Ha ha, this is quite funny. Went to a meeting today with one of the kids, Matthew, he was showing his work to a Nigerian bloke who does art therapy and the like. He'd been talking us through his paintings, how they represented his torture and imprisonment, and his spirit, and his home country, and then right in the middle of this quite intense exchange, when he was looking through Matthew's work he paused and said 'Ah, Chantelle'. She was the only face he recognised out of all of Matthew's portraits! I really thought that was quite surreal. I also thought that I should stop bringing New magazine to work.

I watched two episodes of the Boosh last night, to counteract a serious panic attack. I then went to bed and has semi-erotic dreams about Noel, which was most disappointing, as I wanted pure filth. Since I've started anti-depressants, my sex drive has all but disappeared. I don't really seem to mind though, as a lack of sex drive means you don't even care, such is your general disdain for the wild monkey dance. I do have a faint memory of what it was like to be interested though, and it's very frustrating when you have a boyfriend that you actually fancy (as this hasn't always been the case), but certain parts of your brain have been surpressed since you met him, so you don't actually know how good it could be, because most of the time you pay as much attention to sex as you would an episode of Gardener's World.