My friend Alistair was on this thing called '3 Minute Wonder' - 3-minute documentaries aired around lunchtime on Channel 4. Now, someone has fallen in love with him and is desperately searching the interwebs for him.

BRB LOLING FOREVER.


PS: Here is the video where all the magic began... to be fair, he is talking about fluorescent monkeys.

When I was growing up, I never liked tea or coffee. The latter is understandable, but the former, in England, is met with similar reactions to kicking over the Queen and throwing her crown into the mud. I also never liked most fizzy drinks. The long and short of it is, I grew up with little to no caffeine in my life.

Now, you may have noticed in my LJ that I've been very busy lately. This, combined with the clocks going back and it getting dark so much earlier, means I've been much more tired. In my third year, I tried to combat this by taking Pro Plus - just one tablet would usually be enough to perk me up for an entire morning, two would almost have me bouncing off the walls. Possibly not as healthy as getting enough sleep, but it worked.

This year, I've been trying a different tack. The other day, I tried buying myself a mocha. I was in too much of a hurry and didn't quite like it enough to finish it, I only had a little less than half, but I was intrigued. I figured, in an emergency, a whole mocha would be great to get me through it.

This morning was was such an emergency. After getting to bed at 1am, I had to be up at 7am to finish reading an article before a 9am seminar, where I'd have to discuss it in close detail. No way was I going to be awake enough without some kind of miracle. And lo, this miracle, I thought, was a mocha. So after I got up, I headed straight to O'Briens with my reading to get a mocha and finish my reading before heading off to the department.

..... If you have read the bit of Girl Genius where Agatha has coffee for the first time, you can probably get a good idea as to what I was like.

The reading was suddenly simple! It all made perfect sense! I bounded up to the seminar and sat there, buzzing, as everyone else slouched and tried to stay awake, and when the lecturer asked for our opinions, I found myself expressing them. Loudly.

"THIS GUY IS JUST RIDICULOUS I MEAN HE GOES ON AND ON LIKE SOME SENTIMENTAL IDIOT I MEAN OMG IT'S A CONSPIRACY WHAT THE HELL MAN CRY MOAR!!!"

"Er, that's a good point, Katie, does anyone else-?"

"AND THIS!! HOW THE HELL DOES FREUD FIT INTO THIS??? THEY HAVE NO PERSPECTIVE AND JUST GET EMOTIONALLY ATTACHED TO THE ISSUES AND IT'S REALLY REALLY STUPID!!!"

The seminar was an hour and a half, and by the end, I was fiddling with my pen A LOT and clicking it frequently. After being let out at the end, I was walking up to the library, and the world was so - sharp, and in focus, it was actually dizzying. I felt like I was drunk, or had a fever, and was wondering if this was what it was like to be on drugs. I was actually a little worried that the effects of the caffeine weren't showing any signs of wearing off, but actually seemed to be getting stronger. I had to go and sit in the library quietly for, like, an hour, and try to get my head together, because by now I was both dizzy and nauseous from being SO GODDAMN AWAKE.

It is now about seven hours since I had that mocha, and I'm finally starting to feel vaguely normal again. I can't believe I had such a strong reaction! I was just... so focussed and awake, and I could feel my body going "Dude, what the hell?..." and my brain going "SILENCE WORTHLESS PEON WE HAVE CLASSICS TO DO!!!! WE SHALL SHOW ALL THOSE SCHOLARS, SHOW THEM ALL!!! TODAY, THE DISSERTATION - TOMORROW, THE WORLD!!!"

Maybe the Agatha Clay comparison was even more appropriate than I thought...

So... one of the professors in my department? Has just upped and left. Like, practically no warning, he was all set to teach modules and supervise dissertations this year, but then he just turned around and announced, "I'm leaving!" and DID SO. He hardly took any stuff with him, just important stuff, and boom, gone.

I don't know many details, having only heard this from a friend of mine on the street, but the Classics department is apparently scrambling around in a panic going "OMGWTF HALF THE DEPARTMENT ARE ON LEAVE ALREADY NOW WHAT." I feel bad for them, and bad for the professor, because he was probably in a bad place to make such a snap decision, but...

That big damn adventure story I was writing this summer? BEGINS PRETTY MUCH EXACTLY LIKE THIS. The heroine's old university professor just ups and leaves the Babylon excavations, with no warning, leaving everyone going, "Bwuh??" And she goes to investigate and gets embroiled in it all and there are conspiracies and pirates and robots and adventure archaeology and airships and the Russian Mafia and it's basically what I DREAM my life will be like one day.

So I am torn between feeling bad and thinking, "HOLY CRAP ADVENTURE TIME."

So, my Saturday was VERY busy. ( Cut for those who are not interested in the minutiae of my life, which... I'm guessing is quite a few. )

After three years, many social events, and a large amount of time puzzling over what to write on my yearbook profile, I finally, FINALLY, have my defining memory of Grey College, the one that'll stay with me in years to come.

This morning, at 4am - when the sun was just rising, the air was still cool from the night's rain, and the cathedral was wrapped in mist - Sophie and I went out of the JCR, in ball dresses, to find pretty much the entirety of the college on the lawn, singing 'Wonderwall' in spirited drunken unison. Some were standing on walls, some on picnic tables, some on the grass with their arms round each others' shoulders. There was just this incredible feeling of togetherness and community. Drunken, drunken community.

That's not the defining memory, though. The defining memory is when they then switched to 'Working 9 to 5' and about ten guys leaped up onto the wall and started dancing.

( But I'm getting ahead of myself. )

Yesterday I had such a busy day, which is slightly guilty-making, since I still have a couple of essays due and should really be starting revision.

( Unexpected!Social was unexpected! )

OK. I've either just had one of my most distinguished Kathed moments yet, or... something weird just happened.

So. I just handed in my dissertation. Brain is not functioning well. Stopped by Sainsburys on my way home to buy a cucumber to go with lunch and some toothpaste. (Partying hard already, oh yeah.) Put toothpaste and cucumber in already quite full bag, walk home.

Now, people who don't know me, my house is REALLY close to the Sainsburys. Like, across the car park and a street.

So maybe you can understand my utter astonishment when, upon getting in and putting some food in the microwave, I go to get the toothpaste from my bag... AND IT HAD VANISHED.

Seriously. I searched my bag, all over the kitchen and living room, I even abandoned my microwaving food and retraced my steps across the street and car park to Sainsburys in case I'd dropped it. Nothing. I even went into Sainsburys to ask, though by now I was half expecting it to turn into a Julianne Moore in 'The Forgotten'/ Jodie Foster in 'Flightplan' type deal.

"Hi, I'm looking for my toothpaste, I just bought it here, did I drop it?"

"... I'm sorry, ma'am?"

"My toothpaste. I've lost it, I was just wondering if I dropped it in here."

"But ma'am... you never bought any toothpaste."

"What?"

"You only bought a cucumber."

"WHAT NO I REMEMBER BUYING TOOTHPASTE, I REMEMBER MY TOOTHPASTE."

"I don't know what to tell you, you only bought a cucumber."

"BUT MY TOOTHPAAAAASTE!!!!"

And they'd show me the receipt and I'd see that, yes, indeed, I only bought a cucumber... but then I'd get home and find MY PENNY MISSING, THE PENNY I USED TO MAKE THE EXACT CHANGE TO BUY A CUCUMBER, AND I'D KNOW I WASN'T DELUSIONAL, THERE WAS SOME SORT OF TOOTHPASTE CONSPIRACY GOING ON, aaaand this is the sort of thing my brain comes up with after a large amount of stress goes away.

But seriously. I went into Sainsburys, no-one had seen me drop toothpaste. The woman who'd served me wasn't there any more, so I couldn't even verify with her that I'd bought it. I retraced my steps again. No toothpaste. Searched the kitchen again. No toothpaste. I even checked in the microwave while I was getting out my microwave meal in case I'd accidentally nuked it. Nada.

MAYBE IT IS A TOOTHPASTE CONSPIRACY AFTER ALL.


PS: ... Now I can't find the receipt. WHAT THE HELL.

If my life is a TV show, it's becoming a contrived soap opera. I have had so many freaky coincidences, just over the last two days.

1. A new girl joined Improv Comedy, who I thought was quite familiar. Afterwards I asked what college she was in, and what course she was doing - no joy, she was a fresher so I couldn't have seen her at Durham before. No, it turned out she was from my home town, and had in fact gone to the Arden Theatre with me YEARS ago. When we both realised, we screamed "OH MY GOD!!!" very loudly and scared everyone else at Improv.

2. I ran into a guy I'd been thinking about e-mailing for a couple of days.... in a college bathroom. I don't even LIVE IN college any more, I was just visiting a friend. Just... the timing! The odds! I could have just missed him, he could have still been in a stall when I came in - honestly, there are a million parallel universes where I DIDN'T see him, and this is the only one where I DID.

3. I got a comment on a past LJ post, where I'd mentioned my mum had some Edward Jollie photos, from 'Elizabeth in Canada'. She'd stumbled across my blog, and she too was a descendant, and she was asking if I could scan the photos and send them to her. I knew I had relatives in Canada and asked my mum about it. Turns out? This Elizabeth is my grandmother's cousin. I think the only person more freaked out than me was my mum.

Remember, this all happened THIS WEEKEND. As I said. So coincidental it seems contrived. I'm half expecting a long-lost sister to appear on my doorstep.

So this weekend I went to stay with the SFX people (for those who don't know, a bunch of people off an internet forum who I meet up with a few times a year for weekends of real-life interaction) at this place called Hargate Hall in the Peak District. We normally stay in hotels in Sheffield, but we decided to try something different, so we rented apartments in a huge country house, which was not only beautiful and practically empty but also HAD A BALL PIT.

So yeah, fun was had. DVDs were watched, my treasure hunt was a hit, and alcohol was imbibed...

... about that last one. I kind of can't remember much of what happened last night.

( WARNING: What I do remember involves smut, bad language and alcohol making me anti-semitic. When I'm really, REALLY not. )

My holiday on Brownsea Island was awesome. It's a small island in Poole Harbour, owned by the National Trust, and there are only a couple of cottages and a castle on it, so when the tourist boats leave at 5pm, you have it pretty much all to yourself. It's basically all woodland, with so much wildlife, like geese and peacocks and deer and bunnies and red squirrels and I basically feel like a kid again as soon as I get there.

We took it pretty easy - during the day we'd go out for a walk, or visit somewhere, and then come back early afternoon and just walk around the island or sit out front on the quayside and watch all the big ferries go by. It's such a beautiful peaceful spot, I love it there. One evening I went for a walk by myself and came across a whole family of deer, who didn't run away at the sight of me, but just stood in the trees looking back, seemingly just as interested in me as I was in them. I also saw a baby deer, Bambi-sized, and nearly exploded from cute.

Mum and I went to see Prince Caspian. It was an OK film - I actually liked most of the changes they made to the plot, the second half of the book where Susan and Lucy go off with Aslan is actually a bit dire for people not as religious as CS Lewis - and, of course, the casting decision to make Prince Caspian a) older b) hot c) Ben Barnes and d) Spanish was one that deserves all the awards it can get. Because DAYAM.

We stayed for a week and then went to my grandparents' house in the heart of Devon. America-types, Devon is the kind of place where you go for lunch in towns called Beer, and Duck Derbies are a huge Sunday afternoon entertainment that brings in people from towns all over. It's also the kind of place where the House of Marbles is the main tourist attraction. Not that there's anything wrong with the House of Marbles, it's fun watching huge marble runs going and people making glass bowls. I'm just saying.

I got a lot of MyNoWriMo done on some nights - over 3,000 words was my record - and on others, didn't write anything at all. Like the last night, where I was suffering from the stripy sunburn and we went out to watch the fireworks over Poole harbour. For the benefit of Claire, here is how my word count progressed:

11th: 18,031
12th: 20,102
13th: 23,180
14th: 23,180
15th: 24,333
16th: 26,518
17th: 27,532
18th: 31,701
19th: 31,701
20th: 33,438

It's going... OK. I know what's going to happen next, and something that's going to happen in the future, and the very end, but there's a disturbing amount of in-between plot that I don't know. Like who murdered the Viscount, for one. Oops. But hey, I just had the main character cause the end of the world, so at least the title makes sense now.

On a random note, I need to see The Dark Knight. Like, NOW. I'm being so careful trying not to get spoiled AND YET some people are not as vague as they think they are. Dammit.

And finally, English iTunes needs to release Dr Horrible's Sing Along Blog and soundtrack already. I spent a considerable amount of my journey home today humming it.

( Things I loved. Just because I have to get it out of my system. )

Hurray, catch-up complete! Back to Sims. Honestly, if I just wrote down the drama going on in my Royalty Challenge, coming up with plot would be so much easier.

Wow, I haven't written properly on here in a while. I wish I could say I've been busy, but my exams have been done for a few weeks now, and I've... just been sitting around, doing cross-stitch and playing Sims and rewatching Battlestar Galactica after that OMG FINALE. I've just... always found better things to do. Like re-reading lists on Cracked. Or reading plots of films I'll never watch on wikipedia. Or... just napping. I never really appreciated napping before exams.

Basically, I've had nothing to procrastinate from, so I've procrastinated from productive procrastination by doing absolutely nothing. Perhaps this is why I always try to do so much at once - if I don't have anything to do, I do literally nothing.

Anyway! In this period of nothingness I have, in fact, done a few things which left me thinking "Whoa, this is going to be a HUGE entry on LJ" - and then written nothing. It was Treasure Trap's 3YGB, where I discovered I was very right in assuming that the refs were going to Screw Me and Screw Me Good with Plot. My character had sworn to protect a woman she'd rescued from a vampire at all costs - only to discover:

- The woman really didn't need protecting, she was practically River Tam
- The vampire hadn't been holding her captive, she'd been protecting her
- That vampire was a) extremely powerful and b) pissed at me
- Another vampire who was pissed at me was RIGHT THERE

And yet it was neither of those vampires who killed me, but a random one I met in a hallway who was bored. Still, AWESOME.

I also went to Kenilworth Castle, where Robert Dudley lived, and to Chatsworth, a big country house which they used as Pemberley in the Pride & Prejudice film, where we paddled in a fountain, did roly-polies on the lawn, and I got into such a discussion with a tour guide about a painting of the Siege of Thebes that I was allowed behind the velvet rope to point out some details in the picture! It was so exciting.

And now? Term's over, I've popped home for a quick (stupidly last-minute expensive) visit. Last night I went with my parents to a charity benefit thing a friend of theirs was hosting. My mum has clearly decided I'm her best hope for grandkids, because she dragged me over to meet a guy called Henry, whose own mum was dragging him over to meet me. Apparently he came to my birthday parties when we were kids, and we, no joke, played naked in paddling pools together. I have actually become Bridget Jones.

And now I have the summer holidays ahead of me. Nice, relaxing summer holidays. Aaaaah. I'm going to do cross-stitch and play Sims and go on holiday and CHILL. Because next year I plan to work my ass off.

Also this July, I'm going to do another NaNoWriMo. I'm hoping this will deter me from taking part this November, when there are essays and dissertation and "important" stuff like that, but knowing me, I'll still do it then as well. Mostly, it's because I couldn't decide whether to write Society of Illegal Scholars or my vampire superhero story this summer - this way, I can do both!

So if anyone else wants to join me in my July 30-day breakneck novel writing, feel free...

SPIDER ATTACK!

( Cut for embarrassing levels of capitals, considering I'm not even scared of spiders. )

PS: HOLY SHIT. Forget spiders, I find one of THOSE in my bed, I'll just MOVE.

Today was May Day, a day celebrated in Durham by going down to the bridge in the particularly Narnia-esque area of the city and watching morris dancing as the sun comes up. Often much mead is also drunk, which I provided this year having so much of the stuff left over from Banquet. However, I discovered that merely not sleeping is enough to get me acting drunk, without the added annoyance of nausea.

I said a lot of random stuff to poor Beccy, who just nodded along and looked vaguely alarmed. Including:

"The day is young! Far too young! Us being up this early is practically statuatory rape!"

"No no no see we're BOTH evil twins. It'll be awesome! We can rain doom and brimstone over all this land... and we can call it... This Land..."

"He's a marine AND a morris dancer?? That's AMAZING. He's like a... a MARRIS DANCER."

"I'm HOT 'cuz I'm FLY! You AIN'T 'cuz you NOT! This is why, this is why, this is why I'm HOT!!"

That last one was said a lot. With attempted gangsta dancing. It's entirely this video's fault. I really need to watch all of How I Met Your Mother so I can stop trawling youtube for videos.

Aaaaanyway. It was a fun morning. I didn't end up drinking anything myself, and even retired at a sensible hour (8am), mostly because my mood switched from 'Insanely random' to 'Quiet down to the soul', and all I wanted to do was look at the pretty view. Because seriously, Prebends bridge is beautiful at that time of day.

I went a little nuts with my camera trying to capture the beautiful light quality, but it didn't really work. I also went a little nuts in general. So here, pretty and LOLface photos.

( Bollywood, LOLduck and Unexpected!Cathedral )

And now, UNEXPECTED MEME!

I was tagged by nowhack.

Is there a film/television/literary character that best represents you in some way? People who know you would point out with amusement the similarities between yourself and the fictional creation…and people who don’t know you could construct some idea of who you are.

It can be more than one character and the connection can be anything: personality, looks, behaviour...all of it together or one part in particular.

And I'm gonna tag (picked at random):

reasonablycrazy
trinityblack (BWAHAHAHAHA)
pyjamagurl

and anyone else who fancies doing it.

( Is it wrong I've already put some thought into this? )

Already feeling vaguely better. This may or may not have something to do with being shot a lot today.

We went paintballing for Pinky's birthday! First three games, I was definitely fighting defensively - ie, finding somewhere to skulk behind and shooting anyone trying to run between barricades. But then everyone else was comparing the number of times they'd been shot and buying more paintballs, and I started to feel like I was missing out, so the third game, I ran out on 'crazy Space Marine suicide runs' with them.

It went about as well as you could expect. Along with Pinky and Rachel, I ran to a barricade - and got shot in the leg just as I was throwing myself behind it. Damn. Also, OW. I knew paintballs hurt, but it still kinda took me by surprise. So I ran back to the base (for the first five minutes, we got to respawn) and was closely followed by Pinky and Rachel, also shot, and then headed out again - this time with Alex, seasoned paintball pro. I lived quite a bit longer this time, and together we took out two of the opposing team, though I got shot in the mask, which wasn't fun. And then, while standing around talking about where to head next, I got shot in the hand. Dang.

Then it was time for Pinky's birthday run - she had to walk from one of the field to the other, and back again, with everyone firing at her. And damn, she was HARDCORE. The other guy ran for it, arms over his face, but she just walked along, not breaking her stride, not making any noise as she was shot over and over. After a while all of us stopped shooting her out of respect - partially because we wanted to save our ammo for the next bit, though...

... which was the free-for-all, where we basically got to use up whatever ammo we had left. Turned out, I had LOTS left. So I got to shoot a lot of people. Though I also got shot a lot myself. I am going to be SORE tomorrow.

And finally I ran out of pellets, and retreated back to the safe area, where we watched Rachel and Barnas run around shooting each other and shouted memes of encouragement at them.

When it was all over we got down to the important bit - comparing bruises. Pinky, of course, was covered in them - and also had cut her face quite a lot, from shrapnel getting through gaps. She wore all these as badges of honour, of course.

I had a fair few myself, and one huge painful raised welt on an arm, where it got hit square on at close range. Effin' OW. It's just this raised welt about the size of a 10p piece, with an aura of bruising, and a circle of red inside. That's growing, I've just noticed. Though Pinky has about twenty of these all over her, so I can hardly complain.

It was awesome.


PS: Arm bruise actually looks like someone has pasted a target to my arm now. It's a raised circle, which has an outer ring of blue bruising, and then a red ring of almost breakage, and then the middle is yellow bruising. The sheer awesome of this counterpoints the fact that even putting on a jacket causes great pain.

I just went to the Sainsbury's across the street for food, and was standing in an aisle debating whether to get super noodles for my lunch (officially, my healthy eating lifestyle starts again tomorrow, so it was kinda my last chance) when one of the guys who worked there came up to me.

"Excuse me," he said - and my mind immediately screamed "WHAT HAVE I DONE??? RUN!!!" - "But do you go to MethSoc?"

(That's MethSoc as in Methodist Church Society, not Crystal Meth Society. At least, I assume it is.)

"Uh," I said, "No?"

"Wow," said the guy, "Then you've got a double. I've seen you in here a few nights, and you look exactly like a girl from MethSoc."

DUDE.

You know what this means? Other than that one of the guys who works at Sainsbury's has been watching me for several nights now? (And he was, like, 40. Ew.)

There's a girl out there who looks like me. And is apparently a devoted Christian. As opposed to an atheist procrastinating slash fangirl.

I AM TOTALLY AN EVIL TWIN.

Well, that ended that debate. I decided to give in to my demonic nature and have super noodles for lunch.

I HAVE AN AFTERNOON WITH NOTHING TO DO!!!

This is a HIDDEN BONUS of being organised and having a schedule that I never considered - if you get all your work for one day done early, YOU CAN THEN ACTUALLY HAVE FREE TIME.

THE WALLS HAVE FALLEN AWAY! I CAN FEEL THE BREEZE ON MY FACE!!!

.... ahem. It's possible I'm a little too excited by the prospect of an afternoon of guiltless time-wastage.

So how am I spending it? Well, I've already been out this morning to pay vast quantities of money into the bank for Banquet. The teller's eyebrows went up when I suddenly dumped over £2000 worth of cash and cheques on the counter and started counting it - especially since I was wearing my brightly coloured bobble hat (with ear flaps) due to the CRAZY SNOW.

Oh yes. We have a blizzard. It's really pretty when warm and dry and snuggled in your duvet (as I am now - aaaahhh) but less so when you're struggling down a hill, with the wind trying to blow you back up it (seriously, the wind literally nearly blew me away last night - I jumped through the air and felt it actually pick me up for a moment) and snow being plastered against your coat and jeans and whipped into your eyes so you can't see.

Anyway, so I dropped off vast amount of money, and handed in work for Tennant lecturer, went and got The Best Hot Chocolate In The World from O'Brien's (whipped cream and marshmallows as standard!!) then got the bus back up the hill, because LOL NO was I walking out in the snow again.

And now I'm snuggled in duvet, toes starting to thaw - and trying to deal with a wart on my hand.

Yeah. I have a wart on my hand. It really sucks. I've had it for months now and am finally dealing with it. Problem is, I'm a compulsive picker - scabs, dry skin, you name it, I will pick at it so it never heals. Warts are frustrating, because they LOOK pickable, but they're really not. If you finally manage to get a good bit off, you get an open wound. AND THEN IT GROWS BACK. Suck.

It's also inconvenient because the treatment is a cream which forms a watertight seal over it, slowly killing it. And guess what? IT'S UTTERLY PICKABLE. Gaaah.

ONE PHOENCALL LATER: Oh, turns out I do have something to do this afternoon. Owen's coming over to finalise writing the adventure for tomorrow. But if this weather keeps up, I don't think anyone will be wanted to go on it.

But yay. That was a nice brief "I don't have anything to do!" few minutes.

I got my article analysis for History of the Hellenistic Age today - and I got a FIRST!

THIS IS MY FIRST FIRST SO I AM VERY EXCITED. Especially since I thought it was going to be rubbish.

In fact, Tennant-lecturer got so happy that I a) got a first, b) had my essay ready to hand in 3 days before the deadline, and c) was still such a sunny character, he gave me a TOFFEE.

Screw my diet, this is a VICTORY TOFFEE, and I shall SAVOUR IT.

And just to make my day that much better, I met his wife and his puppy on the way out. The puppy is so big now!! And so energetic and excitable!! I dropped a page of my essay and he went NUTS. Seriously. His body language was in all caps with excessive punctuation.

I then ran into Crazy Lady and had a long chat with her, covering such subjects as my T-shirt, Britney Spears, Jackie being stuck in Birmingham and our friend Tobias becoming a rent boy. And then I called my mum and squeed at her (yes, me getting good marks is so rare I actually call my mum about it) and then continued to head home...

... on the way to which I suddenly lost all my energy, because it was now half two and all I'd had to eat that morning was yogurt, and my bag was heavy. Climbing up Gilesgate was hell.

But now I have eaten and have VICTORY TOFFEE. YAAAAY.

I will be writing more Sylinder later this evening, once I've done LOLwork. No crack till my essays are done. Shambles the Kitten glares at me if I disobey.

(Shambles is a toy kitten I bought for TT last night, and now get to keep. It's tiny and ginger and adorable. I did toy with calling it Mylar, Sendhil, Sylar, Lyle or even Mr Muggles, but in the end I settled on Shambles, because since I used it as a dog's name in a story I've wanted to use it as a name in real life too. Anyway, I've decided it's the visible personification of the Work Side of my brain, and when I look at it it reminds me to work. Aaand so this pointless aside comes to a close.)

Life continues as usual. OMG work, OMFG Banquet, OMGWTF muesli. But I'm actually really enjoying this whole healthy-living thing - there's a certain satisfaction in it. Plus, the wholemeal tagliatelle from Sainsbury's is NICE. No chips after TT on Monday kinda sucks, but I'll deal with it.

Just a few little things I wanted to record:

1. On the Heroes imdb page, the plot keywords are 'Blood Splatter / Depression / Super Powers / Cheerleader / Gun Shot.' This, to me, is hilarious.

2. The other day I was having a really geeky conversation - figuring out ways to get Star Trek terms into TT - then summoned all my dignity and said "I'm leaving this conversation before I embarrass myself any further!" Then walked into a door. Cue laughter track. I mean, seriously, my life is a sitcom. My friend Sophie said, "Stuff like that JUST DOESN'T HAPPEN in real life!!"

3. Tennant-lecturer today told me I was a 'sunny character'. He said it in tones of slight astonishment, too. I think it was because, despite having walked all the way down to the Classics department to be told my essay was missing and I'd have to re-send it, I was still beaming and ending all my sentences in exclamation marks. But it was nice to hear, because I thought he hated me and thought I was stupid. Who knew? Anyway. So I'm a sunny character. I guess that's nice.

4. LECTURE GUY CUT HIS HAIR. THIS IS SUCH A HORRIFIC SHOCKING DAY. OK, little explanation needed. There's a guy in a few of my lectures who always seems to end up sitting in front or to the side of me. And he has the most AWESOME hair - kind of like Mystery Sock's, only his head is smaller, so it's that much more noticeable.

Or rather, he USED to have awesome hair, BUT NOW HE'S CUT IT OFF! He has a boring haircut now! I was so upset.

Aaand I've finished eating my healthy healthy dinner now (actually, it was soup with a sandwich, so not really all that healthy at all) so I have no real excuse not to work. Boooo.

I went down to ye old Ford of Oxen for Frankie's birthday, and it was fuuun. I was going to do a big long shiny recap, but frankly, my throat hurts, I'm tired, and I've still got to write the Wessex Chronicle before trying to get some sleep for my Busy Day tomorrow.

I started off with a moment of resounding specialness by getting on the wrong train. I blame the fact that I was sitting next to Close Encounters of the RAH Kind. I was this close to narrating in a David Attenborough voice.

"And here, we see the male RAH turning the pages of his newspaper with increasing dramatic flair, showing both an appreciation yet an undeniable superiority to the works within... and here, he attempts to entice the female into his own environment, where he may continue his attempts to mate with her in a darkened environment with the aid of alcohol..."

"OH YARS, my band is playing at Warehouse on Saturday night, it's rather good, we're playing three songs, to be concise, you know, but it's really very challenging, oh yars, a great experience... you should come along, you know, yars, I could dedicate a song to you..."

I think my brain screamed at my legs to get onto the next train that came through, no matter WHERE it was going. But it just so happened that my train wasn't the only one delayed - there had been another one before it delayed even longer. The signs weren't any help, they just told us to stand back because a fast train was approaching. And frankly, it didn't occur to me it might be the wrong train. I only found out when I was staring in confusion at my supposed booked seat saying I was getting on at Peterborough, and then an announcement rang out saying "Welcome to passengers who just joined us at Durham aboard this service to Kings Cross..."

The passengers around me were trying to be British and not make eye contact while I muttered a stream of swear words under my mouth and dialled Frankie on my phone.

At least it was going to Kings Cross, rather than Cardiff or something. I managed to get the Oxford Tube from London, and only arrived an hour or so later than I would have done. And apparently, at the time I was planning on arriving, Frankie was still slumped on her sofa following her birthday tea.

So everyone else arrived, we got in all the takeaway in the world, and played Ring of Fire. Several Waterfalls in a row. Bastards.

The next morning, I left before most other people were up to meet my parents, who just happened to be visiting my sister. We had lunch, they bought me a new winter coat - moment of attack by low self-esteem when Debenhams didn't have a coat I loved in my size, but amazingly swiftly batted away with an offhand "Stupid Russia" and a hug from my dad, who said he loved me as I was - and various books from Blackwells - OXFORD CLASSICAL DICTIONARY, AT LAST!!!! - then agreed we'd meet up for drinks later. I then headed back to Frankie's, where people were still in the middle of brunch, which was rapidly turning into plain late lunch.

We went out for milkshakes and Blackwells again, then came back to get ready for going out that evening. I fitted into some of Frankie's size 12 stuff, vaporising earlier self-esteem qualms - though Russia wasn't pleased and cried "Help, help, we're being repressed!" - and after a bit of fuss over Frankie's shoes, we went and met my parents for drinks in Quod, then headed on over to Pizza Express.

Earlier that day, I had been walking along with Alex, talking about my lack of boyfriend and how my self-esteem issues weren't going to be helping me out of this state any time soon. I wasn't just moping for the sake of it - Frankie and Tricks were wandering along behind us, the vision of love's young dream, canoodling and whatnot, and I was just reminded of it, especially since I myself had liked Tricks for some time before they got together.

But the Gods of Timing love to mess with me.

So there I was, walking along with Alex, explaining how I couldn't understand why anyone would like me or find me attractive - when a guy who looked vaguely Italian walked past us, turned back, and said to me, "Hey, you so sexy" and made a kissing noise. Alex and I slowed, stared, and burst out laughing.

Why do I say this now? Because at this point, the Gods of Timing continued their wacky fun. I was in the middle of a violent and deadly poking war with Tricks (nothing like my one going on with Barnas, of course), and as we left Pizza Express I chased him across the car park. He runs like a - a very fast thing, though (screw similes, it's late) and I was still full of lasagne, so I turned back and started running more slowly to catch up with the others again, again musing about if I was going to find anyone any time soon. It was that kind of weekend, OK?

So I was running down the street - and for some reason, a guy detached himself from a group of friends and started running similarly towards me, arms outstretched, in running-across-a-meadow-in-slow-motion stylee. I stopped, eyebrows in full "WTF???" position, and he quickly stepped back in with his friends as if it had never happened.

Seriously. I repeat. WTF????

Then we went to a cocktail bar, which was a bit rubbish, truth be told - the cocktails weren't as good as usual, and they didn't play any cheese, even when Frankie and I went up and pleaded, using big eyes, "But it's my BIRTHDAY!" and cleavage to full effect. We had a good time anyway, Alex licking my face disturbingly regularly, and me completely failing to lick her back. Then we wandered home, me hugging Daniel whenever he said something in Latin.

Then we went to sleep and this morning I got back on the train to come back to Durham. I made sure it was the right one very carefully. And may I say, first class is NICE.

Now, I must get back to the Wessex Chronicle. And take paracetemol, as my bacteria has apparently split into two squadrons, one heading south to colonise the lungs, the rest holding down my sore throat as a place of retreat. Blag.

It was my physics teacher who first noticed this, years ago. It was year 11, our school was having a Clown Dress-up Day, which, understandably, sent me into fits of terror. So my friend Gemma and I dressed as the Anti-Clown League, in all black with sunglasses. My physics teacher saw me, and laughed, and said, "You can't do anything normally, can you?"

And - no. No I can't.

I already thought my debit-card-information-thieves were pretty incompetent. I mean, they spent £1000 on a CEILING. Possibly one of the hardest things to hide. I mean, you can't exactly throw a blanket over it, or put it out in the garden when the Fraud Department comes calling, can you?

Turns out they not only bought a ceiling. They bought a ceiling - without realising the invoice would be sent to the address on the card.

Which is, oh, what? MY ADDRESS.

So today I got an interesting letter addressed to 'Kathed Logan'. Hmm, Kathed. Hadn't thought of that as a nickname. Anyway, upon opening it, I discovered this invoice for the ceiling, and at first just rolled my eyes at the reminder my details were flitting around the internet somewhere.

But then I noticed something very interesting. A little box, with 'Deliver to' in it, with an address for somewhere in Leicester.

.... are my debit card thieves SO RUBBISH that I now have their address? I can't think of what else it could be, it's not my address, it's not the 'return to' address on the envelope, it's not the address of McDonald's ceilings. I think it must be theirs. Which is just... they SUCK. I can't do anything normally - even my debit card thieves have astronomical levels of specialness.

Incidentally, the name of the town they got the ceiling from? 'Failsworth'.