My aphrodisiac is you

Oysters are a standard aphrodisiac, maybe that's why London Transport thought everyone would get turned on to the card they want us to use instead of cash. I reckon more people would use it if they made sure there were people at their stations to fucking sell the thing! Three stations I drove round yesterday, just to find a shop opposite the last one that explained I had to give a £3 deposit for my own pay-as-you-go card. Eh? I wasn't planning on giving it back and going through this rigmarole again next time I need to go to London and have posh drinks so effectively TfL have charged me for using a system that they want me to use and where payg actually means topping up in advance so they have my money much longer in exchange for paying a semi-reasonable fare instead of the disgustingly high cash price. PigFuckingBastards, they know I'm broke!

And, breathe...

Luckily, the evening turned out to be well worth the hassle of the oyster card. And of getting lost in Covent Garden and hearing 'you have dialled an incorrect number' when I first tried calling to say I was lost and please rescue me then hearing 'you are through to ML's voicemail' the second time, stamping my foot like a petulant child and twisting my ankle a bit on the cobbles. I finally saw someone with a day-glo vest on which was written 'Lost? Ask me for help!' so I did and he was perfectly lovely and gave me a map and explained twice, v e r y s l o w l y for the dippy blonde how to get where I wanted and I gave him a few quid cos he was homeless and this was how he made his money and I thought that was a fabulous idea cos I never get time to read the Big Issue when I buy it.

So I got to the place and walk past it twice to find the door, stand in the foyer trying to figure out where to go and my phone rings and I can hear ML's voice in stereo cos he's calling from the bottom of the staircase directly in front of me so his first impression of me is me being a lost bint. Nice one, Ange. And him looking that damn gorgeous in a suit, too. He found us a table and got us a glass of wine and I did polite chit chat while he did his nervous Hugh Grant thing (so cute!) till I said 'do you mind if I smoke? He replied 'not at all, actually, can I pinch one? I don't smoke anymore but...' and that was it, I was creasing with laughter cos all ex smokers do that and, ice firmly broken we proceeded to smoke like chimneys, drink four bottles of wine between us and not bother with dinner cos we were comfy talking and laughing where we were before having the nicest goodnight snog I've had in many a year, texting all the way home and missing my station and having to get a cab back home.

I woke up today with the biggest hangover of all time and the distinct feeling that a camel had shit in my mouth which has led to me spontaneously deciding to quit smoking, cold turkey, which is making me slightly manic and restless and prone to run-on sentences as you may have noticed.

ML, you are a great big lump of funny, clever gorgeousness and we must do it again (without the fags)