I have a confession to make: A little part of me is actually beginning to enjoy the Internet dating thing. I didn't really expect it to happen - after all, I only signed up to Match.com because Vicki made me...and because, if I'm being completely honest, I'm lonely and desperate. I know it's the twenty-first century and women don't need a man to complete them, but sometimes having a boyfriend is just...nice. It shows you're loved and appreciated and desirable - all good things, right?

So, while Vicki's initial enthusiasm for Internet dating has petered out (although she appears to still be intent on proving the truth of the phrase, "The best way to get over one man is to get under another," and has thrown herself head-first into a new crush), mine is growing from strength to strength. I've got winks and emails a-plenty, which is very flattering, although until two weeks ago I couldn't actually read or reply to any of the emails because I hadn't subscribed. I have now rectified this, but remain undecided as to whether paying £60 to "find love" is a bargain or not.

I didn't get off to a particularly good start - although probably my expectation were too high. One thing I've learned is that there are a lot of weirdos in the world, and most of them seem to live nearby. I received an email from (judging by his profile photo) a blimp with a goatee who proceeded to write literally an essay about himself before finally, at the very end, asking me one question about myself. I've also received several pervy emails that I chose to ignore, and one that made me laugh purely because of how shameless a flatterer the guy was:

Hi i was just reading your profile and find it impossible to believe your single you must be every guys perfect match.

What. A. Liar.

I've also learned that one of the (many) reasons I've been single so long is because I'm really picky. Not just a little picky, really picky. I have a mental list of turn-offs that includes, but is not limited to; men called John (my dad's name); men called James (my brother's name); shirtless profile photos; poor grammar and/or spelling; any mention of football; blimps (this might be my future husband we're talking about, I'm allowed to be judgemental about weight); those who live more than thirty miles away; men who don't read; profile photos with a girl beside them; usernames such as hotstud32; anyone who looks like a creepy psychopath in his profile photo; those without a profile photo (it's just suspicious); rubbish or cheesy headlines; and men aged over 25 who still live with their parents. A university education is preferable, but not a dealbreaker.

Conversely, it doesn't take much to interest me. Rides a motorbike? Wink. Earns over £50,000 a year? Wink. Reads a lot? Wink. Has an exotic profile picture? Wink.

Anyway, I finally think I might have maybe possibly met someone. His name is Dan, he's twenty-two, and we've been emailing each other for just over a week. He's studying Computer Science at university, which is excellent because I can be a bit of a computer geek, too. We seem to have a lot in common, but not so much that we're like creepy male and female versions of the same person. The more I think about Internet dating, the more sense it makes to me. After all, I use the Internet for everything else - so why shouldn't it be able to find me a boyfriend? What's more, I've been conversing with people online since the age of about thirteen - my friend Gina and I used to use chatrooms together a lot when we were younger, and I've got to know tons of people through Quizilla and FictionPress - so I'm comfortable talking to people that way. The only difference being on a dating website, of course, that instead of heading towards a potential friendship with someone, you're heading towards a potential relationship...which is infinitely more frightening.

Where was I? Right. Dan. We've been exchanging emails, and I really like what I know of him so far. I told myself I wouldn't get my hopes up too much because my overactive imagination tends to have me mentally picking out china patterns within about ten minutes of meeting a bloke I like, but that kind of went to hell. I've been trying to do a sort of Vulcan mind meld with him for the past few days, going "Ask me out! ASK...ME...OUT" and apparently it's finally worked, because he's just sent me an email asking for my mobile number so we can arrange to meet for coffee or whatever. (Hurrah!) But there's a little nagging thought in the back of my mind that worries that, however much we like each other online, we might not actually be attracted to each other in real life. As I've said before, just because two people look good together on paper, dosn't mean the chemistry will be there.

I think I'm going to repeat "I must not get my hopes up" to myself like a mantra every hour, in the vain hope that it will actually work.

In an attempt to live more in the real world as opposed to the ones in books/films/TV shows, I was watching the news earlier, and saw the part about the solider Olaf Schmid's widow paying tribute to him. She was immensely brave and strong at his funeral, especially as she delivered the eulogy. But here's the thing: I disagree with what she said.

She spoke of the soliders in Afghanistan being "our protectors" and that "in past conflicts, where there was an immediate threat to our shores and our existence, soldiers were never plagued with self-doubt about the value of their role in society, and a people and their soldiers were once close in unity." She basically said we should honour the memories of the soliders who've died because they gave up their lives protecting us - which isn't true. Afghanistan posed no "immediate threat" to us (by us I mean Britian, but the same applies to America). They didn't actively declare war. The general population was under no real threat from them. Yes, 9/11 was a tragedy, but it was a group of evil people working alone, not the country as a whole. We basically stuck our nose in where it didn't belong and condemned an entire nation for the actions of a few. I know it's not quite that clear-cut, but you catch my drift.

I know Schmid's widow must need the comfort of believing her husband died for a good and just cause, but this isn't the case. The war in Afghanistan isn't noble or worthy. It's cruel and vicious and unfair. Schmid's death, and the deaths of all those who've died in Afghanistan - not just soliders but civilians - is the worst kind: needless.

I freely admit it: I like Twilight. I'm not one of those people who think Stephenie Meyer is the Antichrist. They argue that the books aren't realistic - of course not, they're not supposed to be. They're about vampires, for God's sake! And as for them not being well-written? Well, they're not exactly badly written and they actually have their moments. And so what if Twilight isn't the most amazing piece of literature ever written? Who says it's supposed to be? It was intended to be entertaining, and it is.

On that note, Vicki, Hayley and I went to see New Moon at the cinema last night. We prebooked tickets, which turned out to be just as well because we were ten minutes late (fortunately the trailers lasted about half an hour, so we didn't miss any of the film itself). Long story short, the High Street was closed to cars because they were turning on the Christmas lights, which meant we had to go the back way to Guildford. I never drive that way so I had no idea where I was going, but Hayley assured me she knew how to cut out the High Street via the cricket ground. So we were driving down narrow country lanes when Hayley stabbed her finger and said, "There, that's the turning! ...No wait, it's not. Yes, it is! TURN!" This last was said, rather unhelpfully, as I'd just passed the turning. It turned out to be the only turning for about five miles, and the road was a one-lane one so there was no room to turn around. And it was dark. And foggy. I actually told Hayley, "Don't take this the wrong way, but I hate you a little bit right now."

I absolutely loathe driving anyway, but it's worse when it's dark and on country lanes, which are so unpredictable. We somehow ended up driving all the way to Shere (a quaint little village that featured in The Holiday. You know those narrow country lanes Cameron Diaz hurtled down in the film? That was me last night, only I was driving at about thirty miles an hour because I was too afraid to go faster), which was ages out of the way. Vicki was not impressed with how late we were.

As for the film itself, it was...okay. I think I preferred the first one. There wasn't enough Edward, for obvious reasons, and I hate Jacob. For God's sake, he's seventeen years old in real life - it's unnatural for someone that age to have a body like that. It was not a good look. I think he wore a top about twice; I was really tempted to shout, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, PUT A SHIRT ON!" To be completely honest, I found the audience more entertaining than the film. Usually at the cinema everyone watches the film in absolute silence, but there's a great sort of camaraderie with Twilight fans (it's the same with Harry Potter fans, actually). When the film started everyone cheered, as well as when we first saw Edward, and someone (okay, me) booed when Jacob made his first appearance. We all laughed at some of the more ridiculous moments, too. But I think my favourite moment was when, at the end, we heard someone behind us complaining they'd have to wait a year for the third film to find out what happens next, and Vicki muttered a little too loudly, "Read the bloody books!"

I can't believe I almost forgot to mention it, but I updated Hunter's Moon earlier! I can't believe it took me so horrendously long, but what with everything that's been going on - not to mention writer's block - I just haven't had the time or inspiration to write recently. But I was watching the news two nights ago about the severe floods in the Lake District and it reminded me of how long it's been since I updated. So I've been sitting down at my laptop and just writing. I'd almost forgotten how good it feels. (By the way, I've more or less given up on NaNoWriMo this year. There's no way in H-E-L-L I'm going to finish 50,000 words of the A Quick Bite rewrite in time.) I shall endeavour to update my other stories very soon.

Vicki and I are going out clubbing tonight. Dusk is apparently having a masquerade ball, and if you're one of the first hundred and fifty people, you get a free mask. Wish us luck!

It's been a very traumatic week for me. My month's free trial to McAffee on my new laptop expired and neglected to tell me, so I went online and downloaded music, etc for a few of days without realising I wasn't protected. As a consequence, my laptop crapped up and I had to fork out £115 for the privilege of having three viruses and some spyware removed. I actually cried when my laptop crashed, which I'm aware is really pathetic, but my entire life is on this laptop and I felt bereft without it. I actually felt like an owner having to leave her beloved pet at the vet when I handed my laptop over to the IT company who fixed it for me. (I got a stern lecture from the bloke who fixed it about how important it is to have virus protection. It's not like I did it on purpose!) But it's cured now, thank God.

Can I just say that how needlessly cruel does someone have to be to create a computer virus? I can understand spyware so someone can get your bank details or whatever, but a simple virus doesn't benefit anyone - words cannot express how much I despise anyone who would be so vicious as to make one. Grrrr.

An-y-way. Yesterday was Bonfire Night, which was great fun. I went to our local one on the village common with the parental units - which made me feel about twelve, but in a good way - and ate too much candy floss at the funfair, naturally. The fireworks were spectacular, and there was sci-fi themed music playing that coordinated perfectly with them. The bonfire was absolutely enormous and oddly beautiful, sending up sparks into the dark sky that looked like orange glitter. I used to be terrified of fireworks until I was about sixteen - they're just so loud - so it's nice to know I've finally got over it (though I suspect the candy floss had something to do with it).

Continuing the theme of English traditions, today was Remembrance Sunday, and at work we observed three minutes silence for those who've died fighting for our country. We had to stop serving people on the tills, which some customers weren't happy about...grumpy sods. How ungrateful can you get? I spent the time thinking about my two great uncles - one on Mum's side, one on Dad's - who died during World War II, and about how cold my feet were. (On a small segue, it was so cold in the store today that my hands got really dry and the skin on them actually cracked. Ouch.) I have three German colleagues, two of whom were working today, and it was very slightly awkward when we were reminded by the manager that there was going to be a three minute silence, but they observed the silence just like everyone else. And why not? They probably have family members who died in the First and Second World Wars, too.

Oh, and Julie Walters - of Harry Potter and Mamma Mia! fame, among other things - came into work today. I've actually met her before, as she lives nearby and came to my school when I was in Year Nine to give a talk to the drama students, but it was still a little bizarre seeing her there. I didn't recognise her at first because her hair was entirely grey, whereas in her films it's always brown (or ginger in Harry Potter). It turns out she knows my colleague Judy because their daughters went school together. Judy and I were reducing date expired items together at the time, so I was able to eavesdrop shamelessly on their conversation. I meant to peek into her trolley and see what she was buying because my parents are always interested to know these things, but I forgot. They do this with people we know, too. My mum is the nosiest, but even my dad has his moments. A few years ago, when I was working in a chemist, Eric Clapton - who also lives nearby - came in and my dad got really excited when I told him, as he's been a fan of classic rock when it was just called rock, and asked what he'd bought. (Nurofen Plus, in case anyone cares.)

So that's pretty much all I've been up to. I haven't written much as my laptop was crapped up - I write in notebooks when I don't have my laptop to hand, but I prefer my computer as I can type much faster than I write - and now I'm really behind on NaNoWriMo. I have a lot of catching up to do if I want to complete it this year. If you're participating in NaNoWriMo, I hope you're doing better than I am!

I dressed up as - surprise, surprise - a vampire for Halloween. It was basically me in a black body-con dress, black leather jacket and red heels with a pair of plastic vampire fangs. It was very The Wizard of Oz meets Twilight. My friends and I went on a haunted tour of Guildford last night - it's something we've been meaning to do for years and years, but never got round to before. Guildford is such an old city that there are a gazillion historic buildings and ghost stories connected to it. There were about fifty people in the group, and we were taken around some of Guildford's haunted locations, such as the castle (which is nine hundred years old) and the Angel Hotel. Apparently hangings used to take place on the Mount, which is a hill opposite the High Street, and I'm really glad I didn't know that when I used to go there every week for my historical re-enactment group (yes, I was that sad, and it was bloody fun), especially when we were there at night. We even used to use a coffin as our coffee table.

We went to Harper's (which we hadn't been to for three years, as some of it was turned into a strip club) and then Time Dusk afterwards, but it was so crowded that I couldn't really enjoy myself. It was beyond simply being busy - you could barely move for all the people. On the dance floor I was being knocked to and fro like a ship being buffeted at sea. I got really pissed off and may have "accidentally" stepped on a few toes in my heels and elbowed a few people. I also had a guy dressed as a pirate put his hand on my arse, which I took objection to. (Not as weird as the year I got off with a guy dressed as a monk. At least, I really hope it was a costume...) The music was rubbish too - mostly a bunch of songs I didn't recognise that were just a headache-inducing beat and no lyrics. They didn't even play any spooky songs! Lame.

I have to admit I gave into temptation last week and watched the first seven episodes of The Vampire Diaries online. I don't think words can sufficiently express how much I am in love with this programme. I actually like it more than the books - which, to be fair, is my least favourite series by L.J. Smith. Stefan and Damon are completely gorgeous, and the latter is so awesome in it. I don't even mind that Elena is a brunette any more, or that they cut Meredith out. I hated Vicky, so I'm glad she got killed off - she was much easier to sympathise with in the books. Funnily enough though, I prefer Elena's character on the show to the books; she comes across as more realistic and vulnerable on TV. So...yeah. The series rocks. Watch it.

I finally gave in and joined Twitter - you can find me here, although I warn you I have nothing very interesting to say. I'm also doing NaNoWriMo this year (as The Burning Roses, naturally). I completed the 50,000 words target last year, so I'm giving it another go. I decided not to write an entirely new novel in the end; instead, I'm going to use this opportunity to begin my rewrite of A Quick Bite. It's such a complete overhaul of the old story that it sort of counts as a new one. But don't worry, I won't be taking down the old one from FictionPress. If you're also participating in NaNoWriMo, feel free to add me as a writing buddy!

Lastly, I promise I will eventually get over my writer's block and post a new chapter of something online. Don't give up on me!

I've had a (mostly) fun couple of days. Vicki and I made a pact before she came home from Australia that we were going to stop each other from falling into a serious rut - we're going to go out more, be healthier, and generally be better than before. And, amazingly, we're actually sticking to it. Our main thing is that we've decided to start clubbing again. We got really into it the summer before university started (2006) - a large group of us would go out together every Thursday night in Guildford - but for some reason we stopped and haven't been clubbing in Guildford for absolutely ages.

So, on Thursday night, Vicki and I head into Guildford to see what's changed since we were last on the scene. Turns out, not much. The clubs are pretty much exactly the same as they were before - even Harper's, which we stopped going to because it became a strip club (yes, really - although I did, ahem, visit several strip clubs with friends in Tijuana, Mexico a couple of years ago...but the less said about that, the better). Part of it is now a bar (sans pole dancers) so we spent a while there, as well as Wetherspoons and Flares. Neither of us were drinking but I think that's a good thing - there's something seriously wrong with the culture here that dictates you can't have fun without being pissed, which is patently untrue. We arrived home at one in the morning and I fell into bed, only to roll back out of it four and a half hours later for work. I was relatively awake at first, but around midday I just crashed and went around the store like a zombie.

Yesterday, we headed out again, only we ended up in Dusk - which was called Time in our day. It's a chavtastic club that we nevertheless used to frequent all the time a few years ago. Although it's changed management, it looks exactly the same inside: the same strobe lighting, the same decor, the same floor that is so saturated with spilled drinks that your shoes inevitably stick to it. (To be fair, it's nowhere near as bad as Jesters in Southampton - there's a reason it was voted the worst club in the country.) The music was the usual fare, too, a mixture of R&B, hip-hop and dance, most of which I hate unless I'm actually on a dance floor.

We also completed the Time Challenge: be danced/groped by scuzzy, chavvy  blokes. The first bloke who danced with me (there were several - should I be flattered...?) bore an uncanny resemblance to Cletus the Slack-jawed Yokel. He spent most of the time with his hand on my arse and was practically dry-humping me at one point. Nice. I did meet a rather good-looking blond guy - who looked a bit like JP from Hollyoaks/Ryan from Emmerdale - who asked me what I thought of one of the guys I'd just finished dancing with. For some reason I thought he was friends with the guy, so I brushed him off when he tried to persuade me to go back onto the dance floor instead of getting a drink. It was only afterwards when we were at the bar that Vicki pointed out Blondie had been interested in me himself. I'd completely missed the signs. Doi. And it was too late to take it back, because I had essentially snubbled him - albeit without even realising it!

So yeah, I had a great time last night, although I would have liked to get to know Blondie better. Maybe if I wasn't quite so dense when it comes to men... Still, I have a problem with blokes one meets in clubs. It's not like they're proper boyfriend material, which is what I want - I don't do 'flings'. They're usually only after one thing, and they don't want to get to know Sophie, they want Slutty (and in my new body-con dress, boy, was I ever Slutty last night). Le sigh.

Since I had such fun going over my diary from when I was sixteen, I decided to look through earlier ones as well. I've been keeping them periodically since I was thirteen - ever since my friend Gina's mother died. Gina was my best friend at the time (she's still a good friend now, although we don't see each other as much as we used to) and it was really hard for me, not only because I knew her mum so well but because it was absolutely heartbreaking to see my best friend so devastated. I had no idea how to really comfort her - is there anything one can say in such a situation that will instantly make everything better...? - and just tried to be there for her as much as possible. Keeping a diary was a way for me to cope. I also (just to overshare a little) got my first period that year, while I was on holiday in Spain. That entry is actually too embarrassing to share, but it mostly involved me complaining that getting your period for the first time is sucky enough, let alone when you're in another country.

Anyway, without further ado, let's hear a few brief words from thirteen-year-old me:

I have never kept a diary before so please bare bear bare with me if what I write is all rubbish. [Yes, even I made mistakes once]

A lot has happened. I’m back at school for Year Nine, I still fancy Matt but not Callum, yadda yadda yadda.
[These were the two boys I fancied periodically for most of Years Seven to Ten. Callum actually went out with Gina in Year Seven while I dated his friend Kevin – if never seeing each other outside of school and kissing exactly once can be called ‘dating’ (well, we were eleven) – before he turned his attention to me. We never actually went out, but did a sort of weird dating dance for about two years. Interestingly, after some Facebook stalking a year ago I discovered he’s now gay – just like Michael! (I must have the worst gaydar in the world.) As for Matt, I sent him a rose on Valentine’s Day one year only to have him reject me in a really mean way that I won’t go into because it made me cry at the time. He then went out with a friend of mine – in fact, they’re still together – and moved into a house opposite my cul-de-sac. Awkward]

That's all I'm willing to share from age thirteen, but here's a bit from age fourteen. In March 2002, Gina and I went on a cruise of the Mediterranean with our school, where we visited Greece, Syria, Egypt, Crete and Rhodes. I appear to have been really angsty and bitchy on this trip, at least in my diary:

In between the talks on Syria, we all took refuge in Chloe, Charlie and Elise's room. A (really ugly) boy called James kept putting his arm around Gina and she kept leaning on him - it was gross. Even later, Gina told me that James told her he fancies her, and vice versa. She had obviously found out earlier but didn't bother to tell me. She never tells me anything anymore, and we're supposed to be BEST FRIENDS.

Heather told me Donna [the two girls I was sharing a cabin with on the trip] has been slagging me off, but there you go. [I love that I can apparently be so blasé about it]

We went to the step pyramid at Saqqara, which is even older than the ones at Giza. I wandered away from my friends to take some photos, and a weird man tried to pick me up and put me on his donkey. I started going "Noooooo!" and Elise came up to the man and yelled at him until he let me go and ran away. SCARY! [I like to tell people that a creepy man tried to kidnap me in Egypt because I find their reaction amusing, but I think he probably just wanted to make me ride the donkey so I'd have to give him money. They were all like that in Egypt and Syria - desperate for even a penny. Although considering I saw houses that were little more than mud huts with satellite dishes hooked up to them, I didn't feel very inclined to give them any]

I have a great big whopping blister on my left foot, which is so painful I can barely walk! Walking around Muhammad Ali's mosque was absolute torture. James carried me some of the way to help me, but everyone stared at us, so he had to put me down. [I'm not surprised we got weird looks - showing skin in a mosque is a big no-no, let alone men and women touching!]

Donna returned to the room suddenly so Heather and I stopped talking. She got stressy and accused us of talking about her - which we were, but that's not the point. [Isn't it?] Then she said, "I can't STAND sharing with you two!" and stormed out. I shouted after her, "Well, it's not exactly a bundle of fun sharing with you, either!" God, she makes me so mad.

After lunch it was time for the talk on Rhodes. Donna was peering over Charlie's shoulder and reading part of her diary aloud, so I snapped at her, "Donna, in case you don't know this, diaries are meant to be PRIVATE. As in, not read by anyone else but the person who wrote it?" Gina gave me a little secret smile and mouthed at me, "WE didn't exactly obey that, did we?" She was talking about Thursday morning when the two of us and Heather accidentally [read: we searched the room for it] found Donna's diary. It was really boring - there was NOTHING interesting in it!

[After a huge fight with my mum the day after arriving home from the cruise] So this is why I am so pissed off and upset, and I SERIOUSLY feel like killing myself.

Yes! I knew it was there somewhere! I knew I must have written somewhere the thing every teenager puts in their diary at some point - that they hate life so much, that their parents don't understand them to the extent that suicide seems like the only answer. Perhaps I'm making light of a serious subject, but come on, fifteen-year-old me...melodramatic much?

One of the most interesting things about re-reading my old diaries is realising how much I've changed since then. I still have my melodramatic moments, certainly (most of which I channel into my character Lexie), but I'm no longer the person I was in those diaries. I've - gasp! - grown up. (More or less.)