Nearly July. I love July.
It's been awhile since I cracked this thing open, let's see what sort of trouble I can get into.

First off, I have three things that I want to tell everyone:

1. Thank God they found Aggie Flint. I haven't been to see her (I don't think they're letting just friends in yet, but if they are-- someone tell me.) but it's a bright spot in the middle of all the dark that she's alive.

2. Merlin can sing. No, really, he can sing.

3. If you buy a pair of trousers two sizes too small and don't wear robes over them, and you walk near the bar in the restaurant? You're more likely to get stares. Jo would never have let me wear them, but that was a good decision. Three sets of Apparation Coordinates and one that wanted to follow me right home.


Now. Everyone else tell me things, I feel a little out of the loop.

Before Witch Weekly has a chance to get on the story, let me just say that Naomi and I didn't have the sort of fight they made it out to be. Yes, we fought a little, but it was more a strong discussion than a fight.

And yes, I was in mental rehab St Mungo's for about a week, and yes it was because of my brother. But did we really expect much more?

I'm fine, now, though, they gave me enough potions to make me forget for another year and you should all direct your attention to the Esteemed Aurors Frank and Alice Longarsebottom, who are having a baby pretty soon. It's pretty messed up to think of Frank shagging anyone, let alone Alice, but it seems to have brought them to a favourable enough end, aye?

Another reason why my life is bloody brilliant:

This morning, I woke up naked next to an adorable girl, who also just so happened to be completely without clothes.



It's definitely been a great start to my twenty-first year.

You may all commence being jealous.

Question for you all:

Does it count as stealing when you know what it is you stole needed to be taken away from her its previous parents owners?

( Private )

Nice day we're having, isn't it?

I keep having these dreams...


Restaurant, restaurant, restaurant. Everything's about the bloody restaurant lately and I, for one, am getting a little sick of it. Maybe I need a holiday or something like that... a last summer break before the winter and rain and snow and general disgustingness that is England When It's Not Summer sets in. At least when it's cold I'll be more than glad to get inside and do something. For now, though, nope. Not happening.

I hear Spain and Portugal are nice this time of year.

Anyone interested in going? I'd go alone, but, as you all know, bird watching isn't as fun when there isn't someone to compare ideas with. Thinking of next week, as well.

It's that bloody snowman again.

Let me tell you a little story.

Once upon a time, a little boy named Durin was having a huge craving for ice creams at his favorite ice cream shop. He knew he shouldn't eat it before breakfast, but that hardly stopped him as he Apparated down to London and into the empty Alley to get some of his favourite flavour. Only, when he arrived in front of the shop, it was almost completely gone! Broken! Destroyed, even! Sad, Durin had to go back to the only other ice cream shop he knew of, which was a very long way away, even by Apparating!



Now, I know that Diagon Alley was hit and all, but Florean Fortescues?? Come on, you lot, it's ice cream. Ice cream never hurt anyone! I had to go all the way down to Devonshire just to get a decent scoop because someone's got all that about how they're better than everyone else stuck in their heads.

Disgusted doesn't even begin it.



That shop didn't even have triple strawberry.

I wish I had something interesting to tell you lot, but I don't.

( Durin's Eyes Only )

Happy Birthday, Mona! (D'you like those flowers I sent along? Hand picked them from the picture myself.)

[This is, of course, blocked from Frankie-darling]

All right, men. Gabe. You especially.

Tonight, as you know, is our Dear Frank Longbottom's last night of freedom. Sad, I know, but it is his decision and we will Respect That. Right.

ANYWAY.

Who's with me for a night of hedonism, imbibery, and all around good fun featuring our soon-to-be-married best mate? And if not, you'd better have a damn good excuse why. I'm giving up a date with an incredibly attractive ginger bird from Glasgow because of this. Not that I mind, of course, but I will not be the only one seeing to Frank's Thorough Smashing Before Alice Takes Over.

Ha! You all thought I'd fallen off the face of the earth, didn't you? Not so lucky, there, are you?

No, in fact, I've simply been busy. And by busy I mean drunk. And social. And in Thailand. A little of all four. I think. You see, it's the drunk part that messes me up because I can never remember.

I seem to have lost Benedikte on the way, though. Sad, that. I really liked her. Maybe she'll pop around to get this robe she left on my bathroom door. Or maybe that's mine. It smells a little like her, but that doesn't mean anything.

(And, so you all know, Patricia's getting huge! Not in a bad way, just that she's growing up. And she's pretty. Just like her Mum.)

Eurghnrrgh.

...

...

That'll teach me to start a journal entry before Benedikte brings me a pick-me-up potion. I still have a bit of a head ache, but it's much better now. Benny's off to St. Mungo's. I'll have to think how to spend my day.

I suppose I could go to a Quidditch match with Casey and then get smashed afterwards but I did that yesterday. And the day before. And the day before - what the bloody hell happened to my week? but I think I'd rather visit Mona instead. Is that okay, Mona? Are you ready for visitors?

I haven't had a chance to talk to Walden about the paper. He's been storming around the manor, not talking to anyone, even Snarky, and I don't know why. I guess I'll go ahead and make my own decision. I can do that. I'm an adult.

Let me just go flip a coin...

( Private. )

Benny's gone and got herself a job at St. Mungo's, and she isn't half as much fun anymore. I mean, come on, do you really need to be sober when you're Healing people? ... I thought not. Ah, well, at least she's still a good shag.

I'm thinking of selling the Prophet. I'm just no good at running it. I thought perhaps I'd use whatever profits I make on the sale and open up a bar or something. I could run a bar. A sports bar, maybe, with wirelesses all over spouting out scores and we could even work out a way to get pictures along with sounds. I'd need someone smarter than me to figure that out. And there's always be plenty of professionals there, Casey knows everyone I don't, and nobody's got a bigger taste for firewhiskey than a Quidditch player after a game.

I'm really starting to like this idea. But I've got to sell the paper first. Anyone interested?

Oh, come on. Dashwood isn't going to kill himself. He thinks too much of himself for that. He's just doing this so you all run around worrying about him. Good job, mates. Nice to see he can still pull one over on you.

Besides, if this world can stand to lose anyone, it's Dashwood. Or maybe the Chudley Cannons.

I bet you've all been wondering where I've been. Well, to make a short story long...

Okay, so, I go in to the office, right? To pick up some birds do some work, right? And there's this bloke there named Casey, he covers Quidditch, and I thought I'd better make sure our sports reporting is up to snuff, so I went with him to Falmouth for a game. We got along rather well and when the game was over (the Falcons were robbed, by the way, and so were we but that comes later) we went out to meet some girls he knew, and they were beautiful (actually they were veela but that comes later too). So we all had some firewhiskey and we decided to go skinny-dipping but we had to find somewhere warmer to swim so we went to Norway which was in retrospect not entirely logical but anyway. We were really cold and about to leave but then these hairy Norwegian blokes started flirting with our veelas so we asked the Norwegians if they wanted to step outside. We were standing on a beach, though, so they didn't quite understand that. Also, I think they only spoke Norwegian. But the point of the matter is they got mad and then there were violins. I had my wand but every time I tried to say "Expelliarmus!" it came out "Eshpelly-arm-us!" and that incantation, if you've ever tried it, you'll know doesn't do much. So the night ended with my shirt all torn and my face on backwards, and I had to spend two weeks in a Norwegian wizarding hospital recouperating, but that was all right because the nurses there are even prettier than veelas. Who I think from now on I'll avoid, and you should, too. Especially you, Frank. Because what would Alice think? Anyway, after a few weeks in Norway I was completely healed and ready to come home, so here I am. Everyone should come out this weekend to celebrate my birthday (a little belatedly, I'll admit) and meet Benedikte. She's my girlfriend my nurse Norwegian, but not hairy or a man. I think.

The end!

( Private. )

So many girls, so little time.

This summer has been just fantastic. I guess I was, well, a bit scared sad to leave Hogwarts, but this isn't bad at all. I do feel sorry, though, 'cause I haven't kept caught up with all my old mates. Gabe? Frank? Want to go get another drink together sometime soon?

( Private. )

Looks like I need a date to the Malfoy Ball.

Who wants to be the lucky lady?

Well, everyone's gotten their marks for the year, so I'm holding a party this weekend at my place to celebrate. You're all invited. Unless a group suicide sounds more appealing to you, be at my place at around noon on Saturday. Anyone with more Os than they can count on a single hand should wear something they wouldn't mind getting soaked with beer.

Oh, and just in case you actually care: ( My results. )

I can't believe school's over. Forever. I mean, I don't even remember what life was like before Hogwarts. What am I going to do now that I'm out? Oh, yeah, that newspaper thing. Well, I suppose there are always Quidditch games to go see, girls to date, bottles of firewhiskey with my name on them...

Walden says we need to have a talk about my plans for the future. But I have only one plan for the future - it's a plan for a party. After we get our NEWTs results, everyone's welcome to come by my place and celebrate/drown their sorrows. You can bring a date, too. Except for Dashwood. He is most definitely not invited, and no one should bring him, either.

I can't believe I'm bored already. At least my hair has grown out.

Anybody want to go out and have a good time?

I can't believe my brother married a Muggle. Well, I can't believe my brother married anyone, but a Muggle? It's - it's - it's sort of gross beyond my comprehension, really.

... I wonder if we're going to have to Muggle-proof the house. Someone better warn the ghosts, too, otherwise they're likely to give her a heart attack.

On the other hand, Winnie's alive, so I suppose my day was on the whole a good one. Until now. A Muggle.

... I don't really know what to say. Maybe that's because I wasn't very close to Winnie. She was a good snog, but what the hell does that matter? I guess... I guess if anyone would like to talk about their memories of Winnie, I personally promise to put it in the Daily Prophet. Her life wasn't unimportant just because she didn't get to live very much of it.

[Private: DJ]
How would you feel about maybe writing an article about Winnie Turpin for the Daily Prophet? I don't want to write it It hasn't been that long since Jo I'm no good at that sort of thing.
[/Private]