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Wednesday 27.3.02

I have suddenly noticed that it is the end of March, and my exams start (as far as I can remember) four weeks today. I am only know realising that I am in fair amounts of dung, and I have to pass these with near-flying (certainly prevailing in the wind, anyway) colours in order to set me up for getting a half-good degree in two years' time. Suddenly, everything is becoming a lot more serious.

To lighten the mood, thank you, Michelle, for being lovely and wonderful and brilliant and the most commanding (in the best sense of the word) of debaters I have run into and worked with for a while. The debate about prisoners' publishing which I was moaning about yesterday turned out to be worth going to. :-) Thursday 28.3.02

The LOVELY people at UCL have just closed ALL the computer rooms until Wednesday, so I might not be blogging until then. Don't worry, I love you all and I will put something up before then, probably, but if not, I haven't forgotten you...

Sunday 31.3.02

Happy Easter, everyone... :-) Had an interesting few days, and not much time to write about it all now, given that I'm paying far too much through the nose to CrappyEverything for the privilege of using the internet. So briefly, Wednesday was culinary disaster night - attempted mushroom stroganoff. Not only was it foul, but at once particularly low point in the washing up phase thought I (well, Claire) might need a new wok. However, I found an industrial-strength scouring-pad, and it looks surprisingly clean for the punishment I put it through. I'm convinved that everything I've used it for since tastes vaguely mushroomy, but I think that's my fucked-up sense of taste and paranoia rather than anything else.

Didn't leave the house on Thursday, sat in the office on duty with lots of books in front of me for seven hours, and did about 10 minutes' work. Enough said. Friday was interesting - I hit a new boredom-low after realising that my work really isn't grabbing me (a worry - exams impending, must get arse in gear), and then went out in the evening and got battered with lots of lovely people. We then all went to the trash-fest that is G-A-Y (yes, yes, I know, it was Good Friday, but I've been pretending to work hard) and I proved once again that I am utterly incapable of pulling anyone remotely within my age-bracket. Hmm. Was a good night though.

Yesterday was interesting - I got up after a few hours' slumber and went to work. It wasn't quite as excruciating as I had imagined it might be, and actually went quite quickly, including a very nice sandwich lunch with Tom in Victoria Embankment Gardens. I intended to go to bed at dead on 10 because of Friday night, which is obviously why I stayed up until 2.30 dancing to cheese with Michelle, Alec and various others. Was delighted, sublimely gratified to unmask Mich as a closet trash-queen. I always thought that, when entering her room and hearing the dull thud thud thud of her music which always made me think I was walking into a giant operating washing-machine, she had to have some trash-genes somewhere in there somewhere. You can imagine my thrill, then, when she pulled out a Roxette album.

So it's been a good Triduum - I am utterly shagged out and there are vague plans to go to Heaven tomorrow night, which are looking mildly dubious but possible. We shall see...

Much respect, of course, to the Queen Mother. On perhaps a slightly less respectful note, I (this theory comes by way of a suggestion of Simon's a few months ago, which immediately made me see the light) am quite convinced she's been dead at least a couple of weeks, if not a few months. She never talked in public, never really moved, and just waved. So rest in peace, Ma'am, however long-ago it was you left this world.