New to the site? Delve into the archive Information about me List of collected quotations My poetry sites Other links: The ineffable Michelle Infinite Fish The Echelon Project The 80s (my era) Move to Mars See Ann Widdecombe dance Think I complain a lot? The Yarn |
Wednesday 28.11.01 Feeling mildly guilty at lack of blogging over the last few days, but I have been ultra-busy, dahlings. Actually, having said this and now I actually look back on the last half a week or so, I have managed to get spectacularly little done despite beiong occupied almost all day, every day. This seems to be a special talent of mine which really has to be put right. However, I am acutely aware that shit will be introduced to fan at some speed soon if I don't start work and generally knocking my life into shape. I will explain more about this another time, but I have just had my first meeting of the UCL Euroconference which I am helping to chair, and needless to say, I am scared shitless - I always acknowledged I knew nothing about Europe, but really the depths of my ignorance are more far-reaching than I had ever imagined... Thursday 28.11.01 Sweet Charity is brilliant. If you are at UCL - please, please go and see it. And Kath, sweetie darling, you were bloody marvellous. Saturday 1.12.01 Suddenly much calmer following this week's essay-crisis-induced panic. I mistakenly believed that I had four essays to write in a month, all of which would go towards my final mark or something. I have subsequently discovered that one is a practice essay and two of the others have to be in by mid-February, so suddenly everything seems a lot less urgent and there is much more time to do other things (like pig out while feeling guilty for not going to the gym for example.) Euroconference dread still reasonably apparent, but having got to know the team I'll be working with little and realising they're all really very nice, I'm feeling better. The holes I dig for myself... Monday 3.12.01 Looking spectacularly rough today due to my attendance at my hall's Christmas dinner last night. Was a fantastic evening - what I remember about it - although now I think about it, I didn't actually get that pissed. Just enough to be able to be as crude as humanly possible - like when Michelle and I sat and shouted 'tits,' 'slits,' 'baps' and 'flaps' at the room for a reason that now escapes me. There was also the decorative star I found in my crotch halfway through the evening, as well as my (now rather embarrassing) less-than tactful question to Fr. Jeremy as to his alcohol consumption: 'You PISSED?' But then I deserved to get pissed, having been roped in by Mich (who happens also to be musical imperatrix of the hall) to play my flute at the confirmation Mass yesterday morning. On Saturday night she came up to me with a huge smile that frankly spelled trouble, and started in this voice which I really should have by now learned to recognise and run like the clappers from every time I hear: 'Maaaark...' Anyway, so I show up yesterday morning, clutching said instrument, and duly play the three lines of music she wants. Not difficult, but I suppose the very fact that the piece had notes in meant that the chances of messing it up were rather large. So anyway, Mark puts flute down and relaxes, and choir sings away. They move on to the next piece, in harmony, and Mich goes, 'Oh Mark, you can tenor this.' After a bout of shrill 'you're kidding' laughter, I realised she wasn't. Now, playing the flute is one thing. Sight-singing harmony is quite another. Anyway, to cut a hugely boring story short, the mass went fine, although I've sung better, and my flute sounded like a tubercular cuckoo, but never mind. Oh yeah, while I'm on the topic of strange things, I should also mention that Claire had the blindingly crap idea last night of swapping beds for no reason whatsoever. Too pissed to notice what I was agreeing to, I shook hands on it. Lo and behold, I woke up under her covers this morning. She was under mine, I must stress... |
