundred seconds have not had sex in.
11 p.m. Maybe I will just, like, NEVER HAVE SEX AGAIN.
11.05 p.m. Wonder what happens if You do not have sex? is it good for you or bad?
11.06 p.m. Maybe you just, like, seal up.
11.07 p.m. Look, am not supposed to be thinking about sex. Am spiritual.
11.08 p.m. And then surely it is good for one to procreate.
11.10 p.m. Germaine Greer did not have children. But then what does that prove?
11.15 p.m. Right. New Labour, New ... Oh God. Have become a celibate.
Celibacy! The New Celibates! I mean if it's happening to me, chances are it's happening to lots of other people as well. Isn't that the whole point about zeitgeist?
'Suddenly there is less sex everywhere.' Hate, though, this about popular news coverage. Reminds me of when there was an article in The Times that started: 'Suddenly there are more Dining Rooms everywhere,' the same day as there was one in the Telegraph on 'Whatever Happened to the Dining Room?'
Right, must go to bed. Determined to be very early on first day of new me at work.
Wednesday 3 September
8st 5 (gaah, gaah), calories 4,955, no. Of seconds since had sex 14,601,600 (yesterdays figure + 86,400 - a day's worth).
7 p.m. Got into office early, first day back since Thailand, expecting new concern and respect to find Richard Finch in traditional foul mood: petulant, obsessively chain-smoking and chewing with crazed look in his eye.
"Ho!" he said as I walked in. "Ho! Ahahahahaha! What've we got in that bag, then? Opium, is it? Skunk? Have we got crack in the lining? Have we brought in some Purple Hearts? Some E for the class? Is it poppers? Is it some nice speedy speed? Hasheeeesh? Some Rokeycokey cokey? OHHHHH okeecokeycokeeee," he started to sing maniacally. "Oooh okeecokeycokeeee. Ooooh! okeecokeycokeeee!" An idiotic gleam in his eye, he grabbed the two researchers next to him and started rushing forwards, yelling, "Knees bent, arms stretched, it's all in Brid-get's bag, Ra-Ra!"
Realizing ou
r executive producer was coming down from some drug-induced frenzy, I smiled beatifically and ignored him.
"Oh, little Miss Hoity-toity today, are we? Oooh! Come on, everybody. Bridget Hoity-bottom-just-out-of-prison's here. Let's start. Let's startitdeedoodaa."
Really, this was not at all what I had in mind. Everyone began to converge on the table, looking from the clock to me resentfully. I mean it was only twenty bloody past nine: the meeting wasn't supposed to start till half past. Just because I start coming in early doesn't mean the meeting has to start early instead of late.
"Right then, Brrrrrridget! Ideas. What ideas have we got today to delight the breathless nation? Ten Top Smuggling Tips from the Laydee in the Know? Britain's Best Bras for stashing Charlie in the booster pads?"
If you can trust Yourself when all men doubt you, I thought. Oh fuck it, I'm just going to sock him in the mouth.
He looked at me, chewing, grinning expectantly. Funnily enough the usual sniggers round the table weren't happening. In fact the whole Thailand interlude seemed to have brought a new respect from my colleagues that I was naturally delighted by.
"What about New Labour - after the honeymoon?" Richard Finch crashed his head down on to the table and started snoring.
"Actually, I have got another idea," I said, after a casual pause. "About sex," I added, at which Richard sprang to attention. (I mean just his head. At least I hope.)