Work fails to reach the fever pitch that is required. Huge amounts of 'can't-be-bothered'-ness pervade the flat.   Chris goes down the bar, and is late back. Mark and I inform him that once he and Sarah are officially 'going out', the piss-taking will stop. He just smiles coyly. The piss-taking continues.
			The characters and situations in this diary are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happenings. Any resemblance to such things is coincidental, or just for humourous effect. All names have been chosen to implicate the innocent.