I have 'Stuck In A Moment You Can't Get Out Of' stuck in my head. I think this is because my Geometry lecturer insists on calling unit vectors U₁ and U₂.

Yesterday, in Mathematical Methods, we spent an hour going through the following problem:

"Consider a bag which initially holds V kg of a mixture which is made up by 100*alpha% of a drug (and the rest powder). A second mixture consisting of 100*beta% drug is powdered into the bag at a rate of r kg per minute. At the same time, the bag (which we assume is being shaken to mix the stuff) has a hole in the bottom so that the mixture is falling out at a rate of f kg per minute. Find the amount of drug in the bag at any time t."

Um, may I just ask how likely this is? If there was a hole in the bottom, your only concern would be, "Sheeeeeet! The bag's leaking!" Unless you'd been using the drug yourself and were too stoned to notice, in which case you wouldn't be in much of a state to do mathematical calculations. And whichever way, would you actually know the rate at which a bag leaks?

But the answer's beta[V+(r-f)t]+(alpha-beta)V^(r/(r-f))[V+(r-f)t]^(-f/(r-f)). In case you ever need it.

After that I used the cash machine, where a Bryn sneaked up on me. We went to a radio station meeting: since we were the only people to turn up, I have to review seven CDs in six days. Argh! After that, I had a couple more lectures, and as soon as I got back to my room, Ibid and Soppygit appeared. They hung around for three hours: we were supposed to be making posters to advertise the fourth bedroom of the house we're moving into next year, but we ended up taking Spark tests. None of us are pregnant, but we're all going to have two children. And there's a new one that's supposed to determine your gender. It claimed to be super-intelligent, basing its assumptions on fifty thousand previous test-takers, but Ibid and I both came out as male. Bwahaha!

At 9, Ibid and I went to the cinema to see "Lawrence Of Arabia". Soppygit bought a ticket, but since she didn't get any sleep the previous night thanks to a certain Mr Dover (no, it's not what you're thinking), she decided she didn't feel like sitting through a four-hour film. I'd slept well the previous night, despite a foul dream about cooking with urine - I blame The Nanaba, Ibid's friend, for inflicting his tales of his disgusting "friend" Norman upon me. Nevertheless, I fell asleep for fifteen minutes towards the end, but Ibid assured me I didn't miss much. Afterwards round to Bryn's with moi. I watched him kill three people (in a computer game), then I went to bed and dreamed I was in a huge dark building containing axe-wielding psychopaths.

On Friday afternoon, Soppygit and I went into town. I paid my evilly large housing deposit. I had my eye test, but they can't fit the contact lenses for another few days. Grr. Not only can I not be bothered going back to Canterbury, but my glasses are very bent, due to Bryn sleeping on them. And I discovered that I have not yet recovered from CCDBD (Compulsive CD Buying Disorder). The last few times I've been into HMV, I've hardly found anything I wanted, but this time I emerged with four albums. Gloops.

That evening, I'm not sure who had the best date. Mr Dover once again invited En to a lecture theatre. (One that also serves as a cinema, but still!) Meanwhile, I spent the evening round at Bryn's, learning how to make chain mail.

Yes. Since one of his hobbies is re-enacting battles, he needs mail. Since meeting me, he hasn't had time to make any, so he decided to teach me how to create it, so we could work together.

In the course of an hour, I formed a single chain. That's seventy one links. I was quite proud of myself. And if I ever decide to run a sex shop, I can make some of the stock.

Sunday 11 February 2001 I am exactly nineteen and a half years old.

I've been to the cinema quite a lot recently - I managed to go four times in the course of a week. There was "Lawrence Of Arabia" last Thursday. Then I saw "La Vita è bella" with Soppygit and Ibid last Saturday which was v. v. v. good. I saw "Eyes Wide Shut" with Bryn last Sunday: despite having seen it before, the weird bits once again scared me senseless and kept me awake the following night. And then, I saw "I Could Read The Sky" with Bryn and Ibid on Wednesday, which pretty good, but a bit hard to follow and the narrator's Irish accent didn't help matters.

I went to Canterbury with Bryn on Wednesday afternoon. I went to have my contact lenses fitted (at last), but each time the optician tried to insert one, I couldn't help but flinch, so he gave up. All that hassle for no reason. Mimph. It was 80s night at to The Venue on Thursday, but the music wasn't great and we were all knackered so we left early or didn't turn up at all (in Soppygit's case). On Friday, I spent more or less all day with Bryn. We watched four videos and spent about two hours play-fighting while he called me other people's names (among them were Sarah Michelle, Courtney, (Ibid's Real Name), Twi, Smill, Helen, Gill (the name of his ex), Chris and Mizmo, which is what I call my mother. He has no taste, but I knew that.)

On Saturday, Soppygit, Ibid and myself went shopping. I know what you're thinking: oh no, not again! This time, however, we went to Bluewater. If a question mark has just appeared above your head, you're in good company, since I'd never heard of it until Soppygit brought up the idea while we were talking on the phone. "What's Bluewater?" I asked.

"YOU PILLOCK!" yelled Bryn, who was listening in on the conversation. "IT'S THE BIGGEST SHOPPING CENTRE IN ENGLAND!"

Well, excuse me. I'd heard of the Metro Centre (which certainly used to be the biggest), I'd heard of Meadowhall, due to having friends in Sheffield, but why would I know about one near London? And Soppygit told me she'd only heard of it through reading Vogue, a publication I wouldn't be caught dead reading. So there.

Biggest or otherwise, I wasn't overly impressed. It wasn't as pretty as the Metro Centre; the well-known shops were, on the whole, smaller than those found on high streets and the obscure shops sold things far too expensive for our meagre budgets. Nevertheless, it was a successful mission. I bought two books: "A Clockwork Orange" by Anthony Burgess (I wanted to read it a few years ago, but was put off by all the nouns being in Russian; however, having seen the film, I think I can make sense of it) and "Exquisite Corpse" by Poppy Z. Brite (I've been told it's disgusting, but I mustn't let my overwhelming gawfeequeness give way to squeamishness). I got a CD - "Dookie" by G(r)een Day - and four videos since they were cheap - "Bill And Ted's Excellent Adventure", "Clockwise", "Tommy" and "Quadrophenia".

Then Ibid and I went to Lego. I'd seen people carrying Lego carrier bags (well, carrier bags marked "LEGO" - a carrier bag made of Lego would look most weird) and wanted one of my own. I immediately found a mug with my middle name and Lego people on, which I decided to buy, but a few minutes later I came across the most funchie Lego set ever: a castle with knights. There was just one problem: it cost £60.

"NOT FAIR!" I yelled, stamping my New Rock boots. "I WANT LEGO!"

Ibid apologised to the other customers on my behalf and led me over to a table, where we started building a temple. Her technique had the desired effect of placating me, but it made my desire for the castle grow. I started reasoning with myself: "This is the sort of Lego you wanted when you were younger, but you could never have. Now you've got money of your own - money which, admittedly, could be better spent, but you'll really enjoy this. You'll feel so upset if you leave the shop without it."

And so I now have another thing not to tell my parents about, as well as my ownership of a PVC dress and the cost of my boots.

The only other development of recent days is on the Operation: Find Housemate front. I heard from five interested people, and we met up with the first on Thursday night. Her name is Jo, she seems nice, and even after meeting us all at once, she still wants to move in. She hasn't met Bryn yet, though; I think I'll wait till she's paid her deposit until I introduce them.

Things I Am Looking Forward To:

1) The Pit, which is tomorrow night. Bryn wants to have a brief event beforehand (discussed names: The Armpit, The Sandpit and The Cockpit) where Slimelighty music is played, but even if it doesn't happen, it's been a long time since the last Pit, and I've missed it.

2) Valentine's Day. I don't believe in it - commercialised bumph! - but I'm still glad to have someone to celebrate it with, for once. You should be afraid though: we're going into Canterbury, and you know what this means . . . yes . . . more shopping! Nooooooo!

3) 15th February. Although my Young Person's Railcard will cease to work, Valentine's Day will be over for another year. Yippee!

4) 16th February. Might win trip for two to Norway! It's v. unlikely, but have slightly more chance of winning an Ash album, which wouldn't be so bad.

5) 17th February. Meeting my online friends Tim and Krys in London. Yoj! Tim's Dad is turning up at first to check that Krys and I aren't serial killers, and Krys's Dad is doing similarly. However, my Dad can't get to London so readily, so if I don't come back alive, you'll know why.

6) 20th February. One of the clubs in Canterbury is having a metal night. Huzzah! It means missing indie night at The Venue, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, given Canterbury's v. limited nightlife so I don't mind too much.

7) 1st March. Next 80s night at The Venue. While we were watching "Eyes Wide Shut", Bryn turned half my hair into Robert Smith's. I wasn't sure I wanted to leave the cinema, but when I looked in the mirror, I rather liked the result. So I've told him to do it again for this occasion.

8) 3rd March. Bryn, Ibid and myself are going to see Shed 7 in London, since, once again, I have free tickets. Now I know I didn't particularly enjoy the last Shed 7 gig I attended but this one should be better. 1) Of all the bands who were on last time, Shed 7 were the best, they just weren't on for long enough. This time, however, they're playing a full-length set. 2) I'm not going on my own. 3) I know how to get to Canterbury East Station. 4) It's in the afternoon, so getting back won't be a problem.

9) 13th March. Indie night at The Venue. Bryn wants to wear my PVC dress. I look forward to seeing this.

10) The Stereophonics' new album coming out. I reviewed one of the songs on it, and liked it v. much indeed. [Oh, how foolish I was!]

11) 18th May. Alice Cooper is playing in London, and guess who's got tickets?

Tuesday 13 February 2001

I would like to begin this entry by extolling the virtues of Ibid. Fairly often, she says, "I'm going to see such-and-such at the cinema tonight, want to come?" And, more often than not, I say, "Ok" and along I go.

Consequently, I have seen more films with subtitles in the last four months than I did in the first nineteen years of my life. However, their quality has ranged from quite good to blindingly excellent, and "Central Station", which we went to see on Sunday deserves the latter label. So, thank you Ibid.

Keynes College is famous for having fire alarms. Last night, it was The Pit over at Keynes. I turned up early, and happy was I when the second song I heard was "Dead Stars" by Covenant, one of my favourites. However, in the middle of it, a ringing noise that can't usually be heard on the CD began.

Splerd! After standing outside for a few minutes listening to David (Bryn's brother) complaining about the draughtiness of his trousers, while my knees were laid bare to the icy winds, he, Bryn and myself went to Mungo's, the burger bar in Eliot. (Named after "Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer", a poem by T. S. Eliot. The bar in Darwin College is called Origins. Keynes Bar doesn't have a name, which is probably just as well, since it'd have to be called Economics which sounds far too educational; nor does Rutherford bar, probably for similar reasons - Electrons?) By the time serving had occurred and we'd got back to Keynes, about three-quarters of an hour had elapsed. Mimph. After that, though, The Pit was good.

Earlier that day, I looked for a Valentine's card for Helen. (Apologies to other thirty-something wives and boyfriend, who aren't getting any. It's not that I [hart] you any less, but you know how expensive the evil things are, so I could only afford to send one to the spouse who takes our marriage vows most seriously.) While I did this, A Great Thought occurred to me: why don't they sell gay Valentine's cards? I know there are non-gender-specific ones, but whenever they show a couple, it's always a masculine personage with a feminine personage.

I shared this thought with Ibid while we were in the toilets. "I want lesbian ones, of course," I found myself saying, then realised there was someone in a cubicle, who could hear us. Luckily, it was someone I knew, who hadn't been listening anyway, and she immediately accepted the fact that I had over thirty wives.

Speaking of the Evil Day o' Dume, while walking through the area surrounding The Pit, I noticed some posters advertising a Valentine's day meal. The menu looked just like that for any other meal, except for the inclusion of "Lamb Valentine Steak".

Would someone like to explain what that is?

How To Survive Moshpits If Female And Weedy

1. Calculate distance at which to remain from edge of moshpit based on practicality of shoes worn. If flat (but not sandals), one metre will suffice. If platformed, two is better. If heeled or sandals, three is advisable.

2. Tempting as it may be to headbang, content yourself with jumping up and down and / or punching the air. Keep eyes on moshpit at all times.

3. Stay well away from Toby. He looks harmless but isn't.

This was the first time I'd stayed over at Bryn's after The Pit and I wished I hadn't. Being the president of the rock society means getting up at 7.30 the morning after The Pit, which consequently, I had to do as well.

It's inhumane! I was up so early I could have gone to breakfast! And I only just missed hearing the practice fire alarms.

Thursday 15 February 2001

The last nineteen 14ths of February never presented me with much trouble. There have been good Valentine's Days, like 1997, when I went to a Suede concert and received two rather nice e-mails. There have been ok Valentine's Days, like 1996, when the annual torture - the school cross country competition - took place, but I did v. well in it. And there have been pants Valentine's Days, like 1998, when I wrote stories o' bumph and poems o' angst. Over the years, a somewhat small quantity of cards has been directed Zed-wards. Three, to be precise, from Will, Himaka (who was four years younger than me) and AevilSteve, none of which counted. Cards were received and not received to varying degrees of "well, really, what did I expect?"ness. But until this year, there was no great moral dilemma.

Theoretically speaking, I hate Valentine's Day. The only people who profit from it are card manufacturers, florists and chocolate sellers. If you don't have anyone, you feel alone and bitter in a world full of lovey-dovey couples. If you do have someone, you come down with a huge case of, "Argh, what do I get them?" syndrome. Besides, I am totally opposed to sentimentality.

However, if you have someone who you want do something nice and romantic for, and a day comes along saying, "Hey, spend me being especially nice and romantic to your significant other!" are you supposed to pass up this opportunity?

And so I more or less celebrated the day. I dropped off the CDs I'd reviewed (Stereophonics single: v. good, Pushkin album: interesting, but nothing special) at the radio station, and cringed to hear "It Must Be Love" playing. As love songs go, it's one of my favourites, but I hurried back to my room and put on some Motorhead and Ze Underwear Of Vast Dodginess. The doing of the latter took about five songs by the former.

I went to my first class, picking up a package that had arrived for me on the way there. I opened it while waiting for the class to start: a card and some chocolate from Helen. Yojment! The rest of the class looked on with interest.

Between lectures, I made Bryn a card wishing him a happy hallowe'en (naturally, I rhymed this with "geen"), which I finished just before he arrived. He approved. After lectures, we went into Canterbury.

I ended up spending the entire afternoon carrying a long pointy object. We had to take a couple of speaker poles hired for the Pit back to the shop from whence they came. On our way, we had to wait while a large group of parents and prospective students, here for an Open Day, walked past. I'm sure we made a v. good impression: both of us with long unruly black(ish) hair, both of us dressed entirely in black except for Bryn's long brown leather coat, me in a dog collar and New Rock boots, and both of us carrying four-foot-long poles. I hope no one decides to come to UKC believing that there's an amateur pole vaulting society.

And as soon as I rid myself of the pole, we encountered a florist's, where I was bought a rose.

Ok, ok, you've said "Awwwwwww!" for long enough now. Shut up about ickle lovebirds, Ibid. I am so not soppy! My stomach turned again at seeing a window full of stuffed animals with hearts on them, and again at hearing "Love Is All Around" followed by "Angels".

I proceeded to have a most enyojable evening though. I received a cyber card from Sarah Yoj and a postcard and chocolate lips from Soppygit, and Ze Underwear Of Vast Dodginess went down v. well (so did Bryn, but that lies Beyond The Range Of Subject Matters I Feel I Can Discuss Here).

So, I hope everyone else had a non-too-angstful day. And even if you didn't, take solace in the fact that it's over for another year.

Saturday 17 February 2001

Bryn is evil. Not for going away for the weekend: much as I miss him, he's quite entitled to do that. No, on Thursday evening, after Soppygit and Ibid left, I started writing an e-mail to Helen: "Wow, a 20K e-mail! It's been a while since I've had one of them, but twas v. v. nice to have something substantial to read . . . I probably won't have that much to write back . . . Furthermore, it'll probably take at least two days to finish, since I'm-"

I was about to type, "Expecting a phonecall from Bryn, since it's 9 o'clock and I haven't heard from him all day", but before I could, who should walk in?

And who is it that appears if you speak of him?

The Devil or otherwise, we proceeded to have an enjoyable evening watching various Anime episodes downloaded off the university shared network. I enjoyed Ranma½ Episode 1, but Bryn loved it. (Typo: me. God, my subconscious is soppy.) Unfortunately, it was 12.30 by this point, so the need for sleep prevented us from watching any more, and I was forbidden me under pain of death from watching further episodes until his return. Splerd, although he assured me his suffering would be much greater.

The following day, I spent about eight hours with Ibid. After lectures, we went into Canterbury (am I ever going to write an entry when I don't?) since we needed to collect housing contracts to sign, I needed to renew my Young Person's Railcard and get a ticket for today's voyage, and get my glasses fixed, since during "Turn A Gundam" one of the lenses had suddenly fallen out. (Luckily, I possessed a nearly-identical pair.) The housing contracts were collected without trouble. Railcard acquisition proved a bit more difficult. When I asked if I needed a new photo, the guy selling it to me replied, "No, unless you've got one of you in a bikini". My debit card was clearly not too thrilled at this sexist remark and killed his ticket machine out of spite. Vision Express was wonderful (for once) though. While they fixed my glasses, they made me sit in the waiting room, away from Ibid, with only a woman's magazine-with-the-interesting-stories-ripped-out for company, but it only took about five minutes and cost me nothing.

We made a few purchases, then went back to my room where we began the construction of my wondrous Lego castle. It took about two hours, but they were hugely enjoyable, except the part where we couldn't find a certain piece. Now, if it was one of those tiny axle-y pieces, or even your standard brick, it would have been ok, but it was this whopping great sixteen-by-eight blob base! How can you lose something that size? Oh well, we managed to build a substitute out of some other Lego, although we did have to use blasphemous green bricks to do this. It's tragic: the generation that's supposed to play with Lego won't be able to see anything wrong with it, but for us who've been Legoists since the 80s, the only acceptable brick colours are white, yellow, red, blue, grey and black. I can't say I think much of these newfangled brownish grey bits either, even though they do suit the castle.

Soppygit came round in the evening, and the usual talking, playing of music and surfing of the Internet occurred. (She was extremely thrilled to find websites relating to her home town.) We watched Ranma Episode 1, and Soppygit was most disappointed about not being allowed to watch any more of it. She didn't like Bryn much to start with; now, I fear her dislike is on the rise.

Today, for the fifth time this week, I had to get up at an unearthly hour. On Tuesday it was 7.30; on Wednesday, it was 8 due to Bryn having a one-off early lecture; on Thursday, 9, because I felt the need to talk to my Sadistics lecturer before the lecture. I didn't, because I was too busy writing the last journal entry, but feel no guilt, twasn't important. And yesterday, Bryn's brother David woke me up in that horrid hour starting with a 7. (That is to say, a phonecall he made to Bryn woke me.) Today, it was necessary to get up at 8.30. Although I didn't actually set off until 10.30, I had several "Have I got everything?"s (handcuffs, gags, where's the whip?) and needed to brush my hair repetitively. After all, I wanted to look my best for meeting my wives for the first time.

The walk to the station was uneventful. The train journey was almost as un-note-worthy, but on arriving at Victoria station, I was most distressed to find that my "Who Killed Bambi?" badge had unattached itself from my coat and disappeared. However, I overcame my grief and travelled to Oxford Street.

We'd arranged to meet in the café in Borders bookshop. I arrived early and browsed the shop for a while. Unfortunately, I soon got too tempted by too many things, so I bought Glen Matlock's autobiography and sat down in the café to read, glancing around every minute. Eventually, I saw a man and a boy, who was probably Tim, standing in front of me. I wasn't entirely sure because 1) he didn't look anything like Noj (as he did in the photo on his website) and 2) his face had two halves. And the second half was much the same as the first. Due to its absence from the website, I was expecting it to be green, or to look like a horse, or not to exist at all. But when I heard the man mentioning an English girl and an American girl, I knew that was them, and I made my presence known.

I was a bit surprised not to be recognised, since I am cursed with being one of these unmistakable people, whose appearance never changes. Mind you, I didn't have a lampshade on my head, as I did in the photo I sent to Tim, and when I said my hair was black, I was stretching the truth a bit. (Bryn's is still fairly black, but he never showers.)

We had a half-hour wait before an apologetic Krysten + family showed up. Then, the parents and younger sibling left us, and the much-discussed question of what to do reared its head again. We had a few ideas - Camden, the park, the zoo - so we set off along Oxford Street, hopefully.

In the end, we spent most of the afternoon taking the tube (or subway, as Krys insisted on calling it). Sarah Yoj, Sarah Zenk and I did this too, but only because we travelled all over the place, not because we were lost, as we had Sarah Zenk, who had lived in London for two months to guide us. This time, the best we had was Tim, who lived in London for ten years. "The park's along here somewhere," he said. But after a while, we had only found Tottenham Court Road tube (subway!) station. So we decided to get the tube/subway to Camden.

When we arrived, I pointed out all the landmarks. "This is the Electric Ballroom." Tim took a photo of it at my request. (My digital camera has run out of batteries, so I didn't bring it.) "This is Ask, where Bryn and I had a meal." "Down that way is the cinema where I've been." "That's where I bought my dog collar." "This is where I bought my boots." "No, perhaps it was there." "Or there." "And that's someone with better boots than me, beep it!" To my annoyance, I couldn't manage to find the scary gothy part of Camden where Black Rose and Cyberdog are. However, we all emerged victorious: Krys with a Radiohead shirt, Tim with a mystery pie, and me with a smiley Nirvana t-shirt, something I've wanted since 1996. I know they're popular, but I was a bit disappointed to immediately see three other people wearing them after my purchase.

We knew the zoo was down the road, somewhere, but we didn't trust our collective sense of direction to find it. So we took the tube (subway!) back to Tottenham Court Road, then another one to Oxford Street, and then another one to Regent's Park. We walked through the park, but by the time we got to the zoo, it was too late to go in.

We found a sign saying, "Camden". Since it had been quite a walk through the park, we set off in that direction instead. But we walked and we walked and we walked. Eventually, we found Great Portland Street station. We were running out of time, so we got the tube / subway back to Oxford Street, and hung around in Border's for about half an hour. Probably the most amusing moment of the trip occurred: Krysten ordered her younger brother to go and look at some porn. "I'll ask this man to get some for you," she said. "Excuse me, Sir!" she called. The man turned round, and we had collective hysterics.

We said our goodbyes, and Tim and I headed for the tube station entrance. We couldn't find it! Eventually we asked a guy selling newspapers, who told us it was on the other side of the road to the exit. Well, that made sense.

I got back to Canterbury without difficulty. My only concerns were 1) I'd miss the last bus and 2) I wouldn't have enough money for the bus. My feet were sore from so much wandering around in silly boots and I'd timed my journey to the station that morning (thirty three minutes, downhill), so I really didn't feel like a longer walk, especially not at that time of night. However, the train arrived in time, and when I counted 5ps, 2ps and 1ps, I found I had the fare and not a penny more.

Wednesday 21 February 2001 (written retrospectively)

When I walked out of the bathroom this morning, I noticed a bin bag on the floor. My first thought was, "Is this an item of clothing of mine gone astray?"

Sunday, Monday and Tuesday can't have been particularly interesting. I don't recall them now, and all that I wrote in my livejournal entries concerning them is an account of my underwear and socks vanishing into the pit of chaos that is the floor of Bryn's bedroom.

In the e-mail I sent to my mother regarding those days, it merely says, "Sunday was v. boring, except for the return of Bryn, who had a vonderful time at York and is now a squire. He won't be a knight for another two years or so, but o'well. Monday, again, was uneventful, although I went to aerobics for the first time in ages. Twas v. strenuous, but may go again tomorrow. On Tuesday, I went into Canterbury to hand in a form about the house. They said I had to return the following day to pick up some bumph. Très annoying, since I'd been to Canterbury on Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, that day and was going again that night."

And I have a word document entitled "19 February 2001" which contains the tantalising single sentence, "In Grimond Lecture Theatre 1, someone had written "Uuuuunits!" in large letters on the board."

On Tuesday night, however, three metal bands were playing at a nightclub in Canterbury. I'm usually a little suspicious of local bands - they're usually not famous yet for a good reason. Those I've seen at UKC aren't up to much, but on campus, I don't have to pay for the privilege (or annoyance) of hearing them. This night was costing £3.50 . . . but it was only metal Canterbury had seen in living memory, so it had to be supported.

I needn't have worried: the event ended up sold out.

I wasn't too impressed with the first two bands (I preferred the second to the first, though - their stuff seemed to have more continuity). I forget the exact genres they claimed to play, but it would best be described as noise. Not a lyric could I make out, although I presume they were all unrepeatable. I wouldn't have minded so much if I could have danced, but the floor was firmly divided between the people watching, swaying a bit, perhaps, and the moshpit. You can get an idea of its viciousness by the fact that one of the moshers ended up with his head in a bandage. The pit at The Pit is generally best avoided by the likes of moi, and this one got a big "no ta Kenneth". Neither group seemed to play for more than twenty minutes, either.

The third (and final) band was better - traces of a tune could be detected - and they played for longer. Afterwards, however, the place remained open for about an hour. Finally, they cranked up the volume of the background music (although nowhere near as high as it could have gone) and when a familiar song began, some of the UKC contingent began dancing.

This time was most enjoyably spent, except for one thing. At one point, I was standing a bit apart from the people I knew, and two blokes approached me. "Are you here with anyone?" one asked me.

"Yes," I said.

"Cause my friend here's been looking at you for the last hour and a half," he continued.

Flattering, and I assumed his friend was shy, and therefore harmless. HA!

He began talking to me, in an incomprehensible accent, seemingly saying something about my Slimelight-influenced dancing. I gave him the cold shoulder, and danced flamboyantly to annoy him. He failed to get the message, though, and continually approached me. I moved towards the centre of the dancefloor and a song I liked started playing. Everyone except Bryn stood out for it, though. We headbanged insanely for its duration, then snogged and went to stand in a corner, among friends.

However, the annoying bloke returned. Naturally, he had no chance, but even my seventeen-year-old never-been-kissed self would have run far, far away. He started putting his arm around my shoulders. I squirmed out of his clutches, and Bryn, now dancing again, grabbed my hand and pulled me away.

But afterwards, although I was standing beside Bryn Who Is Over 6 Foot Tall And Looks Flipping Scary, Nick Who Looks Less Scary But Is Not Dissimilar In Appearance, and Nick Who Is Built Like A Bouncer, the weedy guy came back. When I felt a hand brush against my arse, I turned and gave him an industrial mock-punch.

The club closed then, and I escaped without further hassle, but for the next half an hour, I had, the lyric "I Know Who I Want To Take Me Home" stuck in my head. (Which was slightly annoying, since I only know that line from that song.) Not him, that was for certain!

Friday 23 February 2001

On Wednesday night, Bryn, Ibid and I saw "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" at the cinema. It was v. funny. Not so much the film, although the walking on water bit proved rather amusing, but beforehand, the curtains didn't open properly. This meant the circular sign denoting the film's certificate was an oval, so the projector was turned off and a bloke ran down to the front to manually open the curtains. As he re-ascended the steps, Ibid and I started clapping. Quite a few people joined in.