Sunday: did a bit of Italian and met new housemate Jess, who is cool.
Monday: had barbecue. Cunningly did not start drinking until about 9pm, so although I did get a bit drunk it wasn't too much, and I didn't have a hangover the following morning. I got my monkey, too. I have also decided that I like the word "gazebo", because you can use it in so many contexts. What else? Oh yes - duranorak turns out to have a lovely singing voice, too...
Tuesday: got up and went into London to meet monarchist boyfriend Stef, who was a bit late as he had had his panier bags searched twice by vigilant policemen. I felt rather uncomfortable seeing loads of people walking past with Union flags, and little children dressed up in union-flag dresses and T-shirts etc. We wandered round, saw a giant screen which was transmitting Preacher Blair's speech in the Mansion House (nauseating stuff about "we love you ma'am, you have earned the people's affection through a half-century of selfless public service blah blah blah..."). Stef was hoping to see the Queen, but we spent too long in the pub and lost track of what was going on, so instead I indulged his royalist sympathies by standing around in Trafalgar Square with him for 50 mins or so until the fly-past happened. The poor thing was all emotional. Gracious. Still, I feel quite strongly that love means supporting your loved one's cherished hobbies, no matter how peculiar, as long as nobody gets hurt.
Important point: I refused to wave the flag he'd bought me, though. My ethics on this were, I think, consistent with the way I used to handle the "loyal toast" at formal dinners in Cambridge viz. I would stand up with the rest of the diners, but not raise the glass to my lips. I think this is a reasonable compromise between politesse and personal integrity. So nyah.