New year turmoil.

I woke up this morning in the lowest of moods to be told by Steve whilst we were lying in bed that statistically this is the most depressing day of the year.

Of course, this cheery little thought did very little to lift my spirits, but at least I felt like I could justify my doom and gloom attitude, which of course I took out on Steve by telling him (about 5 minutes after I got out of bed) that our relationship was doomed.

In hindsight, this may have been slightly dramatic, as we have just spent the loveliest of Christmas' and New Year's together, but sometimes I do have a habit of saying the most terribly ill-thought through things when I'm feeling depressed, and I can't quite believe I'm saying them. This morning was a classic case in point. I felt all of a sudden that nothing was right. My job is rubbish, I don't want to be commuting, I don't want to spend half my life living out of my f**king wheely bag and wondering where x pair of jeans is, at Anita's or Steves? Blah blah blah...you get the picture.

I am putting all this crazy behaviour down to far too much partying and not enough sleep over the weekend. Poor Steve he really doesn't deserve me.

Ok, so what news from the wonderful, if slightly unpredictable world of Ali? So, I come home from my Xmas in London on Saturday night, all excited about the prospect of spending a pre- new years evening night with my gorgeous Brighton friends, am dragging my wheeler up the hill thinking, 'it must be terrible for anyone to arrive home after the festive period to find they had been burgled' and as I descended the steps to Chez Pettit, at glance to my right, what did I see?

Yep. A f**king smashed window. My bedroom window. b**tards.

Very luckily, it wasn't as bad as it could have been, and thankfully for me, my lovely friends rallied round and came straight over as I freaked out that someone still might be in the flat. Much phoning of police, glaziers (or Glazers as Jonathan insisted) and eating of green thai curry from the Red Snapper (much to Dan's disgust)ensued. The campest policemen on the beat in Brighton arrived with Helmet in hand, and took my statement. He wanted to know my height. Does anyone understand why?

Next, the forensic 'SOC' officer arrived (scene of crime officer, or occifer as I kept saying). And the man could talk. He was a total chatterbox. He told us it had taken him 2 hours at the previous 'scene of crime', and presumably 2 minutes of that was spent collecting valuable evidence and the rest speculating as to the profession
of the burglees (me and Anita were supposed to be Doctors- why? because there's a Hospital nearby us.

Dear god. The arrest of our burgler is in the hands of these people.

Anyway, the total sum of my possessions stolen turned out to be one diamond bracelet, bought for me by an ex boyfriend which I wasn't particularly fond of anyway, and it turned out that the person who had broken in had cut themselves and bled all over said bracelet case, providing some (lets hope)vital evidence to nail the f**ker. Anita on the other hand had her gorgeous CD collection looted (mine was untouched, cue sniggering from my 'friends').

Thankfully, it was all wrapped up by midnight ( a mere 7 hours after I discovered the house), so I was able to do one over to Chez Compton to get battered and forget it all....and hence the terrible moods, and there we come full circle, like a bad tarantino film....

Here's to a happy and mood-swing free 2007. It has to be said 2006 had been the worst year of my life so I was not sad to say goodbye to it. Good riddance, you stinking, filthy, rotten year, never darken my doorstep again.