Ho hum.

Well, I had zero sleep last night due to a blinding headache and being too excited and fidgety. Up at 6.45 today, at work at the moment, but in an hour I shall be leaving to go to the train station, then the airport.

I'm going to be arriving earlier for a flight than anybody ever has in the world, ever (apart from my grandparents, who once got there the day before), but I would rather be stupidly early than fanny about with later trains today, because The Train will be gross - it's a bank holiday, half term, calls at major stations, and I haven't got a seat booked. Ugh.

Fully expecting to get strip searched again at airport security (ok, patted down, and bags and shoes raided for illegal substances) - the inevitable uber-dyke who does it better be vaguely fit this time, and not look like a melting bulldog. Are contact lenses classed as liquids? I just chucked 'em in this morning. Along with razorblades. They might be an issue.

Also expect to have another row with someone as to why I'm not allowed to have a bottle of water bought IN the airport, which is surely THEIR responsibility to check for hidden bombs, not mine. Could it be so that I buy another one on the plane, perhaps, Mr O'Leary? I imagine you're to blame for this, along with the garishness of your plane-bitches who short change you by 50p for the bottle of water you have to buy, if only to have something to grip with fear. Splurt.

My stomach is churning. No, I'm not a very good traveller.

But I stuipidly excited and so happy to be going!

See you soon, various folk x

Hmm. Bored of this particular persona now. Think it might be time for a change. Mebbe when I got back from my travels.

Travels - I'm packed! It only took me a couple of hours! It can't be that simple, can it? Really? I'm sure I'll finds something vital I've missed out. Like...I dunno,actually. I honestly think I might have finished packing in time!

That's not to say I don't have a hell of a lot to do tomorrow...

Rabbitrabbitrabbit, goodnight.

A nice bit of friendly racism, overheard in one of the eateries on campus.

Two men in the queue in front of me, one British, one Thai (there are various Thai visitors everywhere at the moment, something must be going on). They obviously knew each other, friendly colleagues you might say, probably academics.

Anyway, on the menu: Fish and chips, Thai pork curry, spag bol, or vegetable pasta bake.

Thai man, pointing at the curry: This no Thai! This no like Thai! Not Thai! NO LIKE THAI!

Brit man: It looks alright to me...

[A queue is forming. The dinner wenches are not known for their patience and are tapping a ladle on the counter. I'm trying not to laugh.]

Thai man: NO no no! This no like Thai, this too heavy! NOT THAI! NOT THAI!

Brit man: Alright alright! Well THIS *points to the floor* ain't ThaiLAND, this HULL! Yer'avin fish and chips!

And so he did. With rice as well.

The British man had the curry. And so did I, actually, and very palatable it was too. But definitely not like Thai.

Essay completed at 12.30pm today. I got a nosebleed towards the end, which usually means I'm rather stressed and worried.

It's woeful. The vast majority of it is quotes from other people which I've connected with one or two sentences. MEH! LIKE I CARE ANYMORE! I'VE JUST HANDED IT IN! And I have no more to do until October - *bum*. i collected a marked one from a few months back - 70%, get iiiin. (Eugh, did I just say that?)

I'm going home now, where I will sleep for an hour, and then come back here to work. Then I will go home and sleeeeeeep again.

Tomorrow I have to go and buy a suitcase and things to put in it. This time next week I will be pissed in Berlin and eating meat. I better be, anyway.

Wahey!

*Zonk.*

Hello. Answers please.

Email arrives with the unnecessarily ominous title of IMPORTANT: YOU NEED TO CHECK-IN ONLINE FOR YOUR FLIGHT NOW. So I do. Then up pops the boarding card that I need to print off. So I do that too.

But the boarding card is only for Manchester to Shannon, not the return flight. Will I get a separate email for that one, or have they fucked up? The return flight is definitely booked, before anyone asks.

Reason to be excited #247

Lots to do, no time to do it. *click*

Lithuania up first.

Gay man, or lesbian? No idea. Dull as a wineglass covered in greasy fingerprints, whatever it is (I don't know what I could be looking at for inspiration there...).

Off to make some pasta. Boiling water is a bit more exciting.

(But I'll be watching the whole thing, obviously.)

see more pwn and owned pictures

(I always wait until mine are thoroughly dead first...)

1) I have finished Essay Number 1, pending a bit of a polish up and getting someone else to read it to spot the glaring errors I always miss. It's not very good. I know I always say that, so don't tell me I always say that, because I know I do. But it's NOT very good. It does, however, contain the word 'vampiric', peppered liberally throughout, possibly to the point where it is slightly over seasoned.

2) New Green Day album arrived this morning OHHHHHH it's sooooooo goooooooooooooooooood. It's like American Idiot - all anthemic and the songs changing completely half way through. It's brilliant. New Favourite Thing (After Pink).

3) It's pissing it down today. I've got drenched twice due to buses going missing into the ether and not arriving at their designated time. Any particular reason for that? Anyone? Dry my hair while you make your excuses.

4) Had an interview this morning for a volunteering thing with the study advice people at uni. I think it went well, it was all very informal and I sort of knew both the people asking questions anyway. My response to the standard "Weaknesses?" question may have been a little too quick: "Maths, and not knowing when to stop talking". They laughed. That's good, right?

5) I have cookies, and last night I won the Jonathan Creek box set on eBay for a very reasonable price. Wahey!

I must know the truth! Is 'vampiric' a word? Word doesn't like it, it's giving me a squiggly red line. Google isn't helping the slightest - lots of people appear to use it but I'm not entirely convinced they should be. I like it, it works as a word, but if I'm actually supposed to be saying 'vampire-like' I need to know very quickly.

Deactivated Facebook profile.

Feel very...indifferent.

Give it a whirl, people - the world keeps on turning!

I'm fed up of arrogant cunts who believe they veritably excrete knowledge and wisdom, which therefore gives them the right to CONTINUALLY COMMUNICATE WITH ME, 'correct' me and patronise me, despite me asking them NOT to, numerous times, on various blogs (notably NOT their own seeing as I avoid them completely, though they are not able to do the same). Apparently they are above such things as respecting someone who repeatedly says "Please don't talk to me". I can only assume that if someone in Real Life asked them to stop talking to them, because they didn't like them, and didn't want anything to do with them, that they would saunter after them down the street, still responding, still being where they are not wanted, and still being cunts. BORING cunts. Honestly, I find it all really, really boring more than anything else. Their comments are so stale and constructed, it's not even fun to argue with them because they sound like fucking robots. That's probably the problem. They're programed to get the last word in at any cost. Well fuck off, so am I, and you've my mother to thank for that.

I'm fed up of bitches talking about me in private posts and being nicey nicey to my face, for want of a better expression. It makes me laugh that they think I won't find out. If they ever wanted to have a showdown about loyalty and friendship, I'd win. (I hope that doesn't sound too arrogant, I just like to think it's true. Thinking that it isn't true depresses me.)

So I think I'm going to have to take some time out because I'm feeling so phonemonenally murderous that on the bus home from uni (where I learned that my contract is being cut to five hours a week over the summer, so, y'know, JSA is looking likely, more fun fun fun for me) I started having fantasies about having deadly armies of Uruk-Hai at my command.

I hate rude, obnoxious, patronising, condescending, obtuse, pigheaded trolls that are unable to understand a simple phrase like "Please don't talk to me", no matter how many times it is repeated.

I fucking hate this place sometimes.

...other than I'm tired, I constantly feel ill and unpleasant, I look a bit ghost like this morning, I can't shift my cold and I'm starting to wonder if the dregs are actually hayfever because my eyes are so annoyed by something, I have a week to do these essays and that makes my brain hurt, I don't know how the fuck I'm going to get them done in time, my flat is an utter shambles and it's making me miserable, I REALLY WANT SOMEONE TO GO AWAY, and I'm going into uni for lunch today and if they DON'T have chicken and mushroom pie I might just kill this afternoon, after the 2pm meetings about our work contracts - possibly the most depressing sentence ever. No good ever came out of a meeting about employment and contracts.

So yeah.

Hacked off.

See ya later.

Peterborough MP Stewart Jackson has confirmed the Telegraph's report that he had made a claim of £304.10 for the upkeep of a swimming pool.

But he added: "The pool came with the house and I needed to know how to run it. Once I was shown that one time, there were no more claims. I take care of the pool myself. I believe this represents 'value for money' for the taxpayer."

...fair enough, eh?

I still don't know for sure who got me the straw making kit, but it is such an amazing time saving device - look, I don't even have to pick up my glass, the straw reaches my mouth!

Forget the first part, fast forward to eight minutes in, where Stewie Griffin is...

...Kathy Bates.

Linky.

Who do I thank for the amazing bendy connecty build your own straw-thingy and the bottle of plonk with gold leaf in?!

Cos you might've just made my ruddy day!

Good evening, blog brethren, and danke for my veritable PLETHORA of birthday posts featuring various cute animals (mainly hamsters - why...?) and quite literally a gazillion PMs! LITERALLY! Not literally. Multiples of ten. That's still quite a lot. Chuh - you guuuuuuys!

Today, today...

I am officially old, as I spent the day with my parents and grandparents, with the rock and roll excitement of a Sunday dinner. And wine. I did have a lot of wine. Not as much as Dad, who knocked back eight glasses and fell asleep on the conservatory floor. I think he's been wanting to do that for a while.

I got a new watch and hair stuff and Euros for Ireland/Berlin and choccy and a couple of new tops.

There was a shaky moment when I realised I hadn't seen a birthday cake. For almost 4 hours I put in motion the biggest guilt trip my mother's ever been on, which she handled fairly well, even when she did actually bring out a cake after dinner. I didn't withdraw any of my guilt-bashing because a) she did pretend to have forgotten after all, which is equally as mean in my book, and b) it was the same cake as she bought me last year. Again.

I have an early morning tomorrow - 7 IN THE AM - to catch the 8.15 bus back to Hull, as I'm at work in the afternoon. Sucks MUCH.

So that was that, I'm 25, I hate it, and to make matters worse I'm going to bed with wet hair.

I am officially 1/6 of the way through my essay. Whoop di fucking do.

Having trouble concentrating now (my brain and stomach and throat hurt).

I think I will get it done fairly rapidly after the weekend (I'm going home tomorrow). Not that I have a choice really. It's the one after it I'm dreading. I don't even know what the question is.

Calm calm calm. Watching Maximo Park on C4. Want their new album.

And, just bloody because, I've pre-ordered Green Day's new album. Yes, an actual physical CD, not mp3s, amazing isn't it?

(I feel like I've injected valium into my brain. Going a bit mental always makes me go numb afterwards.)

Love is a lie which means I've been lied to, love is a lie which means I've been lying too. So there.

Don't watch Paulo Nutini on Jools Holland.

You'll remember why you avoid listening to him, ever (not least because of his bland music).

Don't think about where he is from. Then you'll think about who knew him. Well, to say hi to. She knew his mate. Close enough.

Don't even think about looking her up on the internet for the first time in years.

Don't, when you realise her profile on a certain social networking site is public, click on her fucking name.

If you have got this far, you stupid cow, don't fucking look at her profile in detail, at every picture, every word about her and the girl she lied about for so long, who she is still very much with - for good.

Do not take in the words 'Dogs', 'Engaged', 'Mortgage', 'Baby' and 'Planning a'. Simply ignore them.

Because otherwise, you will find yourself shaking, crying piteously over everything you lack (except, strangely enough, her - fuck her). This will come at a time when you are already feeling the most stressed, most alone, most unaccomplished, most depressed and most fucking ridiculous you have felt in a long time, and really, you don't need it. Shortly after closing the screen down, you're going to do what you always do: you're going to find anything edible in the kitchen you can, and you're going to eat it, and throw it up. Because you're a fucking freak. The whole time you're doing it, you'll be telling yourself how pointless it is, but you won't listen because all you can see is pictures in your head of another fucking life that doesn't seem like it ever really happened, even though it was onl a few years ago.

And let that be a lesson to you: Let it go, and never look it up again, because you will learn that while it, while she, doesn't matter at all, it's just going to remind you of everything else that does.

Also, it will also remind you of how much you fucking hate Paulo Nutini, and that's definitely something you don't need back in your life. Ugly cunt.

(And balls to making this a private post, I'm beyond caring anymore.)

5PM I Keep Mine in a Jar in the Office Fridge
Coworker #1: I don't get paying money to play WoW. You're essentially paying for the satisfaction of clicking a button.
Coworker #2: Exactly, that's why I use that money for porn.
Coworker #1: True, at least when you're done with porn you have something to show for it.

Rochester, New York

Overheard by: Rick
via Overheard in the Office, May 7, 2009

This film looks shit.

I really should've known better than to get fish that give birth to very small and cute babies.

I promised myself I would simply see them as live food for the tank, which, to an extent, I do. The ones I don't see born and eaten in the middle of the night, I'm totally fine with these being eaten.

But when I see little faces staring at me out of the moss and inbetween pebbles, darting out to grab a passing bit of food and looking very scared, I go all gooey, net them, and put them in the breeding net I have in the tank.

Yesterday I gave the tank an uber-clean because it was getting brown algae in it (gross) and decided to move it to the other side of the room. I emptied most of the water out and when I got to the last few inches there were soooo many little babies...

So now I have at least twenty of the little buggers all swimming about merrily in the breeding net, all different colours, looking at me with their big eyes...

Wtf I am going to do with an extra twenty platys inbetween now and when they are old enough to give to a fish shop, which is at least 8 months away...

I do have one spare tank but it would have to go on the floor...

Oh well...

I was on duty last night. I went to bed quite late after watching Amelie, and was hoping for a quiet night.

In the end, the only thing that kept me awake was Lucy, who, not content with merely chewing the bars like a normal hamster, has recognised that the weakness in her cage actually lies in the plastic base itself, and chews that through the bars. I repeat: she is a direct descendant of the head velocirpator in Jurassic Park. She knows things. And it's fucking noisy. 2am and 3am, I find myself hunched over the cage in the bath (not drowning her, it's where she goes at night just incase she ever does get out), ramming any bits of card or plastic I can find inbetween the cage and the plastic, while she makes her cross sneezing noises at me. This morning, I find she has partially consumed the little Edward Edmund Norton Monkton bag I got a pig soap in, and has had a go on my Vue cinema discount card, but I can live with that, because it shut her up. She's going home with me next weekend, and I am leaving her there.

So, finally, I get to sleep at about 4am.

At 7am, there is a knock on my door. Being half asleep and kind of forgetting why someone would knock at my door at 7am on a Sunday morning, I ignore it (of course).

Another knock. I swallow the urge to yell "FUCK OFF, IT'S SUNDAY!".

Silence follows, so I presume they read my mind.

A minute later, another knock. I remember that, y'know, someone might actually be ill or something, and get up.

I see a chap that I recognise but do not know the name of, but he is one of the more cocky and slightly leary characters at the hall. Then I see he is, essentially, naked, apart from a very, very small pair of Spongebob Squarepants pants. I can't even call them boxers. Too small.

He is hopping from foot to foot and looks rather scared.

"I'mreallysorryfordisturbingyoubutcanIborrowyourkeyforaminuteplease?!"

*Trying not to smile too much and trying desperately not to look at the pants but failing* "Oh dear - yes, of course you can".

He runs off and returns a minute later in pyjamas. Beetroot red face. "Thanks, really sorry..."

"That's ok!" I shut the door and giggle a bit too much.

I look forward to going down for dinner today

Horrible scratchy sore throat, burning up, ear ache, feel all wobbly.

No thanks.

Two essays are due in 22nd May.

So I've booked a hair appointment for 11.45am on 21st May.

Well, I want to look nice for when I go away...and let's face it, I'll still be up all night whether I go get my hair done or not...

(I should probably get on with them right now...)

*drums fingers impatiently*

This is going to be the worst three weeks EVER.