Hello sailor, goodbye Streatham

Jo, a fully qualified yachtswoman, came to visit on Thursday. Myself and Captain Borshell could, if we wished, hire a yacht and she could sail me wherever I'd like to go. There's something unnerving in that idea! We treated ourselves to a trip to Sainsbury's Market and tried out some olives and cheeses, although the lazy woman manning the counter seemed diametrically opposed to fans of dairy and tried to fob us off with a shave of rind instead of an actual taste of German soft blue cheese. Very Atkins and so last year. We persisted and tried some very nice cumin Gouda, which was interesting, but I don't mind if I never taste it again. We got through almost five bottles of wine, a large fish and chips and various cheese and crackers before passing out on the sofa mid-way through Election.

Friday was horrible. I missed my final jabs as the nurse spent over 50 minutes dressing someone else's wounds. It wasn't awful, but it wasted precious time I could have spent with Jo and Matthew Wright. I didn't want to get on the train as we'd have to part at the other end. Neither of us could afford to reschedule her flight so she could stay another day so it was very hard having to say goodbye for a possible three years. I do hope we manage to scrape together an airfare between us.

Friday evening turned into quite a session. I nursed my hangover with a pikey Chinese takeaway and waited up for Assaf to come home with Alan and a couple of beers. He was much later than I expected, so I ended up staying up until 4am to make the most of our limited time together. Somewhere around 1am, a very drunk Rachael joined in and we discussed our preferred dictators (I'm firmly in the Stalin camp, whereas Alan thinks Lenin is all right).

Saturday I dragged myself out of bed to finish the remained of my packing so Jon could take it to Watford. Just as he arrived, I had a massive panic as I couldn't find my passport. I opened the door to him and ran back into the living room to toss the contents of my suitcase around the living room. I then remembered that it is safely ensconced in the Japanese Embassy being stamped with my visa.

Saturday was my leaving do, I had a very good turnout, including a handbag thief I hadn't even thought to invite and a doubly-booked birthday party who took over half the space (and made me look very popular with boys with deceptive haircuts). From the Royal George, we went to Bar 101 and then on to a wine-serving kebab house for a civilised meal (well, panini and house white at 4am). Nowhere else was open: London is rubbish. I am glad that Tokyo will offer me the pleasure of a late-night drink, even if it does mean sleeping in an internet cafe until the morning trains start. I was uncharacteristically sober for the entire evening in spite of 14 gins, two sambuccas and some wine (who do I think I am? Charlotte Church?), although I'd talked myself hoarse by 10pm and was contemplating hiding in the toilets to get my breath back. It's nice to actually remember all the people who made the effort to come rather than blacking out and waking up on a random sofa somewhere.

Sunday I said goodbye to Streatham and adieu to Rachael, Assaf and Alan. We had an outaugural breakfast at the Common Cafe and Rachael took me to Clapham so I wouldn't have to carry my dressmaker's dummy from platform to platform. I'm now having a final few days with my sister, which is lovely - her spare bed is amazing, it's like being in a small, expensive hotel, but with cats! Purrrfect! We had a final gloriously enormous Sunday roast and I said goodbye to Daniel, until he comes to visit next year, which was very sad. It's dawning on me just how much I'll miss everyone. Even if they are still all here when I get back, it's hard saying goodbye to such good people.