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Wednesday 2.1.02 | Looking spectacularly rough this morning, but feeling very much better now. Already on second cup of coffee, and hands seem to start to shake slightly every time I stop typing to consider what to write next, which I suppose can't be good, but fuck it, I need to stay awake. Trying desperately to finish entire load of holiday-slavery today, freeing up tomorrow to start procrastinating about packing, which means I will actually get down to it on Friday. A cunning plan. Thursday 3.1.02 Day has started badly - now attempting (perhaps literal) mop-up operation after forgetting to bring home razor-blades and being forced to use old electric Hitachi crap (Copyright 1672, probably in Gepetto's sodding workshop - might actually perform better if were made out of fucking timber, I tell you) which has cut face to shreds. Not pleased. Friday 4.1.02 So here, about four weeks late, is my slight design-change. I liked the black-and-turquoise outfit, but I got a bit bored. I will be tinkering with this over the next few weeks, and hell, I might even try and make it easier to navigate, but for the moment (unless I get lots of emails saying how much you all detest it) this is how things are staying. Enjoy... Sunday 6.1.02 Mild worry at the thought of a new term starting: specifically one of my French courses. I have done the reading, but I have a feeling that I have either read entirely the wrong book or misunderstood it completely: it's very amusing (essentially a 120-page rant about burping, farting, pissing, crapping, drinking, eating too much, bollocks, shagging and all of those other esteemed pleasures that Rabelaisian folk got up to) but I see nothing in it which could be the subject of any sort of serious essay. What's more, Ruth Calder is teaching it - for those of you unacquainted with this sublime imperatrix, she's one of the best teachers I've ever had, she's also lovely, but she does use her hot flashes to re-heat her coffee - and I know that there will come a time in the next ten weeks when I get an essay back from her with more red than black on, and 'juvenile' scrawled across the top. I can't help being a sheer child, can I? Monday 7.1.02 It was my sole mission last night to stay sober. Which is obviously why I ended up staggering and tottering (I am lead to believe that, rather appropriately, the German word for this is wankend, which seems to express this notion neatly) down Old Compton Street with Max and Peter having drunk three vodkas. A pitiful start to the alcoholic year, I concede, but I had eaten nothing and it was a bloody good night. I talked more shite in one evening than I think I did throughout the entirety of last term (this includes debates) but they seemed happy to let me burble on regardless. So yes, the drunkeness was shameful, but it was, in all other aspects, an excellent start. Tuesday 8.1.02 Susie's blondeness reached a new zenith yesterday as we were sitting in the meeting for the impending German Department play (I shall rant about this some other time, promise,) sitting opposite each other about ten feet apart, I was quietly listening to what was being said to the group of us, calmly chomping on a piece of chewing-gum. Getting a bit bored, I looked around to see who else was there, and my eye caught hers, at which point she looked blonder than usual and started mouthing questions, trying to work out what I was apparently saying to her. Deciding that moving my mouth more would just serve to perplex, I started to giggle. (In fairness to the blonde one, Mike was actually sitting behind me, mouthing obscenities, so it is more probable that she was trying to communicate with him; my point remains, though, that she is just ultimately spacky, but very lovely with it...)
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