Reader, writing that last entry was like inviting fate to laugh at me. 'No nights out!' I wrote, thinking of my sofa and the tv shows I've been watching lately. 'My life is so dull and not like a dramatic 20 something life at all!'
Reader, last night was insane.
Fate decided to chuck me one of those nights that features in Girls, I met Lady Luxe and her amazing 7 ft male model friend, then we went for dinner (but since I'd been picking at things all day I just sat with them while they ate) and we drank out of jam jars (so Shoreditch darling). Then it was on to a private members club in Soho, where we had a ridiculous number of cocktails-and every time I finished one, someone would order another to replace it. Every time I went to the loo, I'd get offered a line of coke (which I never know how to politely refuse. I always sound like I'm turning down an offer of tea 'Oh, no thank you, I'm grand! But cheers anyway!') and in classic Ash form, I ended up acting like a total prat. After a large amount of alchohol, I got chatting to a really pretty lady in the bathroom and was sure we'd met. I kept saying 'Were you at this audition or that?' and even asked if she went to my old uni. In the mean time, her and her friend kept laughing. It was only this morning that I realised it was Angela Griffin, hugely famous Brit actor and presenter. I slightly wanted to cut my own tongue out for telling her she must 'just have one of those faces'.
Then great excitement occurred when Tom Hiddleston was spotted! My new friend Ruby and I decided to go on a Loki hunt (to no avail), but an hour later, I passed him deep in conversation. Realising that I was too tipsy to actually make a good impression by speaking up, I stroked his arm and ran away. I am ridiculous. I stroked and ran. Please someone kill me.
The rest of the night is a bit of a blur, but there was a kiss in a rooftop garden, dancing with my ex boss like we were old men at a wedding to tunes of the early 2000's, chats with celebs about my hair (a bloke from Eastenders called it 'A firey dream'), someone telling me they wanted to write a book about me and a taxi home at 4am.
I'm still not entirely sure what happened, it all feels like a mad haze. Occasionally, my hangover clears and I remember saying some really stupid, far too brutally honest things and have to hide under a pillow again (apparently drunk Ash has no grasp of social etiquette). Two nights of drinking have destroyed me, so from tomorrow onwards it's all about running, Bikram yoga and veggie soup.
For a while at least...