The diary of Emma D May: Hopelessly devoted...

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Indy Lifestyle Online
Emma is still missing in Goa. Luckily, Anna's partying hard enough for both of them. This is her diary.

SUNDAY 12.O1am Spent afternoon singing along to Grease video with new Substitute Best Girlfriend. Decided to go for Sandra Dee-style makeover and persuade SBG to help spoon me into v. old PVC trousers found at the back of the closet. Can't breath out. Take off knickers and try again. Look like catwoman but still can't breath out. Breath, who needs it? SBG hauls me and Vikram off to new underground club in Farringdon. Ape on door winks; try killer-glare but false eyelashes get tangled and end up looking like I have a faceful of mating spiders. SBG laughs. Consider sacking her.

12.05am: Club turns out to be underground in every sense of the word; small, dark and v.v. humid. Sweat runs down inside of PVC trouserlegs to soak into cork-soled wedgies. SBG returns from bar with vodka and Red Bull. Mutters something about me looking like 'boil-in-the- bag salmon'. Consider throwing drink in her face but decide I need to replenish lost fluids. Mull over other candidates for SBG status; most female acquaintances either iron their socks or are no longer speak to me after accidentally copping off with their boyfriends.

12.30am: Body shrinkage due to sweating eventually loosens trousers. Practice grinding cigarette out with high heel. Slip on wet cork and collapse gracelessly onto Random Passing Bloke.

12.36am: RPB deftly catches me mid-tumble, then clinched Vivien Leigh style, bends-down and says 'Hiya Anna, what you doing here?' Almost swoon.

12.35am: RPB turns out to be Fit Euan from college. Still fit. Have deep and meaningful conversation about Life Since He Last Saw Me. Nice eyes, nice pecs, nice bum. Sandra Dee says "Grrrr".

1.00am: Fit Euan suggests we descend into the gentlemen's toilets for a wee line, and maybe more. My PVC trousers crackle with electricity.

1.10am: Electricity of trousers turns out to be of the extremely static powder-attracting variety. All drugs exposed to the atmosphere instantly adhere to my PVC clad crotch and upper thighs. After initial shock, Eaun takes this in his stride. Decides to apply his nostrils to the relevant areas of my person. Door of the bloke's toilets opens. Vikram walks in, see Euan's face in my fanny, raises eyebrow, walks out again, Don't think I'll bother trying to explain.

1.15am: While nasally exploring my lower half, Fit Eaun notices small pools of liquid gathering round my feet. Reassure him that I am not, actually, incontinent, just sweaty. He laughs strangely.

1.20am: Go back into club. Fit Eaun mysteriously disappears into crowd.

1.25am: Bump into SBG. About to bite her head off as pissed-offness focus substitute. Am knocked off stride by magic words, 'fancy splitting a pill?'

2.35am: SBG is substitute no longer; she is best friend ever. Stare moonily into each others eyes saying, "l looove you", "I always liked you more than Emma", "You're so coool." We dance a rapturous "You're The One That I Want" routine.

4.00am: Bump into bloke with quiff, ask him if he is a Christian Scientist, he seems not to understand.

4.30am: On way to toilet catch sight of SBG canoodling with Fit Euan. SBG no longer substitute, indeed no longer friend at all.

5.30am: Back home. "I feel like a traitor," I whimper between puffs. "How did I think I could ever replace her?" "You're right,"Vikram mutters through a cloud of smoke . "For me, Olivia Newton-John was the only one who could really carry the Sandra Dee role with any conviction." Decide to torch Grease tape as gesture at being misunderstood by cruel world.

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