Although I am still coughing:

I'm better.

I am tired, though, which is why this might be an uninspired and boring post. Imagine it written in yellow crayon. Annoying and difficult to read.

I was ill, and so I am tired. This seems logical. There are, however, a couple of other reasons for my feeling of lethargy and, oh, fuck it, tiredness. My vocabulary muscle has been draughted in by the Emergency Keep Léonie Awake Operation going on in my body.

I went up to Warwick at the weekend. In case I haven't told you before, Warwick is where I went to university, where they made me read Ulysses. I went up to see a show that the Musical Theatre Society was putting on. I did a HUGE amount of musical theatre when I was there, I think I was in about sixteen shows, and those in their thrid years now were first years when I was there, and so I have some remaining friends.

The show was called The Wild Party and if you are interested and want to look at their lovely website you can.

It's here, by the way: www.wild-party.co.uk.

It was wonderful, and the cast was wonderful, direction and choreography wonderful.

I went to the party afterwards and had a conversation that has taken about a year to happen.

Oh, you know what? Fuck it. I can't be bothered to talk in code, I am WAY too tired.

The post I wrote about exes for Blogging For Books? You know the one - I think I came across as having had more boyfriends than, oh, than, um, oh bollocks, than someone has had more of something that they have had loads and loads of. You know. There was one who broke my heart in retrospect?

I saw him. He is one of the leads in the show, and he was fantastic. He is an incredibly talented performer, and in this role he was breathtaking.

We haven't spoken for nearly a year. How very strange that you can have such an intense relationship with someone and then turn away and ignore it. By saying that I'm really not blaming anybody for doing that, because I know I have done it, as unnatural as it feels. Anyway, we didn't speak. Nothing. Then, on Saturday after the show I went up to him and I told him how very proud I was was of him. I knew it wasn't my place to be proud, I said, but I was nevertheless. He responded that it meant such a lot to hear me say that, and thanked me. That evening at various points (in time and in drunkenness) we talked, caught up, made peace with each other.

He told me that he reads this blog. Which is nice! Always good to have an errant fan.

It was transitional for me, and nice. I feel that finally I am able to feel good about that section of my life. I can be reminded of him and not feel a twisting pain underneath my ribs. Now it has been replaced by a feeling of bittersweet nostalgia, which is a different kind of pain, but a nice one.

Travelling back to London on Sunday evening I was exhausted. I certainly felt a sense of relief to be returning, although there is still a part of me that yearns for the simplicity and excitement of university. My life now is independent, if less straight forward. I understand the balances of it, the necessities I endure and luxuries I permit. It is my own, and I am responsible for improving it.

I went back to my flat in Clapham, and felt a sense of belonging. I chatted to my flatmates and looked around, trying to understand what it meant that this was my home. Looking at the train tracks that run past the end of the garden and knowing that this was my section of train track. Yes, you can hear the trains hurtling past on their way in between Waterloo and Paris Gare du Nord, but despite that I love the flat. The lounge has white wooden floorboards, and as well as two armchairs and a sofa it has a big dining table, which is great. My room has an alcove bit that you step up into and into which I am going to move the wardrobe, to create a Moulin Rouge-style dressing room. The flat she is lovely. We are going to have a party to warm the cockles of our lovely flat, and Bec and David (my flatmates) had fallen in love with the idea of having a 'C' party (for Clapham), which I am prepared to go along with. So far we are thinking that Bec will be Cleopatra, David either a Chimney Sweep or a caterpillar, and I will be Catwoman. These are by no means the final decisions, and we haven't even decided on a date. We're like children who, upon deciding to put on a play, spend hours and hours getting the costumes perfect and spend five unconcentrated minutes on the plot and script.

Oh, and you know the suitor? With the lovely flowers and the vibrating other present? Yeah, that's over. It wasn't going anywhere, really, and although I was the first to say it, I think he agreed with me.

At some point I'm going to write an entry about the sheer rip-roaring fun that I had the weekend before last, when I hiked TWENTY KILOMETRES IN ONE DAY and then drank tequila. Not now, though, because I'm tired and I need more coffee.

At some other point I'm going to write about my gig plan in further detail, for no real other reason than to clarify it in my mind, but not now, for the afore-mentioned tiredness-related reasons.

The most important news I have to impart, however, is that I bought a ring over the weekend, and I love it. It is HUGE and sparkling, and cost me £1.99 from Savers.

This whole post was just me gearing up to tell you that. I think you'll agree that it was definitely worth it.