The final piece to a jigsaw and pulled apart - but not before you've glimpsed the picture - and know that there's something to look forward to again.

Wearing my coat, new-ish blue Levis, Rumours tee and manky trainer socks
Eating/Drinking nowt.
Hearing Guillemots - Little Bear
Dreamt about something about Sarah E and myself in some kind of communal shower, hiding from someone, while something to do with a really big Tom Jones CD was going on. I have no idea, to be honest. God knows why. Maybe it was some kind of odd flash back to about Year 6 again - that'd make more sense.
Currently reading One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - Ken Kesey
Present MSN name I am nobody's little weasel.
Talking to Clem, Will & Fishy.
Last text from Rhebo
Word of the Day Ache

Sometimes there are moments that you just want to stretch forever. Moments where you feel so happy that you realise what you’ve been missing for so long. And when it fades, and you look back, there’s this deep aching gash of sorrow for the bliss that’s passed and you just want to howl in your grief… of your solitude, of your resentment, of your nostalgia… and hope that you’ll feel like that again.

I mean, I know it’s stupid, but it’s a day since I saw the Guillemots, and I know they’re just a band, and I know that it was just a night out with one of my best mates (and her boyfriend and his mate) but my point was, it’s was just such a great night – and hearing and feeling that music and having such a good time, so your forget whatever you’re worries are, and sink into the enthusiasm of the crowd and the beauty of the notes that float by and for once… feel great.

And when the last note rings out, it doesn’t matter. There’s still this atmosphere in the place and you know that it’s not just you that had a great time; everyone did, and they all feel the same as you, and it’s so clear and right and you don’t care much about what happens, whatever you might say. Because nothing can touch you to hurt you. Cloud Number 9 is a cliche, but you feel about that high... so high in fact, that my hand shook madly when I tried to take a picture of Herry and Fyfe. I didn't have time to have my picture with him. But Herry got hers, so that's fine and dandy with me, despite my disappointment after loving the Guillemots for months. No worries. Hopefully I'll see them again. It was good for them to come out to see the crowd in the first place.

So anyway, the Guillemots gig is up there with REM – the two times in my life where my breath has just been taken away by the brilliance of the atmosphere and music. Maybe the Guillemots gig felt more ‘real’ because I was only a couple of metres from them and I saw them so close and – get this – met them afterwards.

My legs hurt from standing for so long, and the girl next to me spilt beer on my jeans. And Herry was really squished in, but other than that, it was a damn near perfect gig. I can’t even express how amazing it was. I’m listening to Little Bear by them right now; it was totally filling me up only a short while ago, and I didn’t even know what to do with myself. I just got this deep sense of nostalgia and sadness and that’s been multiplying for some while today, now. I so badly want to see them again. No steve gig ever did any of this for me, I have to admit. It was just so good that I want to cry.

There was this woman in the queue in front of Ginger Rich, Peggers, Herry and myself, whom we figured was stoned or drunk or something, cos she was acting really weird and out of sorts – not that we knew her at all, so we didn’t know what she was really like, but my point is that she wasn’t acting like a normal person. She was all over the place with about six kids, and she kept telling them, ‘Remember, it’s your fifteenth birthday.’ And as if that wasn’t strange enough, she’d be queuing for not much longer than us, but at least the four of us in my group had tickets, she however, did not. At all, apparently.

So she begged off everyone and somehow managed to get herself and all of her bloody kids in. She got right to the front. And after the gig, she had every possible combination of child have their picture taken with Fyfe. And while I was waiting patiently for her to fuck off, I missed Aristazabel and I was upset about that – when I was getting their autographs.

So she wasted loads of his time, and he had to shoot off, and apparently so did Herry and I – but not via the toilet without a pass, which was downright stupid. But what can I say? I guess they thought that I was going of to shoot up in the loos, I s’pose. I’m just glad that they finally put locks back on the doors since the crap James Blunt gig. Peeing is difficult when you have to hold the door as well as sit on the seat. It’s especially difficult when you’re only little and have tiny little legs, such as I do. Midget Gem. Humph.

Anyway, since I’m now writing this over a period of intervals and it’s difficult, my flow’s going and I dunno what to say. Ugh, my flow’s all gone.

I know I haven’t kept some important things up to date, as much as it’d like to, I can’t really write about them. But after a long time of not talking after certain circumstances, Billy and I are talking again and apparently we’ll be working together. So we’ll how that goes. *shrugs* Hopefully, it’ll be like old, old times again. We'll work on it, I'm sure.

Thank you so much. And thank you Herry for a fantastic time for last night and today, I’m glad it was you there are the Guillemots with me. Thank you.