Ho hum.

"Sleeping is a movement at night". Why yes, yes it is, obscure grey creature.

see funny english mistakes

*sway*

That I

*hic*

Thank you very much for approving of the stripes, hamster, and shamelessly stolen cartoons over the past...however long. Year. Year? Year.

Honestly - thank you - I don't know how I would've stretched my limited budget to that pro-account without this

I am alarmingly drunk - I'm not sure where it came from. I think it was the liqueur chocolates I had for my tea, and the wine I washed it down with.

Mwah, kisses, darlings, mind my dress, don't spill...

Save time and watch the Bill Bailey vid a few posts below - yawn!

Maybe they'd be better if I wasn't so drunk.

But I doubt it.

*Cringe*.

It's that very important night again!

I'm at work at the moment, but shall be home for 9ish, I hope. I have a bottle of wine, choccies, and I've even shaved my legs. Yes. It's just that glamourous.

Andre has told me he is very excited and wants to know if he wins Best Blog Familiar. Of course he does.

Good luck all!

From here.

1. Have you ever successfully played a prank on anyone?

I don't think I was ever very adept at playing practical jokes. I liked to convince my younger sister of utterly implausible things - like, you have to run inside every time a plane goes overhead because they're legally allowed to drop frozen blocks of wee and poo. So she did. For months.

Another time a friend in our group was obsessed with ketchup on absolutely everything and would take a bottle of ketchup with her everywhere. Everybody hated it, nobody dared confront it. I sent her satchets of ketchup in the post. Individual ones. Anonymously.

2. Has anyone ever successfully played a prank on you?

I went into the sweet shop and when I came out my 'friends' informed me my bike had been nicked. They'd put it in the bushes. They hadn't anticipated me believing them for a second, or the epic freakout that occured, or the phone (box!) calls to my dad, or the phone call to the police. One of them quickly 'found it' down the road. This very formative experience means I never believe a word anyone says.

3. Do you think they moon landings were faked?

No, but it would be awesome if they were!

4. What the best April Fools day prank you've heard of?

I liked the BBC one from last year. I don't think it was ever intended to be believed for a second, it was an advert - but I know people who did believe it (mother). Makes me smile:

5. Complete this sentence: "Fool me once, shame on me, fool me twice..."

...and with all due respect, good for you and well done, you scamp!

I'm on duty, sat waiting for nothing to happen, annoyed that I can't open my bottle of wine purely because others are drinking too much of it and might lock themselves out. Arses.

So - let's have a meeeeem, stolen from AJ.

- If your doctor told you TODAY that you were pregnant, what would you say?

Thank fuck for that - a vague purpose in life.

- Do you trust all of your friends?

Not all of them. Very few, in fact. I not very trusting.

- Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?

Sigh, no. Does anyone still believe that? Srsly?

- Can you make a dollar in change right now?

Certainly - fetch me my smelting pot.

- Which one of your friends do you think would make the best doctor?

One who is qualified accordingly.

- What naughty word do you use too often?

Fuck peppers my language with alarming regularity.

- Is there someone who pops into your mind at random times?

I never saw a proper picture of my ex's new girlfriend (tricky, through the tears) but I sometimes wonder if she's really, really ugly and needlessly hairy.

- What's your most favorite scar?

Harry Potter's.

- When was the last time you flew in a plane?

August. I think it was a plane anyway. Possibly a coach with wings.

- What features do you find most attractive in the preferred sex?

Eyes, a bizarre sense of humour, bit geeky or odd, sexy in a not very obvious way...this is tricky to answer without getting into the male/female preferences thing.

- Fill in the blank. I love __________.

Hans!

- What is a goal you would like to accomplish in the near future?

I would like to finish an essay 24 hours before it is due in, not 6.

- If you were to wake up from being in a coma for an extended time who would you call?

We're presuming I haven't lost the use of my muscles after being still for so long? Ok. Well then I would probably want to call my mum and ask why she isn't crying at my goddamn bedside.

- Where was your favorite picture taken?

Somewhere in Devon, I presume - that's where the owner lives, anyway.

- Honestly, what's on your mind right now

Not being able to open my wine tonight. Now it's crisps. Now it's female platys. Now it's printer ink. Now it's G.F. Watts. Etc...

- If you could go back in time and change something, what would it be?

I'd go to Manchester University.

- What are you wearing right now?

Jeans, black and white checked shirt, black cardigan, walking shoes.

- Ever had a bar fight?

I've had a bar bitch.

- Who knows you the best?

Nobody anymore.

- What have you bought, so far this week?

Mainly lunchable items, and wine, and N batteries, and a book called "Amelia Dyer: Angel Maker: The Woman Who Murdered Babies for Money" - a suitably sensationalist title for a module on Sensation Writing.

- Did you get in a fight with someone today?

Almost - the Gilbert and Sullivan Society were on the bus again, post-rehearsal.

- When was the last time you had a massage?

I don't like people touching me!

- Last person to see you cry?

Dad, last time I was at home, when I was very ill and migrainey.

- What was the last TV show you watched?

Umm...I don't think I've watched any TV since Monday, so the last five minutes of 28 Days Later, after watching it on DVD.

- Who was the last person you hung out with?

Sigh - I don't 'hang out' with people. I don't like people enough to see them for anything other than a specific purpose.

- Have you ever taken a peek at someone else's diary?

Oh god yes, loads. Don't even waste time trying to hide it.

...we're all miles ahead of you on this one.

U2 frontman BONO created a series of alter egos to help him write the band's new album, because he is bored of himself.

I don't think I've ever heard such self-indulgant, self-promoting tripe!

Oh hang on - maybe I have.

(I''m kidding, I'm kidding...sort of...)

I don't have many pet hates - honestly - stop laughing - but the ones I do have are not so much petty dislike or annoyance, more full on loathing and damnation of the offending article to the fiery depths of the dark lord's domain.

I hereby send the invention of 'Sultanas in Curry' to the aforementioned depths of doom and despair, to roast and pop in terror and pain.

I can't even understand why they bother. When was the last time someone had a curry and observed a plentiful amount of sultanas in it? Never, that's when. It is a fact that if a curry is going to contain sultanas, it will contain three - no more, no less. Enough for you to notice them and remark "What's the fucking point? AAAAAARRRRGHHHHH!!!!", not enough for you to notice eating any. So they're not even for bulk. They don't survive the curry-cooking process anyway, they flake and disintegrate all over the plate. They serve NO PURPOSE AT ALL.

Subsequently, I am very upset, and have pushed my plate to one side - after picking out the chicken, of course.

Let's see what fellow Twitterererers have to say: little flashes in the corner of my screen inform me that Scoobydoofus agrees, and also abhors peas in curry. Landers declares YES to peas, NO to sultanas.

I'll clear this up: peas in curry are ok, as long as it is a Chinese chicken curry. That contains chicken, onions, and peas, in that lovely nommy sauce. Notably, NO withered grapes.

This is all very distressing. I'm going to have a biscuit or three.

I've officially given up trying to get any decent pictures or videos of my fish. They have this annoying habit of swimming.

Silhouetted fish! The fat ones with yellow tails are my new platys - they're ace. I want more. I won't get any. Promise.

An hour left to go at work, hurrah hooray. Nicked from the Cap'n.

Six names you go by
- Laura
- Bean
- Keith
- Woo
- Cooty
- Bob

Three things you are wearing right now
- A purple sock
- An orange sock
- A teal name badge

Two things you want very badly at the moment
- Pancakes
- An mystery inheritance

Two things you did last night
- Watched fish and wished I didn't have so many as they actually make my eyes go a bit funny
- Watched 28 Days Later on DVD and then watched the ending again on TV

Three favourite beverages
- Vodka, lime and tonic
- Fanta
- Ribena

Two things you ate today
- Steak pie
- Peas

Two people you last talked to on the phone
- Dozzer
- Nick

Two things you are going to do tomorrow
- A seminar at 3pm - 5pm
- Work 5.30pm - 10pm

Two things you are not good at
- Saving money
- Decisions

That ends abruptly.

It's a basic rule. Even if you have the DVD, when a film is on telly that you love, you have to watch it, adverts (and in my case very dodgy signal) and all. You never, ever go and get the DVD from the shelf next to the TV and watch that instead, in all it's glorious unedited, uninterupted, crystal clear glory. Films are better on TV. Fact.

I have broken this rule for the first time ever, choosing to watch 28 Days Later on DVD at the same time it is on C4. I think there are pixies playing with the telly masts again - very fuzzy picture, unbearably so. T'ain't no HD round these 'ere parts.

It feels so naughty and self-indulgant - TV is just TV; a DVD is ME TIME.

(I'm also a little weirded out - I watched 28 Weeks Later two nights ago, without knowing this would be on tonight.)

No DVD snacks though. I have zero food in the house. ...Except chocolate. Hmm. I think I owe it to DVD Snacking to have some. I can't break that rule too.

And then, to bed.

I had too many fish. I put them in a bigger tank. I decided to get two more fish, which would bring me to maximum capacity-ish.

On the bus, I decide to get three more fish, as I prefer odd numbers.

I have just got home from the fish shop with a rather high number of fish. Twelve. Annoyingly, a very even number.

My total now is 24. Plus the shrimp.

Sigh.

We're gonna need a bigger...tank.

I'll never quite recover from the stares of disbelief that were turned on me two years ago when I asked: "What's Facebook?" If I'd said: "What's vagina?", it would have been less embarrassing. And my refusal to engage in the phenomenon ever since is really just a bitter reaction to social humiliation. (I'm talking about Facebook again.)

So by even describing Twitter, am I boring both the internet-aware with what they already know and internet-sceptics with what they'd rather not hear? Probably. I'll try to be quick. It's a website where you express what you're currently doing in 140 characters or fewer and that gets sent to all your "followers"; similarly, the "tweets" of those you "follow" are relayed to you - and you can do it on your phone, laptop, BlackBerry, iThermos or rape alarm. If that sounds a bit weird and aimless, then I've got it about right.

The splendid David Mitchell, there. The rest is here.

Of course, the only reason I know about this article is because I follow David on Twitter, where he posted it. Marvellous.

Only with finely knitted garments for feet.

I was quite productive yesterday, by my standards. Most people probably wouldn't define getting up in the afternoon, setting up a fish tank, making my bed, cleaning out the hamster and doing a week's worth of washing up as productive - but if that's the case, you obviously don't know me very well at all.

So to counterbalance the flurry of activity yesterday (and rest my back - which yes, after lugging buckets of water about and lifting tanks, is hurting quite a lot - and yes, you told me so) my plans for today extend thus far:

I got up at 10.30am, had some crunchy nut cornflakes, and watched the fish - for an hour.

I turned on the laptop.

At 1pm, I decided to have a bath and then go to the supermarket.

It's just gone 1.30pm, and I've had a bath, and now I am very warm and cosy, and not inclined to move from the spot. I'm wearing my comfiest jeans, my warm fleecy Uni hoody (complete with hood up over wet hair), and drinking orange juice out the carton. Ugh, living here is turning me into one of them.

I have ran out of clean socks, though. The way I see it, I have a few options:

1) Not wear socks - this will be fine today, but not at work tomorrow.
2) Wash the socks - effort, wet, wringing, clotheshorse, ugh.
3) Not wash the socks, and start wearing the dirty ones again from the bottom of the wash basket upwards, where they may have started self-cleaning, like hair does when you stop washing it (apparently - I must stress the apparently) - this option is indeed tempting.

I shall continue to consider these options whilst consuming a slice of lemon madeira cake, using as a plate a Thomas Hardy book I don't like (that narrows it down to all but one of them, then).

Not a completely wasted day - I did get a fairly good picture of Inspector Japp this morning:

I know the background doesn't go all the way to the top of the tank, but it shall be replaced eventually. I can't decide between the blue or black...?

On Monday I'm adding some danios and platys. Again, nothing exciting, but zippy and pretty nonetheless.

Photos get pretty huge if you click on them, yadda yadda.

I have spent the past few hours lugging buckets of water back and forth, cleaning my big tank, and setting it up. I couldn't lift the big tank to pour the cleaning water out into a bucket or the bath - so I just tipped it onto its side on my bedroom floor. S'only water. It'll dry. *skirts round wet patch for a few hours*. The old one, with an inch of shitty water in it, is in a logical place - the middle of my floor. I get bored of jobs. It'll be there a while.

Lo: tank. It's not totally full, I haven't finished arranging the plants (I'll be getting live ones eventually), and notably lacks any fish (they are very, very cross in a bucket - getting cold too, I imagine) but I like it so far.

Going to have a chocolate mini roll, some orange juice, wait for the tank temperature to hit 24C, and then bung the fish back in.

Can I be the only person in the world who writes out To-Do lists on Wordpad (I know! Wordpad! Wordpad!) in font size 18 and capital letters (so that it's visible from anywhere in the room) and who then actually faffs around with Format > Effect > Strikeout as they're completed, and, if I find myself doing and completing something that is not on the list, actually add it, and then cross it out?

I actually cannot be the only person. It's statistically impossible.

BREAKFAST

BLOG UTTER NONSENSE

My favourite of all the surprising adventures of Sir Digby Chicken-Caeser:

"Excellent use of the monogrammed pantyliner!"

Hmmm, very long lie-in today - 1pm - but I didn't really get much sleep last night, so...meh.

Back is a little better, but still objecting to movement. Going to have another bath and take lots of tablets and try to limber up a bit before going to work tonight. Chippy for tea...? Hmm...

I'm not on duty or at work this weekend! WOO! This NEVER happens! ...No, I have no plans. So, I may use the time to set the new tank up, and go buy some platys

Another riveting post brought to you by Messed-Up-Sleep-Pattern-Combined-With-No-Life-Inc.

The rest of the hall-folk aren't too bad after all - one covered for an hour while I had a scalding hot bath to try and relax my back a bit, and another has given me a billion boxes of ibuprofen and said she'll be on call all night instead. She's going to be awake anyway as her son's girlfriend has sort of gone into labour, so she's very excited. Yes, wonderful news - I get to sleep all night, undisturbed!

I am very excited about Ireland and Berlin trip. I can't decide where I want to stay more - Hotel du Rampage, or here (thankeelinkeeBradlee). The latter might smell better.

I got my essay back, marked. Same mark as last time - pretty good, but I want to do better. Hmm.

The tear-threat seems to be retreating, too. (For now.) Jolly good.

Inspired by Row's attitude to spending non-existant money on holidays ("Fuck it! FUCK IT!"), I have just purchased some tickets to visit Chez Gay at the end of May

Departing May 25th, and returning June 5th...with a little hop skip and a jump over to the Continent for a little soiree in Berlin in the middle

It gave me all the prices in Euros, so I haven't paused to work out how much it cost. I don't care. I am excited already.

Have set myself an epic packing challenge though - I'm not checking in any luggage. Hand luggage all the way for almost two weeks away...piece of piss

On Tuesday 19th February 2008 - yes, a year ago today - I fell in the snow, and broke my arsebone.

I did absolutely nothing today to cause my back to hurt this much.

I therefore conclude that my fall in the snow last year was infact the work of a passing gypsy, and that I am cursed to have inexpressable back pain on every February 19th. There is absolutely no way it is just a coincidence! It's a gypsy curse!

I just hope it doesn't last as long as last year.

Oh well - only another year to wait to test this theory out for sure.

No swappage of duty. Despite swearing very loudly with every step and being on the verge of tears over tea, not one person said "Do you want to swap?". I gave them twenty minutes and concluded no one was going to offer, therefore no one would say yes if I asked...so here I am in the office, really hoping that no student wants letting in their room at any point over the evening, because I won't be held responsible for my actions.

I found some painkillers - they're for tension headaches really, but I figure paracetamol, codeine and a muscle relaxant (with a very long name I can't remember) will do some good, even if it doesn't fix it.

I hope it's better in the morning.

Still about to cry, over various things.

For absolutely no sodding reason whatever, my back has stopped working. I can't sit, bend, twist, walk, cough, sneeze or fart without it hurting. To add to the fun, and to confirm I've probably trapped something, my left arse-cheek and left thigh have gone numb (gnumb - that would should be spelled gnumb - many 'n' words should be) and when I do walk, I have a little buckle every few steps.

I'm on duty tonight so obviously people the other side of the hall are going to be CRETINOUS and make me leave my comfy chair.

This really is the last straw this week. I shan't bore you with various other bits of crap, but seriously, I think if I start crying I won't stop.

So.

Crisps and chips and chocolate for tea, I think, and a serious reconsideration of my whole life here.

I pride myself on my fluctuating moods.

In no mood for hippy shit today, either. *more chocolate...*

Incredibly nomworthy!

Have so far tried the Tonka Bean one...it is described as 'a distinct flavour that slightly resemble bitter almonds and vanilla'...

They taste exactly like space cakes

Downs first:

I'm in a general state of apathy at the moment, relating to absolutely everything in my life. I'm not interested in looking after myself in the slightest. I'm not interested in doing coursework, I'm not reading anything. I'm having to drag myself to work, I'm not bothered about making any kind of contribution to the hall beyond what I have to do. I could happily spend at least eighteen hours in bed everyday. I'm constantly on the verge of tears. I don't want to see anyone, I feel like nobody wants to see me anyway. Everything feels very wrong in my head.

My lovely 73 year old friend Geoffrey emailed me this morning. He has decided to withdraw from the course as he feels the pressure is affecting him more than he anticipated. I suspect his health problems are worse than he has ever let on, he certainly seemed frailer lately than before the Christmas break. I completely understand why he's leaving, but I am still very sad about. You probably think that sounds pretty daft - I've nearly 50 years younger than him, how could we possibly be friends? But we were, he was so interesting and intelligent and had so much to say on things. This leaves the rest of my classes containing nothing but vapid, arrogant, stuck-up, saccharine girls, all there on daddy's money. I don't get on with a single one of them. When they talk - which they do, often, at length, with no real purpsose - I physically have to stop myself groaning and rolling my eyes. I rarely get on with girls my own age, and now I'm going to be surrounded by them. And the Dutch totty. Obviously, I can't speak to him. So I'm really not looking forward to this term at all.

Nothing really feels right. I'm not entirely sure what it is I need. I quite fancy there just being nothing at all, like a silent white noise in a very empty room, until I'm able to figure it out.

The up, now:

I went via the post room on the way to the bus stop, feeling very miserable about having to go to work, having to read a long boring book, and missing Geoffrey already - so I got very excited about a mystery package that arrived for me. Opening it at work revealed a box of chocolates! I had not ordered these ones! Erroneous chocolates! Squeals ensued. Then I spied an envelope...

A total mystery how she got my address, but thank you, Jennie, you absolute love

...who's owns a hat like that?

I wouldn't kiss a man in a hat like that.

No, apparently I can't.

Last time I checked, the sign on my door read "Not On Duty", and it will remain that way until 6pm on Thursday evening.

I can only presume, therefore, that the little darlings can't read. Either that, or they think that I won't mind them knocking at my door at 10pm to be let into their room, purely because it is nearby, and going to the person who is actually on duty requires - shock horror - going outside.

Up until now I have always gone to let them in anyway, even at 3am, 4am, 5am or 6am, seeing as they've woken me up, so I may as well. However, tonight it may only be 10pm, but:

"No."

"But I'm only down the corridor!"

"No!" I repeat, waving my glass of wine in their face and presuming they have noticed I am in my stupidest pyjamas. "I'm not on duty, go and see J!"

"*mumblegrumble*" from the student, along with, I swear - "fucking bitch."

Yeah, well, this fucking bitch has never managed to lock herself out - AGAIN - and bothered you about it, has she? But it can be arranged quite easily.

Very, very excited, I open it, and get even more excited at the packaging:

"What treasure lies within!?", I gasp and wonder...

Well, certainly not what Juzzzy got in the post this morning. Perhaps they switched the boxes? Never mind, eh? Enjoy your chocolate-free chocolate drinks

Cocoa nibs, strawberry, raspberry, mint, coconut, and lemon.

They WILL last longer than a week.

Om nom nom nom nom...

The wine is now in me.

Whoops.

Anyway! I think it's making me cross and morose. Last night I had a call from B who was also drunk and sad on wine, and text messages from my sister who was being sick down herself on wine and calling people cunts. Oof! Bad girl. But neither of these people get miserable sad drunk usually...waffle waffle.

I am getting sad drunk though.

And carried away, again.

*smacks head repeatedly*

But - fuck yeah - I've washed some knickers. I hope they're dry for tomorrow. Commando in the library? All kinds of wrong.

Wheeee, splat.

Feeling better?

I'm bored, lonely, on duty and a bit glum, so here are a few requests. A Wish List, if you will. Feel free to grant any number of them:

A hair cut, a hair dye, and a few hours of contact with a fabulous gay man. Can someone therefore lend me £101.33?

Cadbury's chocolate spread on a toasted white baguette.

Chilli Kettle Chips.

To smoke and talk in bed with Dylan Moran.

Tiger barbs.

New bra. Bras! New bras.

Labradoodle puppy.

The Animals of Farthing Wood on DVD.

A sofa.

An oven.

A shower.

A double bed.

A washing machine.

Someone to wash my knickers.

I think that will do for now. Provide at will.

I've been so ill this week that I haven't even been bothered to mention the untimely passing of Hobo the Mangy Fighter Fish. He was absolutely fine, very happy in his little fish world, eating, exploring, and then one morning...belly up. Well actually, belly down, on the bottom of the tank, being eyed up by some hungry shrimp. I must've been feeling ill - I flushed him. Now I'm feeling a little better, I'm sad. And confused. He was fine. No more fighters.

Maurice the guppy is a horrible bully and I'm going to swap him for something kind.

(There may be a connection between Maurice and my numerous dead fish.)

Lucy the hamster is deranged as ever, and 3am last night I put her cage in the bath (empty) just to try and get some piece and quiet. I could still hear her. She may have to go back home. Mum will be pleased.

The hamster at the top of the page is my favourite pet. His name is Andre.

...in the post box this morning. Thankfully, none of them belong to me. Aww - there'll be some giggling girlies at the hall later after they check their post. Retch.

After confirming that I am indeed down to my very last pair of knickers, today I shall be doing lots of washing. I hope I don't get disturbed too often. But! This is my last weekend duty for a whole month. I've two more on the 14th and 21st March, and then it's Easter. Glorious Easter Vacation. Lovely. Shame about all the Thursday nights between now and then.

Oh - before I go:

Don't say I never get you anything.

A dude called swarnmriga seems to be doing the rounds with the bulk friend-invite thing. Impersonal and annoying, but there will always be people who click Accept, so it's an way of bulking up a friends list and readership if you're so inclined to do so. Meh.

*Deny*, though.

*Moves on*.

And I'm worth it too, of course. I am!

I threatened I'd get some of these, and I did.

Quite a few.

Hurry up, postman!

Om nom nom nom...

I just can't get enough of moaning lately, so, here's some more.

It's Thursday again! I love being on duty, I really do, so I'm delighted that about 4 inches of snow have fallen today, because that just adds to the fun.

The grounds of the hall have become no man's land. I had to walk through the middle of it.

*Shakes snowballs out of hair*. Sigh. Little scamps! I'm sure they all love me really - as much as I love them!

I hope one falls and breaks a limb. Actually, no, because then I'd have to call a taxi. Ambulance? Dunno. I'll let them decide.

I contemplated coughing up a bloody token of my appreciation for pelting me with compacted ice, and leaving it on the pure white ground, but cold air hurts.

Musn't cry. Musn't grumble.

I decided I was going to stay here another year because it's cheaper than living on my own and means I don't have to move again. I have moved at least once a year for six years! It's a pain in the arse. But I'm wondering whether I really want to stay another year after all.

Hmm.

Cough...

Cough, cough...

Cough, cough, cough...

Globules of lung butter...

Blood-streaked globules of lung butter...

Globules of blood streaked with lung butter...

COUGH, HACK, OUCH, COUGH, HACK, OUCH, HELP, DYING, COUGH...

Oh well. Tea time soon.

God, I could murder a Galaxy Ripple.

Voila. Etc.

Off to bed again now.

I think it takes a certain kind of person to be able to say cunt and get away with it. It needs a certain accent, affection, and intent.

I am not one of the people who can get away with it in anger. I very rarely say cunt to anyone in real life. I think the last time was when a taxi driver swerved to deliberately drive through an enormous freezing puddle and drench me on the way to work. I yelled it very loudly then. I was very upset.

(I prefer to say cuntflaps, actually. It makes me giggle.)

It's a bit of a controversial word. Some don't mind it, some detest it. Like I said, it depends who is saying it, and in what context.

It makes me think it's a bit like someone holding a gun. They either know how to use it, and furthermore look damn good with it, twirling it round and firing when necessary, or, they look a bit of a twat, firing it off at random when it really isn't appropriate, and looking a bit awkward and silly as a result. Guns aren't for everyone, after all. You certainly need some contextual training before you pick one up and start firing cunt-bullets at everyone. (I don't know what cunt-bullets are either, but if you use the word in question in a particular way there, it could be something pretty disgusting...)

I think there are only two bloggers that (IMO) can get away with using it, and don't look silly. Three at a push. That's it.

And those are my observations.

Forgive me, I've still not slept more than two hours a night this week. Cunting cough. See? Doesn't work for me.

Yes? No? No idea. I do know I'm very, very tired.

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid Disorder:	High
Schizoid Disorder:	Low
Schizotypal Disorder:	Moderate
Antisocial Disorder:	Moderate
Borderline Disorder:	Very High
Histrionic Disorder:	Low
Narcissistic Disorder:	Moderate
Avoidant Disorder:	Very High
Dependent Disorder:	Moderate
Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder:	Moderate
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! -- -- Personality Disorders --

There are a number of factors that contribute to my sleeplessness. They all work tirelessly (badum, tsssh!) at ensuring I spend most of my nights wide awake. Collectively they are a hardworking bunch, but I think it's also time their individual efforts were recognised. So, here they are, in no particular order:

The hot water tank in the kitchen, which drips constantly at a rate of two drips per second. Like many noises, you don't realise it's there during the day, but in the still of the night, you are treated to "DRIP drip drip drip DRIP drip drip drip DRIP drip drip drip". It's delightful. Sometimes my mind manages to find a song in the pattern of the drips and I get to have that in my head too!

The fish tank filter. Normally a whisper-quiet affair, the tank inhabitants have decided that only the "Epic Water Cannon" setting will suffice. Anything less than this and they will suck air from the surface of the water all night. An equally delightful sound.

The fridge. Hummmmmmmmshudududududder.

Revelers reveling in a night of revelry, usually at 1am, 2am, 3am and 4am. This can occur underneath my windows, or outside my door. Tsk. Young scamps.

Owls! I love the mournful noise they make, all night. Really, all night. Hoo-hoooooo. Hoooo-hoo-hoo. Sometimes, if I get really lucky, they'll screech too. Beautiful. My favourite part of the night is the 6am changeover between the owls and the crows.

Traffic. I really miss the buses in that three hour gap between them finishing at 2.30am and starting again at half five. Luckily, taxis fill the silence.

If I'm lucky I'll also get to hear the central heating come back on at about 6.30am, and listen to my radiators creaking and clicking.

Last but not least, the church bells. I don't know how I'd get through the night without knowing when it's 3am...half 3...4am...half 4...5am...I love hearing half 7!

These are the main contributors to my zombie-like state but I'd like to give a nod to some newcomers:

A hamster that is trying to eat her way out of the plastic part of her cage, causing me to lay there trying to figure out what alternative box or container I could put her in should she render her current housing useless, and hoping she doesn't get out without me realising, else she'll be lost to the skirting boards, but wondering if that's a wholly bad thing.

A blocked, runny nose.

A permanent splitting headache.

Normally I manage to fall asleep around 7am, squeezing in a couple of hours, but today that was impossible due to:

Morning vomit, for no good reason.

Delightful.

Nobody say earplugs. They don't work. They muffle all the noises into one big noise accompanied by the sound of my own breathing and tears.

Still. Onwards. Off to uni in an hour, at work until 10pm. Lovely.

There are loads of FND films - they're funny guys, IMO. Also rather enjoy Gay Zombie ("You have a lisp, dude! Your wrist! Your wrist!") and The Cheer Uppers.

Longest day at work ever.

I still know nothing about John Ruskin. I haven't even had time to open the book I have to read for tomorrow. People have been so horribly demanding today. "Whinge whinge whinge it won't print moan moan moan it's all stripy strop strop strop why do I have to pay for a pen can't you just give me one?". Eugh.

However!

There is a young Dutch exchange student in one of my classes this term who I happen to be developing a little crush on. He's been in the library a lot today and has asked me for help finding nineteenth-century periodicals and newspapers, and then he couldn't print them, poor lamb...cue me going into overly helpful mode. I'm terrible. He's completely gormless with a shaved head, therefore, nomworthy. I wish I could spell his name. I wish I could say it. I get to stare at him for two hours on Thursday well I need something to look forward to don't I?

I won't sit opposite him though. The drooling Rudolph look is very rarely in.

I make a pretty sight at work today. What is it they say - ladies don't sweat, they glow? Something like that, anyway. Well this lady is sweating today, and rather profusely. At least it's raining outside, which could explain the wet fringe to passers-by. At least none of them can see my back. Thank goodness I'm wearing black.

So no, I am not glowing, but I am glowering, because it is hideously busy at work today. All the printers keep breaking or running out of toner or defaulting to a printer that doesn't even exist, and all the students are being exceptionally thick. "How do I count how many words I've written?" - you've got to be kidding me? You utter twats, click the fucking paperclip that's frantically waving at you in the corner of the screen, don't bother me with such banalities.

I'm not covering my mouth when I cough. I'll infect the little bastards. Phlegm revenge.

Does anyone know anything about John Ruskin? I have to know a lot about John Ruskin for tomorrow. He seems thoroughly dull.

I want to eat my ham sandwich, and I want some Galaxy.

No, I want to go home, and go to bed.

I was at my parents' house this weekend. I was dragged to the cinema on Saturday against my will (Benjamin Button, boring) and then apart from a couple of hours drugged-up enforced niceness at an extended-family meal for my nanna's birthday, I spent the whole time in bed with a cleaver buried in my forehead, or so it felt. I couldn't stand any light in my room, my head hurt so much I was sick, I cried pathetically all night, and even with two sweatshirts, a duvet, and three fleecy throws over me, my teeth were still chattering for a good eight hours, my legs cramping from being so tense from the shivering - until about 4am, when I started trying to slash imaginary pictures, and then got out of bed and tried to sleep on the floor. Everything still hurts. I've also got a sore throat, ear ache, and I'm getting a cough. Good old flu.

I've dragged myself back to Hull because I'm at work all day tomorrow I really just want to stay in bed.

So, I've just had a half-hour bath (mainly because I couldn't face hoisting myself out of it into the cold) and now I'm going to watch Whitechapel.

I have company though. My hamster Lucy has come to live with me instead of terrifying my parents any longer she's a sweetheart really, not a savage. Totally misunderstood. Only a little bit psychotic. Aren't we all?

*Gobbles more paracetamol* ninight.

...to be able to say, that after around seven weeks of waiting, the NHS have finally informed my sister that she doesn't have cancer.

So that's nice :-)

This is unbelieeeeveably cool. To me. So it might not be. (It probably isn't.)

Nom nom nom...

I'm on duty tonight. I'm waiting for it to be 7.30pm so that I can leave the office and go back to my room. I was going to start reading The Woman in White, but I'm going to watch the entire fourth season of Lost instead. Balls to coursework.

I'm hormonal and feel like crap. My boobs have literally quadrupled in size overnight and I feel like I'm carrying a bag of footballs around my neck. My stomach needs a pressure valve fitting to get rid of the excess B L O A T. I feel like someone is stood on my forehead.

If any student knocks on after 11pm and asks to be let back in their room, I will be slamming the door on their nonchalant, door-frame leaning hand, and muttering mad gypsy curses upon them.

I might just put a sign up saying not to bother me. But that's not as fun.

Oh goody, it's 7.30pm. I'm going to go and eat an entire cherry madeira cake, and fart a lot.

Edit: EFFING 7-9PM BELL RINGERS! AAAAAAAAAAARGHHH!!! *throws self off church tower, clutching cherry cake*

Teaching began again at uni this week. Such a shame, the little darlings at the hall have to get up before 6pm. Haven't seen any in their pyjamas at dinner, at least.

Anyhoo, my first seminar of the term took the form of a field trip to an art gallery! How exciting, eh? Denotes visions of coaches, or at the very least a minibus. Minibuses are exciting - you never get in a minibus unless you are going somewhere.

However, this was a field trip to...Hull. Where we live. And we had to make our own way there. Boo.

So I dutifully turned up at Ferens Art Gallery at 12.30. Of the seven of us taking this module, only three of us turned up (plus Jane, the lecturer): Myself, seventy-odd year-old Geoffrey, and some random Chinese girl who introduced herself to us as "Lufromchina". A curious name. Forgive me for stereotyping, but if you'd asked me to guess what subject Lufromchina was studying, British Victorian Art would not be it. Such is life. Geoffrey is one of my favourite people ever - we did a presentation together last semester. He's such a worrywart about everything yet phenomenally organised. He was a headteacher for about 50 years I think, at the same school my cousins went to. He does freelance voiceover work now, and like me is doing this degree part-time, so we'll do every module and graduate together too. He's worried they're going to be wheeling him up to get his degree. I said I'd be delighted to wheel him if need be! (I'm going to shut up now, before I'm accused of being in love with him. I'm not. There's older men, and old men. V important difference.)

Anyhoo, yeah, art. Not my forte, I'll be honest. A summary of my critical skills: "That's nice. That's shit. What's that?". However, I rather surprised myself with the knowledge I already had and even, shock horror, learned things. Amazing.

The first piece of work for this module is due in in a little under three weeks (crap) and it is basically a short essay with our response to any piece of nineteenth century art, photograph, design, architecture...anything. The whole visual shebang. I refer you to my previous point: "That's nice. That's shit. What's that?".

But, I'm not going to fanny about trying to find something that I actually have more of a response to beyond "Oh right, interesting...". Therefore, you all have until the 17th of February to give me your detailed responses to this:

(The Vacant Cradle, Thomas Hall, 1858)

Get cracking!

Incidentally, the 'Farty' party of this title relates to how bloated I am. I don't need your responses to that.

...you're all heartily sick of seeing these. But. Tough I bought MORE These are peppered corydoras. And they are keeeeee-yoot!

Did anyone else watch Whitechapel last night?

It's rare I watch these on-off-yet-a-serial drama things on any channel but I liked the look of this one and shall be watching next week.

Eee, it were reet good.

And that's all I have to say on that.

After blocking up the gaps in the windows with towels, I went to bed wrapped in two duvets and what is essentially a large fake fur, and still shivered until about 2am - all very Little House On The Prairie, I think you'll agree.

This morning, we have Tropical Sunshine! Well, the sun's out at least. Radiators off, windows open, furs thrown aside! It's still a bit nippy but the snow's all gone. Hurrah and boo - I can go to the supermarket for essential ham and toilet rolls, but I'll have to go to work tonight after all.

Before any of that strenuous activity, I shall clean out the fish (I've noticed that the guppy and Endler's have been swimming rapidly up and down the side of the tank. A quick search online reveals that they are indeed trying to 'get away' from the water they are currently in. Well, it is a month since I cleaned them out) and after that I shall continue to read Lady Audley's Secret. I'm six chapters in, I've guessed the secret, I've confirmed it online, but I'm determined to read more than one book this year, so soldiering on!

[Another riveting post brought to you by 'Needs A Day Job' Productions.]

...and it's not mine, it's shamelessy stolen from a friend on Facebook, but I rather like it, because it made my eyes go funny. It looks like the branches are drawn-on lines. To me. Nighty night.

From the ITV news just now:

Surrey has been one of the worst hit areas. Almost every estate and private school has closed its doors.

MY GOD!

The following is an extract from Boris Johnson's newest publication "Road Safety: What Am I Going To Do About It?!"

The problem is, if you unleash a twelve ton bus on compacted ice, there is going to be an accident!

Heavens to Murgatroyd, he's right.

Grit the roads.

Muhaha, muhaha, and perhaps once more for emphasis, MUHAHA!

I should be starting work right this second but due to some savvy shift-swapping last week I get to stay in today and watch DVDs, eat toast, and drink hot chocolate. It's a difficult life.

It would be more sensible of me to go and get some photos of the grounds of the hall. They always look so pretty in the snow.

That would require putting some knickers on (at least) and that really isn't on my to-do list today.

I do intend to watch Whitechapel tonight (ITV 9pm) because it looks rather good and will feed my gruesome fascination of Jack the Ripper a little more, in preparation for the essay I intend to write on him this semester. (Eventually.)

On that death-related note (how cheerful!) WILLIAM, my beloved parasite-beating guppy, is dead He was still alive at 1am last night, so at some point in the next eight hours, something happened. I declare it suspicious circumstances, pending investigation. *Glares at Maurice*.

Right. Off to do some loafing with The Incredible Hulk.

Yes, five noms! Again! For a few daft things! But yay! Weirdos.

This leads me to the introduction of my new favourite site:

OM NOM NOM NOM!

I have two radiators blaring and an electric heater, 3 layers and slippers, and I'm still ruddy freezing.

Yes, it's snowing, but it is everywhere, so that isn't particularly noteworthy.

I'm in complete denial about having to go to work tonight. Getting the bus home at 9pm will be cosy, won't it?

Dad didn't come over with my essential stuff because of the forecasted flurries. He would've been and gone by now, but the moment snow is mentioned, mum cancels all of dad's plans, sends him to the shop for bread, milk and midget gems (all the essentials), and declares the house to be in lockdown until the weather 'clears'.

I don't know how her mind works, but dad thinks it's something to do with watching The Day After Tomorrow every day for a week while it was on Sky Movies. She's never been the same since.

It's not a recession, after all. THIS is what's affecting the house prices:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/bristol/7862721.stm

You're going to have prostitution next, you're going to have drugs. In a residential area? No way - no way.

No, Mr Kite. Nothing like that ever happens in the 'burbs. Ever.

Prudes.