(Lyrics taken from 'Tequila' by Terrorvision)

February 14th 2005 – 12am

Weight: elephant family size, alcohol units: 47 cigarettes: 43 calories: Too depressed to count. Amount of time spent staring broken hearted out the window: At least 2 hours.

Good old alcohol, fixer of anything. "The curse of Tequila, it makes me happy…"

…Bollocks it does. The whole 'come and get pissed and moan with us' thing achieves nothing. Well, nothing other than puking in the kebab shop. Serves Abdul right for all those years of leering down my top when he thinks I'm not sober enough to notice. I swear he drops the sachets of chili sauce on purpose so I'll bend over to help him. Still, he gives good discounts. Or he did.

Andrea went out with Smithy again last night. Or rather, they came out with a group of the relief. I think Smithy looked as surprised as we did when Andrea latched herself onto him. The DCI and DI had just walked in, and really, you could tell Neil was as disgusted as I was, the way a grown woman was flaunting herself…pathetic.

Of course, I don't flaunt myself. …Wouldn't mind if there was something to flaunt about, rather than having to pout on Mickey's shoulder, or one of the girls. I tried to answer Smithy when he was talking to me last night, but it's pretty difficult to force out pleasantries when you're muttering voodoo curses under your breath.

Don't get me wrong, he's lovely. It's her. As soon as the DI left (which was…pretty much as he'd walked in…) Andrea appeared to disappear which was a good thing. Smithy offered a lift, which I was about to take him up on before Mickey reminded me he lives the other side of Sun Hill and it was miles out of his way. Still, nice of him to offer, even if it was out of politeness.

February 15th 2005

Weight: Slightly less elephant size, now down to small rhinoceros. Alcohol units: Whatever is left from last night in system. Cigarettes: 23. Number of suspicious glances at a brazen hussy: As few as I can manage…

She's seeing someone else. It's not a guess, it's not a suspicion, she is! She came in this morning to use the showers, fumbling with the access code. I appeared from under the desk (A girl's gotta catch up on her napping when she's on earlies…) thinking it was Gina, only to be confronted by the sight of her with a man's jacket draped around her shoulders, her skirt halfway inside her knickers and reeking of mens aftershave.

"Good night?" I managed to force out, making sure she knew I was suspicious.

The look on her face was classic, she knew she'd been caught out. I half expected her to try and pass it off as Smithy, but she knew I knew she'd left several hours before.

"Just let me through Charlotte." She sneered. Big whoop. She knows my full name, and uses it as though it should instantly bring me cowering to my knees.

I managed a smirk, and (reluctantly) pressed the button to let her into the main station. "I'll make sure Sergeant Smith knows how keen you are."

Her perfect smug expression slipped a little and she looked worried, before setting her lips in a thin smirk as she walked through. "Oh, he already knows."

Smug bitch. She disappeared into the station after that, stopping herself from a well deserved slap.

Strange how my definition of well deserved and Gina's differ by quite a large margin, and I know she wouldn't have agreed, but it'd make me feel better.

March 2nd 2005

Weight: 9st 3, Alcohol units: 0, Cigarettes 2, hot flushes: lost count, number of incoherent 'ohmigod's': Last count was about 500…

Ladies and gentlemen, there is a god. It's name is 'short-wearing-Smithy'. (I need to work on a better code name for him…)

Found out today they're arranging a charity football match. Suspect said football match is an attempt by management to force my womb to spontaneously implode. CID versus Uniform, Smithy versus Mickey, what are they trying to do to me! Though, Mickey's my best friend, surely he wouldn't mind if I cheered on Uniform…

He would mind, wouldn't he? He'd sulk for hours, which isn't such a bad thing at times, but he's easily pacified with porn, lager and a curry.

Smithy in shorts!