Tim Westwood on Wednesday night at work. I think its safe to say I wasn't looking forward to that one too much. However, I clearly need not have worried. The club has a capacity of over a thousand - and only about 400 tickets were sold. It was full of 'homeboys', but thankfully it wasn't frantically busy or anything. In fact, I was even on a till on my own, yet wasn't run ragged. The boyf had bought tickets for himself and our neighbour/close chum who had agreed to accompany him, yet he knocked on our door after he finished work and said he couldn't go because he had a meeting early the next morning. Bless the boyf. He spent the rest of the night in the pub (apparently - I wasn't there, being in work, obviously) trying to ply him with pints to get him drunk enough to trick him into going. Alas, it did not work. But hurrah! The boyf did manage to pursuade one of our lovely flatmates to go with him (reluctantly) instead. The ironic thing is, she ended up really enjoying it, and he was not too impressed.

Now last night at work, however, was another matter altogether, which again is ironic, as I had not really given last night a second thought.

It all started about 3 hours before I actually got there. I was having a nap, as I was shattered from one night's work and facing another one in a matter of hours. In the middle of my nap, I was woken up by a loud bang outside, but as I was half asleep and things bang a lot in my neighbourhood (I do live in Woodhouse, after all), I thought nothing of it.

However, come 9.30, as I was getting ready to leave for work, I came face to face with my rear car windscreen - shattered. Yes, one of the lovely neighbourhood children had smashed it. Smashed my window - yet had taken absolutely nothing, not even my radio. Bastards.

After calling the police (who said there was nothing they could do) I left for work in the boyf's car. Upon my arrival, I noticed that my hand was covered in, and dripping with, blood. Yes, I had cut my hand when I checked inside the car to see if my radio was still there, and hadn't even noticed.

So here I was, 45 minutes late for work and covered in blood. The bar manager had a bit of a shock. A lovely American girl I work with insisted on giving me first-class first aid, and bandaged my hand up so tight I kept losing feeling in my little finger. The lovely bar manager put me on the quiet bar, as I was obviosuly not having a good night.

And then the fun began.

It was a drum and bass night, and it was absolutely packed full of pillheads. Glass collecting was a nightmare, and the 'quiet' bar was mayhem. I eventually got home, stinking of beer, covered in sweat and all bloodstained at 3am. And then couldn't get to sleep for ages because I couldn't stop stressing about my taped-up car.

But it is all fine now. A car window repair man is on his way, my hand is all fine now (TINIEST of cuts - how did it bleed so much?) and I'm all rested up. Phew!

I'm having a night in on my own tonight, as one flatmate has already gone home, boyf will be going home, and t'other flatmate is working (ha! - in the same place as me - ha!) so I'm going to go to bed at 8 with a Galaxy bar and my North and South video. Can't wait.