Evie

Breakfast
2 X Dark Rye Rivita = 2X 38 cal
1 X Small spoon of low fat hummus = 43 cal

Lunch
Half tin of soup = 104 cal
cup of tea no sugar = 13 cal

Dinner
3 X  Dark Rye Rivita = 3X 38 cal
2 X Carrots = 2 X 13 cals
1 X Banana = 95 cals
1X cup of tea with sugar = 29 cals

I probably shouldn't have had the sugar in the last tea but I was just so tired, that I needed something to keep me awake in work. I walked the long way home anyway, so I should have burnt that off.

Thom

Some people are so dumb. The other night I was out with the guys and this girl asked me if we had "been to a mourning". Been to a mourning? Been where? Are we in mourning? Do we look like we are in mourning? I was wearing a shirt and tie (obviously too smart for the shit hole we were in). She then asked me if I would like to buy her a drink. I felt so embarrassed for her, I bought her two. She then attempted to lapdance one of the boys- he is gay. I cringed. hard.

Ruby

I'm at Goliath's and I'm well smashed. I've had like a bottle of wine here, two bacardi breezers, four shots of sambucca and I've got some vodka in my bag. My mum always says you shouldn't mix your drinks, but I do- i like don't get hangovers do I? All the girls are here except bloody Evie-she's like scared she might bump into Brian or something. I told her, I was like "Who cares? All he's seeing is what he is missing " (but that wouldn't be true coz she's like on this downer at the mo and losing the weight has made her look like...deformed or something). So anyways, tonight is pretty packed, I think like maybe there has been like a funeral or something coz there are lyk loadsa people in suits. Maybe they have been to a mourning. Some of them are quite fit though- I see this smug-looking guy with a girl on top of his lap- must be his girlfriend. Whateva. I bend down and fiddle with the strap on my heels and I see his eyes bulge as he looks over ( still with his tongue in her mouth-oh yes!). I'll be seeing you later. I give him my filthiest wink and he smiles back and the girlfriend is till on cloud nine or whateva and doesn't even notice.

I'm not vain, I just know I'm hot. Actually, whateva, I don't even care if I am vain. Guys like me because they know what they are getting with me. I'm not lyk those gurls that wear support pants under their shortest skirt so that when you get em home a wobbly belly and muffin tops spring out. Gutt-ed honey. With me, I'm not false advertising anything- what you see if what you get. Like my arse? Pull me and the same sweet ass you're looking at now can be sitting on your face in a bit (and no extra lumps, bumps or support marks). And because there are no false pretences, the guys are not gonna be false either. They make it clear they want my legs wrapped around their head, so I play the game...

I go up to the bar and stand near a group of lads- all into their 6th pint. I don't even look at them but I know they are eyeing up my brown legs, paying particular attention to the tattoo that sneaks out from under my dress. They want to know where that leads. Better play dat game first eh boys? I know they are looking at the way I arch my back as I lean against the bar, they spot I'm not wearing a bra too. These bad boys hold themselves up, fellas. I'm looking around the bar as if I've lost someone, checking the time, my phone, time again then I'm applying lipgloss as I slowwly turn to face the guys.
"Been stood up love?" the cutest one is saying and I put my most blasé face I can imagine on and say "Yeah, looks like" They all look shocked- total dismay, agreeing with each other that the stander-upper is a dickhead. Now they're all buying me drinks, all competing for these long legs and a glimpse of the tat that slides up my thighs, and all I gotta do is look coy and give one of them a a little lapdance later on.. and shit, they are so drunk now they'll end up staggering home, alone and with a kebab.
Life is sweeet, and tonight's gonna be very cheap xxxxxxxx

Paddy

I've just woken up. It's Thursday. I went out on Saturday. What is my life?

Stephanie

We were lying on his bed, and somehow we started to talk about stuff which had really impacted on us. I'm not sure why, but I wanted to know, I wanted to see what sort of stuff really riled him, made his blood boil y'know? Surely if he was able to write the kinds of songs he does, the type that makes my stomach knot with hurt and anguish, then he must be motivated by some kind of heartbreak. I began to think of possessive ex-girlfriends and crazy Freudian-want-to-fuck-his-mother kinds of theories, fights with mates and schoolboy errors. But instead, he really surprised me.

He told me that his ex-girlfriend used to be in a violent relationship. He said the boyfriend used to beat her, scare her, stalk her and mentally abuse her. He started to sweat and I thought he might cry as he said this. He seemed pained as he went through it, as if he actually was there. I saw him clench his fists as he spoke of how this boyfriend used to lock her out of the house if she was home late. I just sat there saying "Poor girl, poor thing", like a fucking idiot- what do I know? There was this long awkward gap after he finished and I lay there, looking at him; aggravated with this hurt look in his eyes. He said that one night his girlfriend had told him he was in the area, that she was scared. And he had found out where he was and in the pissing rain he ran to the guy's house, with a hammer and no shoes on his feet, overcome with rage, ready to brake the guy in half. Luckily he wasn't there, but he smashed the guy's car windows through and every downstairs' window of his apartment. But he didn't even run, he posted a note through the door saying it was him. And in the morning the police took him into custody.

Although I understand it- I understand the anguish and the pain he would have felt, and the bravery and the fierceness he had displayed, I feel gutted. What he did was the most selfless thing he could have done- he threw caution to the wind as he jumped in head-first, arms flailing, anger everywhere. Revenge and passion. I feel sick and winded by the actions he displayed in an uncaring truly romantic fashion... but before me and to someone else.

I feel truly devastated because I know he wouldn't do it for me.
Four days of depression follow. I cannot even tell him why. 

Thom

Dear ex-housemate,

Congratulations! You moved out. I hate to say it, I really do but this couldn't be better timing. Your incessant whining and shrill voice was starting to do my fucking head in . The way you paraded your fat stomach around in the mornings put me off my bran flakes and every Friday when you got your chubby biscuit-coloured legs out made me want to chunder.

Even from the first moment I moved in I knew I could hate you. You had been drinking and were dancing on the kitchen table like something out of an American teen film, except you weren't hot. You looked ridiculous and I cringed. I cringed harder than ever before.

Your fake black hair next to that orange skin looks horrendous. You used to leave your door open so it was impossible to get away from the noise that religiously blasted from your bedroom. Cringey pop everyday. Back street Boys. Once I heard the cheeky girls.

And every time I see you, you ask me fucking ridiculous questions, but always start the sentence with a little kid's remark, "Ummm Thom, I know I sound stupid but....?". Yes you do sound stupid. If you don't know how many days February has- go look it up on the fucking internet, bitch. And don't try to hug me when you are drunk, you make my skin crawl.

Harsh, yes. But there's only some many times you can push the boundary between inquisitive and damn right nosey. I don't want to tell you about my life, that's why I pretend I can't hear you, why I don't make it to events you are going to, why when you saw me upset that one time I pretended I had fucking chilli in my eyes. And I don't want to hear about your life either. It's mundane as fuck. And you dramatise every single thing. Going to get chips is a big deal. An offer at Tesco's doesn't interest me, because the food you buy makes me want to have an eating disorder. The freezer was constantly full of your microwave meals and pizza and chips in a box. And you wonder why you have acne? Really? But let's not forget you were proud of your body..

However, what really has scarred me is the sound of your voice. I can hear it still. That city twang even though you are from the country..and how you started every sentence with "urrrgh/ummmm/errrrrr.." as loud as you possibly could, as if desperate to be heard. We CAN hear you. Pipe down slut.

I am sorry you are having "family difficulties", but perhaps this is a turning point in your life. Maybe this experience will change your selfishness, ignorance and arrogance. Perhaps you will learn to speak to people like a human being. But probs not. I'm just glad I wont ever get the chance to walk in on you and your chavvy boyfriend doing doggy ever.again.

Seeeee ya

Thomas

p.s. i think i might just turn up to your leaving do

Anna

I caught the bus home tonight, and I sat on the top deck where people were sparsely seated, quiet. Sunday afternoon blues and contented tiredness. As we pulled off, another bus pulled up alongside us. I looked over; the other bus was rammed, people leaning over to other seats, laughing, shopping bags spilled over handbags and people squished into tiny seats. Black people sat next to white people, next to Asian people, next to mixed race people. Mothers, boyfriends, lovers, friends, fathers, daughters, enemies. All Newspapers and talking on telephones, headphones, eating quick substitutes to a meal. Everyone's own worlds colliding together in a moving rectangular box, all oblivious to each other.

As we rounded the corner, the buses split apart, and in one split second, one last look, I saw a lady with her head in her hands. Amidst the silent noise and the static rush, one face stuck out to me,a picture of grief. Unnoticed by her neighbours, she sat the stillest, the quietest. A statue of despair.

And she was crying.