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Wednesday 7.8.02 | Had dinner last night with the other warden, Chris, and the new senior chaplain, Fr. Peter. Chris did dessert (in that he went and bought a monolithically calorific chocolate cake (can actually imagine calories in big slag-heap this morning, towering over me like some imposing flab-army), the thought of which even now makes me feel both ill and guilty that I had god knows how much of it), Peter did the wine - bringing enough, roughly, to float a ferry - and I did the main, my standard out-to-impress dish of chicken in pesto and mozzarella. Shame it's more more impressive, but I'm young, and I'll learn! Anyway, it was a lovely evening, albeit hugely decadent. We all ate and drank far too much, and ended up proverbially placing our stomachs on the table and debating the meaning of human existence (I kid you not - I know that's very Dead Poets Society, but it's also interesting, and my point still bloody stands this morning - why does there *need* to be a point to life?) until 2, when we collectively staggered up the stairs. A very enjoyable evening, which we shall repeat soon. I always know if an evening was worth it the next day when I weigh up how much I regret it in the morning, and I felt surprisingly agile this morning. Talking of which - oh god, oh god, I ended up showing Peter my party trick of getting my foot behind my head. I always do things like that when I've drunk too much. The embarrassment. Apologies, incidentally, to those reading this for the second time - I couldn't be arsed to email lots of people about evening of indulgence and then further exhaust my hungover creativity by writing the whole thing again using different words. Marks for honesty...? Thursday 8.8.02 Right. I have now succeeded in getting completely off my tits without really noticing it twice in as many nights, so tonight is going to be calm, sober and edifying. Yes. Especially after today, which, may I just say, would make a swift bought in purgatory look like a stay in the Hilton. Mad nun/despotic cow was being particularly tyrannical and senile today, a dangerous combination which really doesn't make life easy. However, she's gone, thank God, and the (newly-flooded, incidentally) house is tranquil again. And I am happy because I stumbled upon this absolutely magic piece of poetry by Sophie Hannah yesterday: I will tell outright lies where you embellish. Your yawn will be my cue to fall asleep. Anyone who is watching us with relish Will find that, where you talk and tricks are cheap, Mine will be cast-offs. When you stop at kissing I'll stop at shaking hands; you eye the clock, I'll grab my watch and gasp at what I'm missing And any door you close I'll double-lock. Operate slowly - I'll stand still for ever. Leave quickly - I will be the speed of light Passing you in the way, and if we never Do anything constructive, that's all right (Though it will be a wasted chance) because While casual observers say of you 'He led her on' of me they'll say, 'She was The less enthusiastic of the two.' Tuesday 13.8.02 Four days until Nunzilla goes on her holidays. Count on four.
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