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Thursday 30.1.03 | So Mark's plane lands at Luton this morning into the tit-freezingly cold wind, and there is snow falling. Snow. When I got up this morning, it was sunny and warm, and I felt like casually strolling to the airport in a T Shirt. OK, I exaggerate, and given that I'm more than delighted to be back in Blighty (I never thought the sight of Kentish Town station from the window of a grimy Thameslink train would be able to make me smile, but I was wrong) I should stop complaining. No idea when I last updated this, but anyway, had nice couple of days bombing around the South Coast in an EasyRentaShite with my dad (including a stop in the gorgeous St Tropez where we ended up sitting and sunbathing - incredible to think now) before teaching of doom yesterday. This was actually OK as one of my pupils was ill, so was only two hours. And now I'm back here, which is just too bizarro for words. So therefore going to shut up now and entertain you with this sublime piece that Max sent me: To the tune of "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands"... If you cannot find Osama, bomb Iraq. If the markets are a drama, bomb Iraq. If the terrorists are frisky, Pakistan is looking shifty, North Korea is too risky, Bomb Iraq. If we have no allies with us, bomb Iraq. If we think someone has dissed us, bomb Iraq. So to hell with the inspections, Let's look tough for the elections, Close your mind and take directions, Bomb Iraq. It's "pre-emptive non-aggression", bomb Iraq. Let's prevent this mass destruction, bomb Iraq. They've got weapons we can't see, And that's good enough for me 'Cos it's all the proof I need Bomb Iraq. If you never were elected, bomb Iraq. If your mood is quite dejected, bomb Iraq. If you think Saddam's gone mad, With the weapons that he had, (And he tried to kill your dad), Bomb Iraq. If your corporate fraud is growin', bomb Iraq. If your ties to it are showin', bomb Iraq. If your politics are sleazy, And hiding that ain't easy, And your manhood's getting queasy, Bomb Iraq. Fall in line and follow orders, bomb Iraq. For our might knows not our borders, bomb Iraq. Disagree? We'll call it treason, Let's make war not love this season, Even if we have no reason, Bomb Iraq. How brilliant it that? Anyway, another colour change too. Can't decide if amount of abuse (not a lot) for the last one was enough to make me change again, or whether I think it was disgusting and camp enough, or... Aagh. Decisions. Dahlings. Saturday 1.2.03 Slight melancholy tonight after a brilliant few days here. Sitting at home in Harrow and really can't be arsed to unpack or do anything constructive like that, so just farting about in room and looking at bits of post (very frightening letter from my Uni in Berlin about registration, full of jaw-crunchers like Orientierungsveranstaltungen and Aufenthaltsgenehmigung - brings it all flooding back on a wave of consonants and other general phonetic mouthfuls - but very exciting too I suppose.) So yes, really good few days spent spending lots of cash which I really don't have and not doing an awful lot. Thursday night was a bottle of wine and a curry with Max, followed by a swift drink (just typed drunk, appropriately enough) in ULU before crashing out. Met up with Alicia yesterday -bizarre, first time we've seen each other in London and we've both been studying here since September 2000- over lunch in SSEEES before seeing Chris in the afternoon too. Claire came round last night for dinner (God this is sounding boring now I think about it - like some sort of old ladies tea-gathering where everyone sits and natters over their knitting - but I assure you that really it was a scintiallting few days, trust me) before the three of us managed to get stuck in the lift on the way out of the building (shat myself lifeless, to the extent that when the lift hit the bottom of the shaft due to it being ridiculously overloaded, I managed to go from really quite tipsy to stone-cold-panic-sober in approximately two seconds) but we got out before we all stopped breathing, so that was good. Actually, perhaps I exaggerate - we were actually stuck in the lift for a matter of perhaps 1 minute during which time I panicked inwardly and tried not to show Max and Claire what a girl I was) before getting out, going to Soho, getting battered with the additional aid of Tom before heading off to Popstarz until around 4. Fab night. Almost rode the Alicia-inspired vomit comet with all the drink and dancing to crappy, cheesy music, but luckily supper decided not to come up for air. Really did nothing today - got up late, went for a stroll with Max, said goodbye, nattered to Claire for a bit and went for a coffee on Oxford St before heading back. I managed to see London during the dusky rush-hour which always fills me with delight - there is something magical about everyone rushing home and being replaced with the pubbers and clubbers in a remarkable transformation. Magic city. Back to Nice for the last time tomorrow night. Two more weeks there to write this dissertation, and then France is finished. Bring it on. Sunday 2.2.03 A gem from breakfasttime this morning. Mum, slightly cautiously, got out a plastic container-thing from the freezer (which, I notice, has 'December 1998' written on but she assures me that it's just because she can't get the writing off - not convinced given her track-record) and, beginning to giggle furiously, put it down on the table. Suspecting that something was not quite right here, I made the stupid mistake of asking what the fuck was in the pot. In all honesty, and once I'd got her to repeat it twice becasue her sniggering made it impossible to understand, her answer was 'Well, I'm not sure, but it's bound to be chocolate mousse or roast beef. Best not open it, but we'll find out when it defrosts...' Suddenly life in France looks so much less of a hazard. Monday 3.2.02 I have now managed to plough through the pages of German sent to me by random Uni in Berlin, only to discover that I'm to be studying French there. Fuuuuck! Giggle. Quite how I've managed to wangle this one I'm not sure, but I guess I'm quite pleased - it'll keep my French up and act, with any luck, as a sharpener to the blunted pencil of my mind. God I'm poetic sometimes.
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