Fed up of being a house rat, I took myself on a photographic voyage around the West End. (Somehow I woke up at 10.20am and felt like doing something constructive with my day.)

I took the train/tube to Embankment, and strolled around taking pics (check out my Flickr page if you like), then I carried on up to Trafalgar Square. I popped into the National Portrait Gallery to check out the photography on show, then visited the nearby Photographer’s Gallery.

I carried on down Charing Cross Rd and popped into a couple of bookshops (only buying photographic postcards, no novels!). Then I traversed Tottenham Court Rd and turned onto Oxford Street. I was aching after walking for so many hours, so I got the train home at 5pm.

Here’s a portrait which I saw in the NPG that I really like. I had never heard of the performer Jessie Matthews, but I really like her pensive expression in this portrait.

Maybe some of you have wondered why I call myself the Urban Recluse. Well, here’s some evidence of my self-imposed social isolation. Right now I should be at my friend Ahmed’s birthday party, but instead I’m at home feeling rather guilty for not going out.

He invited me to his party last year, and I didn’t go. My excuse was that I was on my period. I wasn’t lying, but I could have gone if I’d really wanted to. So I felt obliged to go when I heard about this year’s party, but also reluctant to go as I’m an anti-social freak. I felt sure that I would be judged unfairly by his friends, and as I wouldn’t know any of them (except for maybe 2 people that I hadn’t seen in nearly 10 years) I felt rather reluctant to go.

Although Ahmed’s invitation was apparently marked RVSP, I didn’t confirm my attendance as I wanted to think it over. He sent a reminder text last week, then called me on Thursday to check whether I was going. I said yes, as there was no polite way to decline without sounding like a bitch.

Today I started preparing to go. I had a shower and started to sort out my hair. I had some dinner, and as is my custom when I’m eating alone, I read the thriller that I am currently reading. When I finished dinner I realised that I preferred the option of continuing my book rather than going out to a party to partake in small talk with strangers. Oh, and I forgot to mention the karaoke portion of the party!

A lot of people will wonder if I’m sane. Sometimes I wonder that too. Most people on the planet seem to enjoy getting together, meeting strangers, talking about whatever – I’d rather stay in with a book. I’m 26, not 96.

Now, if the party had been at a nightclub, I probably would have gone. I like to shake my booty.

How evil are you?

Tell me something I don’t know…

I’m a horrible person, I know, but I’m feeling a little more human today.

I got out of bed at 1pm, looked out of the window and saw the snow blanketing the back garden.

Lush. Time to test out my new boots…

The old geezer said to me. I had just left work, feeling unwell due to my monthly feminine penance.

Get lost, motherf**er! I thought to myself and grimaced at him. Why should I smile, it’s cold and I feel like hell. Why do strangers feel the need to inflict happiness on others?