I’m at Kate’s until tomorrow, because Mum’s at work attending a Syria crisis meeting, and when I let myself in, Kate was like: “What happened to you?”

Me: Polly’s got a boyfriend now, so she didn’t need me to stay out.

Kate: I was going to pick you up from the station.

Me: I walked.

Kate: You should’ve called me.

Me: I didn’t.

Kate: Wrong answer.

Me: Sorry. And sorry.

Kate: Better text Polly to say you’re home safe.

Me: She doesn’t care.

Kate: Text her.

Me: I’m going to bed.

Kate: Happy New Year, Phoebe. I love you. Text Polly.

I’m so not texting her.

2:05 A.M.

Polly just called me from the District Line.

She was like: “I didn’t realize you’d gone.”

And then she was like: Tristan this, Tristan that, Tristan says hi, OMG, Tristan and I are so happy, and I was like: Who is this? Can you get Polly, please?

What happens to people when they fall in love?

It’s like their brain short-circuits. Like they’ve had a stroke.

It’s been the shittiest NYE in fifteen years.

It’s been even more shit than last year when Polly puked in my lap after too many Apple Sourz.

3:30 A.M.

I just researched sologamy a bit more, and even though it is a brilliant idea, the people who’ve done it look like proper dicks.

PS: Polly still hasn’t wished me a happy new year.

PPS: I think people turn crazy the moment they turn sixteen. Polly was literally normal until her birthday in November.

PPPS: I swear I’m not going to fall victim to love when I turn sixteen, if it’s the last thing I do … or should that be “don’t do”?

Tuesday, January 2 #TheHappyNewYearContinues

There are seven billion people in the world.

That’s seven million million. So why, oh why, does my mother think she has to be the one helping out whenever there’s a major catastrophe?

This is how it always goes down:

Earthquake in Italy: Sorry, Phoebe, I’m off to dig some nuns out from under the rubble.

(Dumps me at Kate’s house.)

Hurricane in Haiti: Sorry, Phoebe, I’m off to help all those who didn’t get blown away.

(Dumps me at Kate’s house.)

Cholera in the Democratic Republic of Congo: Sorry, Phoebe, I’m off to rehydrate the Third World.

(Dumps me at Kate’s house.)

Ebola in Africa: Sorry, Phoebe, a deadly disease that may or may not be airborne just broke out, and I simply must be there.

(Dumps me at Kate’s house.)

So guess what happened when Mum collected me from Kate’s this morning?

Yep.