Afternoon tea

Earlier this afternoon, I went to have tea and a girly chat with a friend (and fellow postgrad). We sometimes go to a local pub, which may sound a little counter intuitive, but they are probably the cheapest place around for decent-sized mugs of hot drinks. We bitched, mostly about work and men. I think it is safe to say that in different ways, we are somewhat disillusioned with both.

I felt better by the time I left, but mostly as Hannah always reminds me of the old cliche "however badly off you are, there's always someone worse."

I think this officially makes me a bad person.

On another note...

Sean. That cute little bastard Sean. Has he called? Has he fuck...

I've now given up all of the little hope that I had of seeing him again. I keep telling myself, "Oh, fuck it... It's his loss." I'm just not sure I'm convincing myself, let alone anyone else who is familiar with the full story.

I'm scared I'm turning into Bridget Jones. The only thing that is making me feel better are pathetic chick songs. Just not in the manner of sitting on the floor, alone except for the bottle of wine singing along with shitty old Celine Dion songs. Not for me, oh no. I hear the first few bars of anything too whiney or sentimental, and I just want to barf. Violently. I hate these songs; the only kind of emotion they elicit is intense anger. And this anger makes me feel better.

Is this normal?

Panic

For some time now, people have commented on how calm I am. Not for very much longer. My funding runs out in the middle of September, so this provides me with a natural submission date for my thesis... this would worry me a lot less if I had written a little more of it. I was hoping to have the labwork finished by the end of July. This is the last day of June, and I am very aware of just how much more I have to do. I think the panic will truely set in soon.

It doesn't help that I am getting rather bored of the particular work that I am doing at the moment. It seemed like such a good idea when I suggested it. But it involves way too many types of microscopy and photography, and I'm only now realising that I am not very likely to generate all of the data that I had hoped. Bollocks.

Still seething...

I was hoping the psycho demons might leave while I was curled up in bed last night. Did they, fuck! I think they might be here to stay. I complained to my sister (via email, of course.) She told me to eat chocolate. I looked at the half-eaten KitKat on the desk, and couldn't even be bothered to eat the rest of it.

This is not a good sign.

Given that I am for once willing to blame my hormones for the foulness that is currently my mood, I started getting a little paranoid. I'm always careful, but I've heard too many horror stories over the years... I knew I had a spare pregnancy test in the first aid box (last scare, I bought a pack of two), so though I would rule that out. It's not exactly rocket science, but I was still slightly worried I wasn't following the instructions correctly. Then I thought of some of the lab protocols I have to follow on a regular basis. With some amusement, I figured if I can mess with nucleic acids, I could probably manage to piss on a stick.

It was negative. Which means I'm just being an insufferable bitch.

Ho hum.

I did, however, finally manage to get on one of the two computers in my office. The squatters have actually taken to logging themselves off when they are done. I should slam doors more often...

Black clouds abound

I was going to say that I don't know why I didn't sleep well last night. That is not exactly true. I lay in bed thinking about Sean, and wondering what (if anything) he will say when he gets back into town. This is not like me at all, and I resent the fuck out of him for getting under my skin.

Anyway, to say I got up on the wrong side of bed is an understatement. All day, I have been in the kind of mood where I'm pre-empting arguments, and seething about everything because of nothing. I've never suffered badly from PMS, but that is what it feels like, but it can't be.

So, I spent the day stomping around like a bear with a sore head. It could be argued that many people would not have noticed the difference, but sod it. I was somewhere between icily polite and downright obnoxious to a colleague I felt was taking the piss (oh, fuck it... she was taking the piss), nearly smashed the computer, and slammed doors left, right and center. Especially when I realised that the foreign students squatting in my office were going to prevent me from using the computer at any point in the afternoon. Not very mature, but I was beyond putting on a nice smiley happy face.

I was supposed to meet my supervisor in the lab this afternoon. This is a rare occurrence in itself, as he usually leaves me to my own devices. I went to see him about 4.30, said can we do this at some point tomorrow. He asked why, and I told him I was in a fucking awful mood, and not feeling particularly productive. Given that earlier I had asked him if I could justify buying a kickbag off my research contract, I think he was never likely to argue.

I stopped at the supermarket, and bought a nice healthy dinner. White wine, Pringles and hot salsa dip. I cheered myself up by fooling myself that the tomatoes in the dip counted as one of my five recommended portions of fruit or vegetables for the day.

(Added Tuesday: The wine only depressed me more, but at least I did sleep)

A couple of days ago, my sister made a LiveJournal post about theme songs. After sneering about the Ally McBeal connotations (now there was a bitch that really needed a good slap), I started thinking about what would be mine. There was only ever one serious contender: Piece of Me, by Skid Row.

Call me...

OK... the last time I saw Sean was after the party. We did exchange phone numbers, but I'm never sure when that little dance is a polite ritual, or when it actually means "call me." I knew he would be out of the country for a while, but figured he should be back by now.

I sent him a nice, friendly, reasonably short text message that a fellow female postgrad assured me was cool, calm, and collected. I sincerely hope he never finds out the truth. This involved me agonising over how, when, and if I should contact him. I was going to call him, but was advised against this by my sister ("you don't want him to hear the desperation in your voice..." Oh, thanks, by the way.) Then my lab-mates took the piss out of me when I started to draft the message on paper.

Anyway, he texted me back (quickly), told me he was off to Glastonbury, but would talk to me when he got back. At least this does imply that if he's not interested, he'll be decent enough to actually tell me.

Sexual harassment

I recently walked into the lab to be confronted by Liz, who with a knowing smile asked me, "have you been yet?" The answer, fortunately, was "no."

Everybody in the department, indeed the whole university, was supposed to attend one of a series of seminars on harassment and discrimination in the workplace. We had (apparently) been sent an email from the school secretary alerting us to this. If I didn't dismiss 98 % of the emails I receive from her as being completely irrelevant crap, I might have actually read it. She doesn't seem to realise postgrads wouldn't care about the Board of Govenors if they spontaneously combusted (although I would probably go to that with my camera).

Anyway, I figure I didn't need the seminar. I've never felt discriminated against in my life, and I don't discriminate myself - I'm equally fucking obnoxious to everyone, regardless of gender, race or religion.

Oh, and I can assure you there is not a man in my department who is dumb enough to grab my arse. Although, that said, a drunken pharmacologist did cup my crotch at a Christmas party. He's already, shall we say, physically impaired. Under the circumstances, I felt that decking him would have been considered bad form.

DIY blues

I spent an uninspired afternoon pottering around the shops replacing all those annoying little things that are surprisingly important. Like toothpaste and deodorant. I'm at the point where I couldn't really care, but it does seem like a reasonable courtesy to my lab-mates, if nothing else.

I also bought a series of square shelves. I have a set in already in my bathroom... They are useful and they look cute, so I figured I'd get another batch, and put them up near my computer. If nothing else, they would help me tidy some of the clutter on my desk.

A few years back, my Mum bought me one of those little DIY gizmos that detects annoying obstructions such as pipes, electrical wires or metal studs that are frequently embedded in walls. Note to self: next time, use it before I start drilling. Judging by the amount of metal, I now suspect my building would survive anything but a direct nuclear hit. On the upside, the holes are conveniently hidden by the pictures that were already there. Russ Meyers posters have their uses...

Anonymous comments...

After getting various emails from people I know who can't be bothered to register, I've altered the blog settings so they now allow anonymous comments.

This was motivated in part by a friend of my sister, who after reading my comments on The Lord of the Rings, suggested I should read this.

Thanks T.
Was the best laugh I've had in ages.
:-)

Something always has to spoil the fantasy

While watching The Fellowship of the Ring, I couldn't help looking at certain cast members running through the wilderness, and thinking "if only there were men like that around here..." For those of you that know where I live, you will understand the exact size of the gulf between fantasy and reality. The only problem with fantasies, is that there is always something to spoil them.

Take the aforementioned film. I know they are rushing across Middle Earth to battle evil. There is a undeniable nobility in this... but what about the smell? Did they stop to do the laundry? Did they take enough spare underwear for the trip? I know it is rather girly of me to point this out, but they didn't seem to have packed too much. The smell of fresh sweat can be unbearably sexy. Stale sweat is just, well... unbearable, really.

Another example: The Terminator.

I've always had a soft spot for Michael Biehn. Although many (including myself) think he peaked as the unfeasibly shaggable Hicks in Aliens, Kyle Reese was pretty damn sexy.

"I had a photo of you..." he told Sarah Connor. Well, I had a picture of Reese. It was a 10 x 8 black and white promo shot from the movie that I kept (along with other girly crap) in my bedroom; every time I looked at it, I wanted sex. In the picture, Reese was sitting, bare-chested, on the motel bed where he spent his productive night of passion with Sarah C. I loved that photo.

Then one horrible, horrible day, it finally struck me. He's still wearing the same trousers... You know, the pair he stole from the tramp in the alleyway. At least as I recall, the tramp was not going commando. I know Sarah was feeling undervalued and unloved (not to mention being hunted by a ruthless futuristic killing machine), but really?! Eeewwwwww.

The Lord of the Rings

First of all, I apologies for what I am about to say. What you are about to read may be sacrilegious to many, if not most of you.

For some time, I’ve felt like a social outcast, as I have never seen the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Having spent the last couple of years listening to trusted friends endlessly enthuse about the films, I figured I should see what all the fuss was about. My sister kindly lent me the extended edition of The Fellowship of the Rings. I loaded the DVD, and with uncharacteristic optimism, waited to be impressed.

I have to confess, I had trouble taking the whole thing seriously. Frodo’s village looked like the home of the Teletubbies (but was filled with less intelligent beings), and grown men cooed over and coveted a cheap and nasty piece of jewellery that look as though the prop department had raided the Argos catalogue. On the plus side, populating the film with the kind of rough and ready men guaranteed to make any straight woman swoon was a master-stroke by the casting department. (And no… I’m not talking about the dwarf.)

Anyway… there is an air of inevitability to the sequels. I'm guessing the following happens:
- Frodo makes it to the mountain of doom (or whatever place the ring can be destroyed)
- various other characters die
- the cute one that isn't Bloom or Bean gets it on with Liv Tyler
- the ones that aren't dead live happily ever after.

This is what I want to happen:
- O. Bloom does something other than shoot bad guys and point out the blatantly fucking obvious
- O. Bloom gets those stupid ears chopped off in a bizarre accident involving Frodo's sword and a chainsaw
- Sean Bean gets resurrected
- and makes ancient porno flick with Bloom, the other cute one and a female cast member that looks like me
- the halfwit hobbits get napalmed
- this all happens in about 30 minutes of film time.

Am I hoping for too much here?

Gig etiquette #2

Please... just answer the bloody question.

OK… so working the crowd is an integral part of a rock star’s job description. However, when asked “so how’re you doin’ tonight?” or “you like that song?” scream, if you must. Or just answer the question, and say “Fine. Thanks for asking”. The correct response to this is not to repeatedly scream “[insert name of lead singer], I luuurrrvvvvve you…”

Especially in my ear.

If you want to tell him this, write it in a letter. Preferably with a return address, so that his lawyers know where to send the restraining order.

Thank you.

I would love to have seen the look on her face...

On Sunday evening, I drove up to London and stayed at my sister's house. Until it she pointed it out, I hadn't actually noticed the deep-fat fryer on the patio.

This not a story for the squeamish ;-)

Ahhh... the weekend

Friday night, I decided to try to escape town early. I had promised to go and visit my parents, who I haven't seen now for a few months. Unfortunately, I think half the county decided to simultaneously head in the same direction as me. As usual, some of them had trouble keeping their cars on the black stuff. I don't know if it is bad karma, but whenever I see a road accident, I always just think I'm glad it wasn't me.

Anyway, I finally made it down to my parents' rather rural retirement retreat, and was rewarded with a bottle of Baileys for my trouble. My Mum said she was going to buy me an Easter egg, but figured I would rather have alcohol. I like my Mum.

Saturday afternoon was the Birthday party of their 12 year-old neighbour. It was fun when it started, then after eating, I started to feel decidedly unwell. I’m still unsure if the sausage hadn’t spent enough time on the BBQ, or if doing somersaults onto a bouncy castle after drinking Bacardi Breezers was responsible. Either way, I made my excuses and left.

My Dad recently bought a rather high tech piece of equipment for his workshop. He managed to bugger part of it up (naturally, this wasn't his fault), and the manufacturers sent him a replacement part. I should point out that as he's got older, his hands have got more and more shaky... so guess who got to spend Sunday morning scrambling under the machine to try to fix the new part in place...

After lunch at a local hotel, my Mum and I wandered around the adjacent wildlife park. It's a pretty cool place, but each time I visit, there appears to be a little less wildlife actually there. About the only thing there guaranteed to grab my attention is the Lemur wood. Predictably, I took photo's, some of which are posted below.

It's amazing what you can find in rural England...

...Lemurs. Very, very cute lemurs :-)

Unbelievably cute, stupidly tame, and more than willing to pose for the camera.

Why do I feel so calm?

People keep asking me how it's going, so I tell them, "not too bad." A little slow maybe, but nothing unusual there; most people I know tend to underestimate how long things will take.

I still have one hell of a lot to do. I feel as though I should be panicking by now, but I'm not even close. I guess that'll come later...

Damn, that felt good...

Aaaahhhhh... sweet relief (and no, I'm not talking about that). I finally had my hair cut.

I really do love Toni & Guy. As a poor postgraduate student, I should probably be far more frugal with what little money I do actually have. As it is, I view my trips to T&G as one of life's little luxuries.

The only problem is trying to resist the beautifully packaged, yet incredibly overpriced hair products. This morning, I failed miserably, and spent £10 on 250 mL of Bed Head Control Freak serum. Branded pipe dreams, basically. I guess I bought it for the following reasons:
- I'm an eternal optimist
- the brand name is in a really cool font
- it's a fantastic shade of green.
Oh, and it has little glittery bits in it.

"Fight the frizz. control your freakin' hair," it says.

Hope in a bottle. Get it here: Only £40 a fucking litre.

On the way back to the lab, I stopped off in Claire's Accessories to try to find a present or two. I've been invited to a Birthday party for a 12 year old girl... I like her, she's sarcastic, has a razor-sharp sense of humour, is incredibly self-confident and rides around on a moped. Give her a few years, and she'll be breaking hearts left, right, and center. Still, I don't know if I bought her stuff that a twelve-year old will like. I'd better give her the receipt as well :-)

Playtime...

For Christmas, I got a cool new toy: a Kodak digital camera. It has kept me amused ever since. My model has optional close-up lenses, which I finally got last week. I justified the expense (all £30 of it...) by telling myself that they would be useful additions to the lab. Anyway, I spent some of the afternoon playing with the lenses, to see what they can do.

Leaf & flower/bud from the fence outside the lab:



Sea urchin spines:



Underside of sea star:
(We get yelled at for calling them star fish)



Anyway, playtime was over, so I thought it was about time the animals were returned to their homes. I don't know if it was my perfume, or the raised temperature in the lab... but I think it is safe to say the photo's were of a boy urchin.

Oh, and regarding next door

As I left this morning, I ran into Geoff, the landlord of the buildings next door. I asked him if he had any idea exactly what had happened there. Contrary to what my neighbour had told me, he said that apparently six men had broken in with baseball bats, and a bloodied shotgun had been found in the front garden. Hence the police treating it at attempted murder. He added that he thought it could be down to some kind of drug debt.

Chinese whispers, anyone?

Eitherway, it appears that the residents did not require too much hospital treatment, but have been asked to stay away for a week (presumably in case forensics need to go back.)

This would only make a student happy

OK, so for a long time, I have bought chocolate bars, and ignored the "text this code to .... to see if you have won" type promotions. I had a Twix for lunch, and figured I may as well go to the website and enter in the code. Granted, I failed to win one of the high tech packages, or the trip to Australia... but I won another chocolate bar ;-) Yipppeeee

Monday bloody morning :-(

I had a 9 am appointment this morning with a very nice lady from Toni & Guy. When I woke up, I could feel something weird digging into my side. Closer examination revealed it was my alarm clock, and the time was now 9.22.

I'd be pissed off at the best of times, but I'm supposed to be heading out tomorrow night, and my hair has developed a mind of its own.

Anyway I rang up, and I apologised (several times.) My normal girl can't now cut my hair until Thursday. It may sound trivial to some, but I can't let anyone else near it. She always smiles so sweetly, never complains about its condition, and humours me by telling me different ways I could dye it (it's too expensive, but maybe one day...)

Anyway... this made me smile:

Not a bad view, I suppose

Cheesy quiz time...

You're South Africa!

After almost endless suffering, you've finally freed yourself from the oppression that somehow held you back. Now your diamond in the rough is shining through, and the world can accept you for who you really are. You were trying to show who you were to the world, but they weren't interested in helping you become that until it was almost too late. Suddenly you're a very hopeful person, even if you still have some troubles.
>Take the Country
Quiz at the Blue Pyramid

Not another body?! Please...

OK... I did mention before that this is a strange neighbourhood. Not 24 hours after the police left the building next door to mine, they have sealed off (again with that nice police-do-not-enter tape) another building about 60 metres down the road from here.

Again, I don't know what happened.

Either the old bill really like my street, or it is time to consider moving.

Random question:

Guns n' Roses. Reckless life. Can anyone decipher what Axl actually says at the beginning? Been bugging me for years...

The police have finally packed up and gone home

Still recovering from the last 24 hours.

At some point late this afternoon, the police (and their forensic people) finally decided they were done with the building/crime scene next door. After nearly three working days, I should hope so. I find it somewhat strange that with all the gossip about what happened there, still there is nothing on the news... not even the local rag has run a story on it. Given some of the crap they will dedicate to the front page, I find this more than a little stange.

I spoke with my local newsagent, who is a fairly reliable source. He told me that one of his customers had found a bloody knife on their doorstep.

Allegedly.

Party time...

OK… so here was the plan for yesterday evening:

- Drive to the party venue, and ditch my car in the closest university car park
- Put in appearance at party
- Be sociable (chat to staff, and say nice things to the students I have got to know over the year about their future potential etc.)
- Have no more than two alcoholic drinks, interspersed with water (or other non-alcoholic beverages)
- Establish that Sean-the-cute-undergraduate was with girlfriend (or otherwise uninterested in little old me)
- Drive home (…and sulk)

This seemed like a fairly mature approach to the evening.

Hhhmmmm... This is how it actually happened:

I arrived slightly later than I had intended (standard operating procedure) but at least the party was in full swing. The place had been decorated for the occasion, and the bar was littered with lists of bastardised cocktails, that had been given subject-specific re-names. I started talking to some of the students I knew at the bar. They were sweet and kind; I even got a bottle of wine from one of the girls to thank me for helping her in the lab with her final year project.

Not many of the academic members of staff had come, but I guess that was only to be expected. In the event, only lecturers Phil and John had made the effort. John can't have been there long, but already had a tell-tale, slightly tipsy smile plastered on his face. Phil already appeared to be on his way to oblivion, and then bought another bottle of wine. And then started accepting shots of Aftershock from the students. These two are the party stalwarts of the department, and when it comes to drinking, neither require encouragement.

Sean walked in not long after I got there, and came straight up to talk to me at the bar. I asked him the kind of questions that said "Hey... I was listening the last time we spoke, and I cared enough to pay attention and remember," while at the same time trying to include the poor guy I had been talking to in the conversation.

And my plans for the evening? Who the hell was I kidding?! “Two drinks” turned all to easily into “too many to count.”

Managed to chat to Sean several times. The most promising of these conversations involved weed. He'd just sold some to a friend, so I asked if he had any more. He told me he didn't, but said if I wanted to swing by his place after, he'd sort me out with some.

Anyway, the party was a success, and a good time was had by all. The bar closed at eleven, meaning that the drinking had to continue elsewhere.

I staggered towards the car park about 11.30 knowing a few things had to be taken care of. I had a small bag and a bottle of wine. Had to ditch bottle of wine in car. I have no permit to park at the University. The attendants have a nasty habit of stickering or clamping your car (or both if you've really ticked them off.) Hence I decided to leave them a suitably apologetic note, begging their forgiveness and promising to remove the car as soon as possible. Lastly, I couldn't remember if the car was parked in one space or two. I had been in a hurry, so I suspected the latter. Must move car. For this, I decided to enlist the help of two students. Paul could watch my reversing, and make sure I didn't hit anything, and Sean, well... I asked him to watch for the police. They kind of frown upon people being behind the wheel when drunk. By this point, I suspect I was at least three times over the legal limit.

Lecturer Phil saw the three of us heading into the car park. He was being collected by his long-suffering wife. Sean made some crack about exactly what the three of us were heading into the car park for, and I just thought, "if only..."

I was somewhat surprised to discover that I had after all left in my car neatly in one parking space. I'm guessing the law of averages may have had a little to do with this. Either way, I was just relieved I didn't have to attempt to re-park it while drunk. I dumped the bottle of wine in the passenger foot-well, then wrote a note to the parking attendants:

Dear Mr Parking Person

Third year post-grad parked here last night. Had good intentions, but now too pissed to drive home. Sorry
Will move car by 8.30 am
Please don’t clamp this piece of crap.
Cheers,
JJ

Onto the next bar. This one is a popular undergrad haunt with a winning combination: Loud music, drugs, cheap alcohol and a late licence.

Ambitious, aspiring DJs played drum and bass. The crowd was noisy; perhaps two-thirds drunk, and the rest on pills jumping around in various states of pharmaceutically-induced hyperactivity. More alcohol was consumed, although by about 12.30, I decided water may be a sensible choice. Sean had been off dancing with his mates, but stopped by for a chat, and asked if I was still up for heading round to his place later for a smoke. Duh? Not sure if he realised the extent to which I was hoping there was a polite euphemism in that sentence.

Later, I was looking for one of the girls when I ran into an old course-mate from my undergraduate years. Back then, he would make the occasional semi-flirty comment, but I could never tell if he was remotely interested, or just being kind. I did however, always harbour a strong suspicion that if I were to finish up in bed with anyone from my course, it would be him. Factor into this, if you will, that every time I see him, he looks more and more manly...

I went up to chat to him, and he looked briefly at my face before diverting his attention downwards. "Yes, Jack, I still have legs..." I told him. "That skirt..." His sentence trailed off, and he didn't close his mouth at the end of it. He didn't actually appear to be drooling, but the fascination was clear and undeniable. "That skirt is amazing."

We traded stories of what we had done since we last saw each other. We spoke about other people we knew, who we had seen, what they were doing etc. He asked me if I was shagging the undergraduates. "Of course not," I replied, before adding "at least not yet..." I told him I had my eye on someone. "I'd fuck you in that skirt if I was a first year," he offered. "Or a second year... Oh, Christ! I'd fuck you anyway."

Is it wrong that I took this comment as a compliment??!

Anyway, Jack is moving abroad later this year. It would be nice if he has the decency to call first. He knows where I am.

By the time the DJs played their last tune, I was still rather tipsy, but thankfully feeling a far more steady on my feet. Most of the others were heading across town for a house party. I left with Sean, but got the impression he was going to go to the party later. As we were walking down the road, a couple of his friends caught up with us.

Sean's house. Typical student residence: Dank, reeked of grass, abundance of chipped magnolia paintwork, old furniture, oh... and mouse-traps in the kitchen.

The four of us sat in Sean's room smoking, talking about nothing much at all, and laughing (a lot.) When the others left to go on to the party, I was going to ask Sean if he wanted me to leave. It was only when he closed his door behind them, that I realised that was the last thing on his mind.

:-)

Bibliogirl... you're a bitch (...and you have no faith)

My sister called me as I was getting ready to go to the party. This is not a good time to get any kind of sense out of me. I can fix various things on my car, I can wire up stereo speakers and lay laminate flooring, but please don't interrupt me as I'm trying to do my eye make-up. This is girl shit, and I'm not very good at it.

I told her about the party. And she knows about Sean. She started singing, "and here's to you Mrs Robinson..."

Honey... there are times when I don't like you very much ;-)

Earlier, I had bought two skirts (short, and essentially the same cut, but very different colourways), and I couldn't decide which to wear. In the end, I chose the one I liked the most. Unfortunately, I had a sneaking suspicion that men would be allergic to it. Oh well...

Listening to: Puss 'n' Boots ~ Adam Ant

I'm sure I was supposed to do some work today...

After spending much of the morning running around trying tie up various loose ends, I made it to the lab just before lunch. About mid-day, I saw my boss, Tom. I told him I had to go to the shops, and asked if I could get him anything. It wasn't so much a case of sucking up, as lab ettiquette.

Seven shops and several purchases later, I decide that my return to the lab may be rather overdue. I had told Tom I would probably be about an hour; this was three and a half hours ago. He is a fair and calm person, however, I decided not to push my luck. Late and laden with shopping, I took the long route back to the building, to avoid being seen. As I approached, I phoned a friend who works upstairs in a different department, and sheepishly asked her to come down and let me in through the back fire exit. At least that way, I figured there was less chance of running into Tom, two and a half hours late, and clutching my new wardrobe.

In addition to this, I was having the bad hair day from hell. Everything I tried just made the whole mess bigger and frizzier than it had been before. After checking on one of the experiments I had running, I decided the only option was to go home and wash it again.

There are days when I know I do not deserve a PhD. This is one of them.

Gossip from the street

The police are still there. As I left this morning, the girl in the flat upstairs was standing by the door, waiting for her taxi. I asked her if she had any idea what had happened. She told me that her brother had called the ambulance, and that it seemed three guys had broken into the flat and attacked the occupants with razor blades. Nice.

Oh, and from a legal perspective, please add copious use of the word allegedly into the above paragraph.

Definite improvement...

I woke up early feeling surprisingly perky. I had that unmistakeable feeling that I had slept far too much for far too long. The stomach still felt a little tender, but (thankfully) I felt a million times better.

For the first time this week, I honestly felt like the party might be a viable option. My only fear was whether I would be able to hold my stomach in when in the presence of the cute undergraduate. I suppose I had better give him a name I can use here; let’s call him Sean.

Oh, and I looked in my wardrobe before I left. Depressing does not begin to describe it. Need to find something to wear.

Can I stomach a party?

Today, I've gone from wondering how long this bloody virus-type thing will last to actually perking up and feeling half-way human.

There is a party tomorrow organised by, and predominantly for, our departing third-year students. They have been kind enough to invite the postgrads and staff. This affords me the last chance to make the kind of drunken pass at the cute undergraduate that I will probably come to regret for years. I'll have to see if I feel up to it tomorrow.

It appears as though no-one's dead...

I was wondering quite what the hell had happened next door. A little earlier, the police came knocking. Unfortunately, I was not a whole lot of help.

Police officer: Can I come in?
Me: Whatever... just keep out of breathing distance.
Police officer: Were you here between 3 and 6 am this morning?
Me: Yes
Police officer: Were you awake?
Me: I don't know. I'm ill. Time no longer has any meaning.
Police officer: Did you hear anything outside?
Me: No
Police officer: What is your name?
[this I did at least manage to tell him]
Police officer: Do you have a contact telephone number?
Me: Er, I've just got a new mobile... I can go and check the number if you really need it.

I think by this point the poor man had realised I was not exactly going to be a mine of information. In fact, he was probably cursing whoever decided that house-to-house enquiries were a good idea. He did at least tell me that two men had been assaulted, one seriously. As I went back up to my flat, I heard what sounded like my upstairs neighbour telling the police that he had called an ambulance. It must have been quite a scuffle to wake up the Fuckwits Upstairs.

Now I'm going to have to hunt down Geoff, and get the low-down from him...

Viruses

OK... so I'm now into my third day of feeling like crap. I am officially pissed off. I did manage to haul my arse down to the newsagents (although this was mostly because I hadn't eaten in about 24 hours, and neither Tesco or Sainsbury could deliver the same day.)

Shdwprncss kindly suggested ginger may help. The ginger tablets didn't work; but ginger beer with crisps seemed to do the trick nicely ;-) Certainly made me perk up for a while.

To add to the fun, it appears that my computer also has a virus (or four.) I've managed to blitz most of them, but one is proving stubborn to the point where a baseball bat and/or a very large, powerful magnet may have to be used.

I must find out what happened...

The three buildings next to mine are all owned by the same bloke. I'm going to call him Geoff. I know him only as I rent a parking space from him; however, he's a real character, and I will always stop and chat to him.

The last time I saw him was about two weeks ago. A woman had been found dead in a hotel around the corner from here. I had heard about this on the local news while I was at work. I was under the impression it was natural causes, until I drove past on my way home, and saw the whole road had been sealed off by police.

I saw Geoff as I got out of my car. He said the version of events he'd heard were as follows:

The woman was found dead. Police were called in to investigate. Police decided to conduct a thorough search. Drug dealer rather pissed off his premises were to be ransacked by police. Police sealed off street while drug dealer was removed. (This may or may not be true, but it raised a smile at the end of a long day)

This prompted me to tell him the story of the night they found my downstairs neighbour dead in his flat (long story, may post it some other time). Geoff proudly told me that in 30 years as a landlord, he'd never had a fatality.

Fast forward to this morning:
I have still to find out exactly what happened. However, judging by the lengths of police tape sealing off the building, and what looked like scenes of crimes officers, I suspect that poor old Geoff may have lost his 100 % record.

Must find out what happened...