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James called me last night.

He called me just as I was about to start work, not a good thing since I was already running late. Nothing would please The Fat Bastard more than an excuse to fire me, and since my dad has cut my allowance recently (that’s a whole other story) I really need that job at the moment.

So I’m standing on the Tottenham Court Road, trying to think of a way to hurry up this phone conversation because the minutes are ticking away, when James goes, my friends think you’re lovely, by the way. I’m like, huh? Say what?

I mean, get real. There is no way on this earth that his friends are seriously singing my praises. I don’t need a degree in psychotherapy to know that we didn’t exactly hit it off. But tactful is the way to go if I ever want to get laid again, and boy, I so want to be laid again by James; this guy has really got it going on. So I’m like, Oh, that’s nice.

But then I can’t help myself, I fucking hate hypocrisy. I blurt out, and what did Kate say, James? Because I don’t want to be funny here but I got the distinct impression that Kate didn’t find me lovely at all.

I can hear his brain whirring away at the other end of the line. Then he goes, hmmm, well, Kate is kind of possessive of me. It’s just how she is.

I’m like, so what did she say, James? Go on, I can take it.

There’s another silence. Then he goes, well… Oh OK. Kate said that I can’t go out with you because you’re too skinny and too quiet. So I suppose you’re right. Kate doesn’t think you’re lovely.

I laugh so hard I nearly choke. Then I say, I thought so.

Bitch.

Anyway, we’re going out again on Friday night. On one condition - none of his friends will be there.