Recently, I've been:

1) Working at my parents' shop. Although they need my assistance, my main motive is to earn enough money so that I can afford to get back to university. (I'll have to go by train. It's far too far away for my parents to be prepared to make another three-day car journey.)

2) Revising. I now have a fantastic set of notes to revise from for two of my seven modules. Do I know any of them? Not an equation. But it's a start.

Plan for rest of holidays: make fantastic notes for other modules, which isn't going to be too easy with the four I did in my first term. Not only did I miss the first three weeks due to studying Film Studies instead, but I became a lecture-skiving geen. It didn't take much to keep me away from them. I have a blistering headache - can't face lectures. Soppygit's here - well, I don't strictly need to go to classes anyway . . . My leather jacket's covered in mud and I'm thoroughly miserable - I don't want to spend an hour being talked at by the most boring man on the planet. It's raining - I'm going nowhere. (Last term, I was much better: I only missed one lecture, due to feeling so ill I could hardly walk, and four classes, due to being asleep, going to London instead and it being on the other side of campus when it was chucking it down.)

Plan for first three exam-free weeks of next term: rise at eight each morning, find a quiet, remote corner of campus, away from the distractions of my computer and visitors, and spend ten hours a day shoving mathematical knowledge into my head.

Plan for exams: get a distinction in everything.

Plan for after exam results are received: Hunt down kick-ass company. Say, "Look at me, I rock! Give me loads of money so I can pay for my education for the next two years and I'll work for you afterwards." Find other kick-ass companies and do likewise.

Plan for after I leave university: run off to Outer Mongolia to and hide, to avoid legal difficulties. Live as a hermit, publishing under a pseudonym to pay for existence.

Or perhaps not.

3) Talking to Bryn online. Apart from a brief conversation with Smill on Thursday night, he's the only person I've spoken to online since getting home, on the grounds that whenever I log onto MSN Messenger there's either a scarily large number of people on it and I've logged right off again, or there's no one on at all.

On Wednesday night, we played "Get Zed To Sittingbourne". He acted as the player, me as the computer. Here's the log. (Spelling and order of commands has been tidied up a bit for the sake of comprehension. If you've never seen a text adventure before, you may well be baffled.)

You haven't seen Zed in nearly five and a half days, and you miss her a lot. You decide that you can't wait another thirteen days before seeing again, and you aim to make her travel to Sittingbourne right now.

Zed is in her bedroom, at her computer, chatting online to you.
>go sittingbourne
I don't understand "Sittingbourne".
>take money. go carlisle
Zed can't see any money.
Zed sets off along the road to Carlisle. It is very wet and cold and she isn't wearing any shoes.
You have lost 2 happiness points.
>go home. find credit card
Zed returns to her home and takes a credit card from her mother's purse.
>inventory
Zed is carrying one credit card.
Zed is wearing a turquoise dressing gown, a Stranglers shirt, a pair of black trousers and a pair of orange socks (and underwear that isn't really worth describing.)
>wear shoes
Zed puts on her New Rock boots. Three minutes pass.
>find car keys
Zed looks in her handbag and removes a set of keys.
>go car
Zed opens the door. A voice from the sitting room yells, "Where are you going?" Zed ignores it, shuts the door, and gets in the car.
>start car
Zed puts the key in the ignition and turns it. The car roars to life.
>drive to carlisle train station
Zed drives to Carlisle train station. The car threatens to stop on a number of occasions, but she convinces it to keep going. You have just gained one experience point.
> go to station. buy ticket for sittingbourne. go to station shop. buy envelope + paper + pen + a mars bar
Zed enters the station and buys a ticket for Sittingbourne. Zed is getting hungry.
Zed buys envelope, paper, pen and Mars Bar at a cost so extortionate it justifies the use of her credit card.
>eat mars bar. go train.
Zed eats Mars Bar. Zed is no longer hungry. Zed gets on the train.
>find seat
Zed finds a seat. Unfortunately, there is a woman in it.
>look woman
The woman is about sixty, is wearing terribly unfashionable clashing clothes, and is a couple of pages into a thick romance novel.
>look train
The train is strangely full for 11pm on a Wednesday night. All the seats appear to be occupied.
>wait
Zed waits a long time. Eventually the train moves off. Zed grabs onto a conveniently placed pole for support. Eventually the train reaches its first stop, Penrith. Chris gets onto the train. Zed is terribly afraid.
>hide
Zed crawls under a seat. The other passengers regard her strangely. It is terribly cramped and smelly down there, and the floor is covered in gunk. She has a sneezing fit. You have just lost one health point.
>wait
Zed sneezes again. You have just lost one health point. Zed's health is terribly poor.
>get up.
Zed gets up. There are still no seats available, but mercifully Chris has found some foolish young girl to snog, and is ignoring her.
>find snack trolley. buy mars bar. buy orange juice. eat mars bar. drink juice.
Zed finds a snack trolley and buys another Mars bar and orange juice at an even more extortionate price than she paid at the station. What's the envelope and pen and paper for anyway? She eats the Mars bar, which makes her health return slightly, even if it is a bit sickly. She drinks the orange juice and feels well again.
>find seat
Zed walks the entire length of the train, and finally finds a seat beside a very dodgy looking old man.
>write letter to mum + dad saying "gone to bryn's. am safe. here are the keys. love ZED"
That command would generally be considered far too long in games like this, but Zed writes the letter anyway. Zed doubts they'll be too happy about having to retrieve the car from Carlisle station, though. The filthy old man looks on in interest. Zed starts to feel a bit disconcerted.
>say "flip off"
"Flip off," says Zed. The man looks at her in askance, for who says flip these days? He decides she's an escapee from Garlands (the local mental hospital) and decides to leave her well alone for the rest of the journey. You have just gained one experience point.
>wait
Zed waits. The train arrives in Oxenholme then departs again. Zed is beginning to get bored.
>look
Zed tries to admire the beautiful countryside flashing past her window, but it is very dark and she can barely make out the majestic hills of the Lake District.
>go toilet
Zed walks to the toilet, but finds she can't get in. Through the door, she can hear panting and moaning. She remembers the last time she went into a train toilet and doesn't envy the couple in there at all.

(At this point, Bryn and Zed started discussing the relative merits of having sex in a toilet and the game was never completed. You gained 2 experience points out of a possible 100.)

This afternoon, I drove to Carlisle to meet up with Smill. Considering I haven't driven in three months, I didn't think my driving wasn't too bad. Shame about everyone else's. I didn't think I was stunning enough to stop traffic, but it doesn't do much for a girl's self-esteem when traffic doesn't even notice her.

Perhaps I'm so goth I'm dead? And therefore a ghost and invisible? And because people refuse to accept the notion of a car being driven by an invisible person, the car becomes invisible too?

Anyway, I drove to the Sands' Centre car park, because although it's further from the town centre than the Viaduct car park, I was expecting the latter to be full. I was expecting the former to be relatively full too, but when I arrived, there were hundreds of spaces free. Spoilt for choice, I parked beside one of the ticket machines.

But when I got out of the car, I discovered that the machine was knackered! So I had to walk all the way over to the other ticket machine and back again! Typical! (I suppose I could have moved the car instead, but by this stage, I'd put on my New Rock boots, which I didn't feel like removing again in order to be able to feel the pedals.)

Yes, I managed to find enough money to pay for a parking meter. In fact, when I asked Noj if he had any cash, he gave me £28! If you ever need someone to scrounge off, he's your man.

I had to wait fifteen minutes before Smill turned up. During that time, my belief that Carlisle is a city whose population is entirely comprised of identical townie geens was forever shattered indeed. I know I saw a lot of like-minded (or at least like-dressed) people when I went to The Twisted Wheel at New Year, but I wasn't convinced they were real. (They could be so metal they're robots?)

However, while my boots earned a number of stares, but I gained evidence that I was decidedly not alone in my freakiness. The kid metallers I saw in December were not an illusion and they had multiplied since. (Although not literally, I would hope. Three-month pregnancies would be odd.) There was a bloke in a trench coat and a girl in a genuine biker-style leather jacket.

There were still a few people in sports jackets and trousers, but their ranks had been depleted considerably over the last year. Less happily, due to the offending store opening a branch in Carlisle shortly after I began university, a number of people walked round with "GAP" emblazoned across their chests. (Does The Gap make hats? Wearing "GAP" on one's head would be much more appropriate.)

When Smill turned up, she recognised me, but like my parents, struggled to accept my semi-black hair and additional height. We immediately began to shop.

The problem with Smill (well, one of them) is that she exists on a different financial plane to moi. She is one of those people whose family can afford to invest her student loan, so not only will she not have any trouble paying it back, but she'll make a profit from it. More to the point, recently, while her parents were on holiday in Chile for two and a half weeks (yes, precisely), they paid her twenty-five pounds a day to look after their animals. My jaw dropped upon hearing it: four hundred quid just for staying at home? (She can't exactly take the dogs out anywhere, as her local area is rife with Foot And Mouth Disease. [Wondering: when The Baha Men released their single, were they simultaneously existing six months in future, so their annoyance at whoever let the dogs out was due to the risks involved in doing this?] [Non-British people: consult a British online newspaper for an explanation of Foot And Mouth disease. I can't provide one myself since I'm v. ignorant of the matter. Up until March 3, I thought the sandwich boards proclaiming "Foot And Mouth" meant some politician had put his foot in his mouth.])

She pointed out, "Well, when you consider what I had to do, it's just under five pounds an hour, which isn't that great-" "Smill!" I moaned. "Don't say that! I've never been paid anything more than the minimum wage all my life!" (For all you non-British types, that's £3.60 an hour - well, possibly £3.65 now. To be honest, I've been getting £4 an hour recently, but up until I was sixteen and it became legally necessary to pay me the minimum wage, I earned less, so it balances it out.)

And so, while I had £5.08 in my bank account and a cheque for £74 sitting on my desk (I was going to pay it into the bank yesterday, but it was raining so I didn't feel like going - I wish the miracle of online banking had practical applications for people like me who only have one bank account), I had to watch her attack clothes shops as if her life depended on it. She spent £64 in The Gap alone (she didn't buy any offensive articles of clothing there though) and that probably accounted for less than half of the day's expenditure. This was a very difficult experience for a shopaholic like me.

She was under strict instruction not to let me buy anything. However, I didn't think I'd need much restraining, because 1) I wouldn't have any money and 2) what could the scanky shops of Carlisle hold that would be of interest to me? (I think I've finally overcome my addiction to CD-buying: right now, my collection of RealAudios and MP3s is keeping me happy.)

Nevertheless, thanks to Noj's generosity condition #1 no longer held, and I stumbled across a few tempting items. The "Disposable Teens" single, wanted because I keep experiencing a desperate need to hear it and can't seem to find an MP3 of it. However, CD singles are merely for teens with disposable incomes, so I resisted the temptation. Then there was Oasis's "Standing On The Shoulders Of Giants", which I wanted to buy when it was released, but I wasn't prepared to hand over £14. Today, however, I discovered its price had been reduced to £9 - and it's in a buy-two-get-one-free deal. But the offer would probably still hold a few weeks later (when I'd have my student loan), so I refrained.

What I couldn't refuse was a black lacy transparent long-sleeved top. Since it was in a shop which I don't think Canterbury has and clothes have a limited shelf-life, I thought it should be taken advantage of. And Smill, who was supposed to be yelling, "No! No! No!", merely said, "Well, if you like it, you should get it."

She warned me that she wasn't very good at preventing people from spending money, but I didn't think she'd be that bad!

We went to the cinema and saw "Miss Congeniality", which, of course, I've been calling "Miss Con-geen-iality". When it came to buying tickets, however, I suddenly realised I had no idea how to pronounce its actual name, and asked for a student ticket to "Miss Con- guh, you know what I mean."

It proved quite entertaining, and it's nice to know that after so watching many European arthouse films, I can still enjoy bumphy American crime/ugly-duckling movies. What was annoying was that with so few other people in the theatre, one of them was wearing a smiley Nirvana t-shirt, just like me. I'm such a cliché! I know that a lot of people own them, but whenever I wear mine, I encounter someone else in one. I buy it in Camden, and instantly see three other people in them. I wear it to The Venue, and someone else turns up in theirs. And now this!

After the film, as we walked down the million flights of stairs to escape to cinema, I saw a poster for the Harry Potter film. "Coming soon!" it proclaimed. Ok, since when can November be considered soon when it's April 7th?

Monday 23 April 2001

On Tuesday 17th, I went to Sittingbourne to stay at the home of Bryn's family. The journey was both expensive (at £52!) and harrowing. I reached the conclusion that trains are definitely biased against short people. Even in my New Rock boots, at 5'6", I was unable to put my luggage on the overhead rack without assistance. Also, at Euston, I had to go down a v. long spiral staircase. Given the weight of my luggage and the bulkiness of my shoes, this would have been bad enough under normal circumstances, but I had to walk behind a young girl who insisted on descending very, very slowly.

The first evening at Bryn's was mostly spent watching television. The following morning, however, meant getting up at 7.40am, in order to go to the dentist. Since we arrived early, we went to a café first. I found myself mentioning that it was the three-year-anniversary of my journal, and so Bryn, his brother David and his mother all toasted its existence thus far.

Having an online journal makes me feel less sad now.

"And here's to another three years," his mother said. Argh! There goes all hope of quitting . . . Anyway, fortunately, I didn't have to have my teeth examined, so I merely sat in the waiting room reading the 1992 Judy annual. I was most distressed by it declaring Duran Duran "well cringeworthy".

In the afternoon, Bryn and I travelled with his parents to Canterbury, where we acquired a present for David (whose birthday was the following day) and two computer games: "Simon The Sorceror" and "Simon The Sorceror II". So much for my plan to conserve money this term. (They were only fifteen pounds though.) In the evening, we had dinner with Bryn's stepsister and her fiancé.

Thursday's sole excursion was to Asda. However, in the evening, a murder mystery evening occurred, in honour of David's birthday. Eight people acted as the suspects (Bryn had to wear a suit! What novelty! As far as I'm concerned, men look good in suits, but Bryn merely looks like someone else) and we spent a couple of hours trying to work out whodunnit. That, and trying to work out how to pronounce the name of Bryn's character. How would you say "Thomas Banque"? Precisely: Thomas Bonk. He continually insisted it was "Ban-kee", though. Apart from that, muchos humour was derived from a really dodgy tape we had to listen to - "Keep listening!" a voice on it said, which provoked hysterics, and from the fact that I had to play the part of a bloke (called Bernard). "I find her very attractive," I found myself saying, and when Bryn protested over David and his girlfriend acting soppy when they weren't involved in the story, I said, "You can't talk, you're gay!"

Friday heralded a return to Bryn's student house in Canterbury, where we tried to see "Rugrats In Paris". (Canterbury, not his house.) (Bryn does not mind watching films designed for persons far younger than him.) Unfortunately, it was on an hour earlier than we'd thought. However, the mission was not entirely unsuccessful, for he acquired an unabridged reading of "Soul Music" on cassettes for £15, when it should have cost £44.50!

On Saturday, I spent the afternoon feeling increasingly frustrated with the slowness of the computers in the downstairs computer room in Keynes College, where I tried to perform some much-needed net surfage. The evening was mostly past by travelling around Canterbury in cars of Bryn's friends, although portions were spent in car parks, sitting rooms, a restaurant, a pub, a video shop and Asda. Non-Euclidean Space was one of the conversational topics that came up.

On Sunday, I was able to re-enter my room, rejoin my sisters in wonderful weirdness and eat a slice of a really nice cake made by Ibid's mummy. Yay!