This morning, I had to go into Brampton. Because I reckoned it was too early for the scallies to have crawled out onto the streets, I decided to wear my New Rocks and spiky wristbands.

In the bank, middle aged woman to young daughter: Ooh, look at them boots, bet you want some of them.

In Spar, old woman to me, pointing to wristbands: Those are good protection. Yeah, why should women be in danger of rape? I'm just an old woman, so I can't wear them, but you know what else is good protection? A frozen chicken!

Ok.

Wednesday 4 September 2002

Since 4 September was a Wednesday and I'm stuck in Cumbria until Tuesday 10th, I went to The Twisted Wheel. I wore my PVC dress (in honour of this being the last time I'll go there until December), and although various friends were impressed, I didn't get hit on at all, thanks to the power of spiky wristbands! That, or the fact that they'd diluted all the alcohol that night, so no one got drunk enough to find me attractive. Having said that, Tony passed out in James's car - and I kept taking drink off him - so perhaps not. Maybe it was just the fact that I was wearing entirely black except for UV-reactive bracelets, so most of the time I blended in with the walls and went unnoticed. Whatever, it was most welcome, although I didn't get through the night without having my arse grabbed - again! Bryn tells me it's 110% grabbable, but this is just getting silly.

I saw a girl who was head to toe in PVC (well, shoulder to ankle, to be strictly accurate), which both annoyed me (out-PVC-ed!) and intrigued me (a fellow goth?) I was looking for an opportunity to talk to her, but she introduced herself first. On hearing her name, I asked if she was on the Cumbria goths mailing list, and she was. W00t! Another online acquaintance meeting!

She wasn't a "Woe! Everything sucks, especially the music!" goth either. She danced to the Marilyn Manson version of "Sweet Dreams", *she* grabbed *me* to dance to "Faith" by Limp Bizkit with, and was positively ecstatic when that flipping "Shake shake shake" song came on (it wouldn't be a Wednesday night at The Wheel without it) that makes me run in terror to the sanctuary of the hallway, where my eyes roll until I can't remember how to see things the right way up.

I got home at the respectable time of 2.45, since fate would have it that I didn't need to give anyone a lift home. (Tony, Ruth and James are probably all dead as a consequence, since, on account of Tony being nearly impossible to shift when passed out, James was to take him and Rue back to his place, and when I last saw James, he was incapable of speech and consequently not very road-worthy. Oh well, having dead friends is totally goffeeeeeek! Or sommat.) Unfortunately, I couldn't sleep. At all. I got a text message at 7.40, so I rose shortly after that to read it - twas Jo, saying that even though she'd only been in our new house since last night, she'd had a water bill this morning. Apparently it's a standard charge. Gah!

I had breakfast, then went back to bed, since I didn't feel capable of anything more strenuous than reading some more "American Gods". But I kept dozing off and waking up feeling icky, so I got up, made some toast, and got a sudden urge to play "Simon The Sorcerer 2" again.

So I played it for four hours, only for it to crash!

Disillusioned and slightly more capable of expending mental energy, I answered some e-mails, only to have Outlook Express crash every time I completed one.

That evening, Dad was to go into hospital (for an operation on his liver - he's got cancer), so he could have his operation the next morning. So him and Mum drove to Newcastle. They couldn't find space to park in the hospital car park (as is always the case with hospital car parks) so they were driving along the road outside the hospital, waiting for a space to become available . . . when the Rangerover broke down!

1. The Rangerover is complete pants. We've only had it for a couple of years, I believe it was new then, and it's not been driven excessively long distances. It's broken down quite a few times, though.

2. It has the worst timing ever. Breaking down in France on Bastille weekend was incredibly unfortunate, but breaking down in this situation as well is just careless.

So they phoned the AA (Automobiles Association, or whatever it's called, not Alcoholics Anonymous), and they said to hot wire it. Then they went into the hospital . . . only to discover that a liver had suddenly become available, so a liver transplant operation had to take priority of Dad's.

They set off home, only for the car to break down again then. They managed to get it home, but it wasn't going any further.

Then they discovered a message on the answer machine (I'd been on the Internet and phone all evening, of course), the result of which was the liver transplant was off and Dad's operation was back on, so he'd have to go back to hospital first thing the next morning.

And so he and Mum did just that. Only to find that the operation is off! Again! As another vital operation that has to take place instead. Dad's is happening on Monday, hopefully, but blargles! This is the third cancellation now! I think I'll increase my bet on the possibility that it doesn't happen until December.

***

So this year's ickle firsties have been e-mailing me, saying, "I want to join the rock society! What do I have to do?" Yoj! Naturally, I intended to tell them, "We want . . . a shrubbery!" or "We have a vacancy for a porridge wearer". Or perhaps something more along the lines of, "The easiest way is to turn up at the Freshers' Fair. We shouldn't be too hard to find - just look for the freaky people in black."

The only problem was, I didn't know when Freshers' Fair was. Now, they probably do, but in order to be super-professional in my advice-giving, I felt I should give them a date. (A date for the Freshers' Fair, that is, not a date with me; they'd never want to join after the latter.)

I would have thought it would be on the Saturday before term starts, just like it was last year and the year before that. But! A while ago, I was at the Debec website, in order to determine when Bryn will be busy next term, so I could make nefarious concert going plans. And *that* says Freshers' Fair's on the Thursday before term starts.

I searched through the UKC website to try and find this out for certain, but the information wasn't in an obvious place. So I decided to look at a student union page called "Campus Entertainments", since the Freshers' Fair is usually fairly entertaining.

And . . . it was completely blank! And it had "2001" as the date the page was last updated.

Ha! They actually admit that the student union has absolutely nothing of any entertainment at UKC! (They also have a section on the page marked "Our Sponsors" which is blank.)

Finally, though, I found a PDF file containing the info that gets sent to Freshers. It is on Thursday. You know, it might actually be useful to make this information readily accessible to second and third years, especially the people running stalls at Fresher's Fair, too . . .

***

There's a monthly goth night on the first Saturday of every month in Carlisle, but since I didn't know about it until mid-July, and I was away for most of August, this is the first chance I've had to go to it.

Tony couldn't go with me, but the girl from The Wheel implied that she'd be there. But when I arrived, although some guy (Mykos knows who) said hello to me, I didn't see anyone else I recognised.

It's held in a sit-down sort of pub, and no one was dancing, so I sat down, and started text messaging people to entertain myself. The music, which was advertised as "Goth / industrial / black metal / death metal" initially consisted of soft rock. Then, about twenty minutes after the starting time, they played that industrial "I'm going to go round to your house and kill yoooooou" song they always play at The Wheel, followed by "Shinobi Versus Dragon Ninja" by Lost Prophets. I mean, I like it, but goth? Methinks not. I was bored and it was too dark to play games on my mobile phone, so I left. Bah.

Thursday 12 September 2002: It's The End Of The World As We Know It

Ohhhh, yes! I am back in Canterbury!

Admittedly, I'm not back in Canterbury for very long - I only arrived on Tuesday afternoon and I'm setting off back home at crack o' dawn tomorrow morning, so I can attend my cousin's wedding the following day. However, I'm returning on Sunday and then not going home until December and all my stoof is here and in its rightful place, so, for all intents and purposes, I'm back. With access to a fast Internet connection once more. W00t!

Also, Dad went into hospital on Sunday night and had his operation on Monday. Wahey! I went to visit him that evening, and although he was on lots of druuuuuugs! he was with-it enough not only to make conversation, but to make his trademark terrible puns.

On the way to Newcastle, I noticed:

1. A sign to a place called Cancer Bridge. Lovely.

2. A couple in Heydon Bridge, holding hands, encountering a lamp post, and trying to walk through it without losing contact. The knowledge that I'm not the only person who tries to do this hath restored some of my faith in humanity.

On Tuesday, when I came daan saath, the plan was to collect Bryn on our way here. Unfortunately, the traffic in and around London was amazingly good, so we reached Sittingbourne before he finished work. So we went onto Canterbury, where I unloaded my stoof, and then we (me and Mike who works at my parents' shop, who transported me) went back to get him.

On the way, a news report on the radio said that there was a fire in Chatham. "Oh, that's what that big column of smoke ahead of us must be," Mike said. Indeed, but flipping heck, I thought, it must have been a big fire, since Chatham was about twenty miles away, and I could smell the smoke as well as see it.

Then, in the evening, Bryn and I went to Sainsbury's to buy provisions. And as we walked back to my house, it appeared that the university was burning down (although it wasn't).

And yesterday, while catching up with my friends page, suddenly all the power went off. I left the computer room, and heard an alarm ringing.

AIEEEEEE! I thought. It's the end of the world! (It being September 11th and all, I thought someone might have made a revenge attack, thus bringing about nuclear war.)

I tried to go to the bank, but it was closed. I tried the campus shop, but that was closed too. Then I got a text message from Jo saying, "The power's gone off - was there an electricity bill we didn't pay?"

Of course, it turned out to be just a Very Big Power Cut.

But then, as I walked into Canterbury to buy some hair dye and cleaning stuff, I saw what looked like another burning building!

In more whimsical news, I could only find one packet of Superdrug black hair dye. (Since I have long hair, I need two packets.) Despite it sounding cheap and nasty, it's the best stuff I've come across. Bleeping goths, buying it all!

Sunday 15 September 2002

I am a terrible person, who is clearly not fit to be set loose in streets with shops on.

Since the walk from my house to Canterbury station is a long and boring one, on Friday morning, on my way home, I happily agreed to accompany Bryn on his way to work as far as Sittingbourne, although this would result in me having two and a half hours of time to kill in Nodnol, before my train oop norf.

Bryn and I decided I was permitted to buy underwear and a white dress, nothing else. Since 1) it's more expensive to get to Camden than Oxford Street and 2) I was more likely to find these things on Oxford Street than in Camden, I went to Oxford Street.

Oh ho ho. I bought underwear, couldn't find a white dress anywhere, but I additionally ended up with:

A Punkyfish top (well, I've wanted one for a while and you can only get them in Nodnol),
A long PVC skirt (well, I've wanted one for ages and you're only likely to get them in Nodnol),
And a Rammstein t-shirt (um . . . because I could do with more band shirts?)

So my purchases, in total, came to £60 I didn't have.

(The Rammstein shirt was an especially silly purchase. You can get them in Camden for £5, so I was thinking it would be about the same. "£12.99," the shop assistant said. "Meep!" I said. "I can't pay that!" He offered it to me for £10, but I said "Nah." "£8?" he pleaded, and I thought, "Hmm, they're more expensive than that in Canterbury, so ok." Getting £5 off was pretty good, and if I'd been to Camden, I'd have ended up doing even more financial damage, but 1) the t-shirt is virtually translucent and 2) although the label said "Small", again it meant, "Small, if you're an elephant." I really must ask a skinny nu-metal girl one day where she gets her band shirts and hoodies that fit from.)

In other news, before this week, I'd been to Newcastle maybe thirty times in my life. This week, I've been four times, and I'm going again in half an hour. (Two visits to Dad, one wedding + visit, and two journeys down to Canterbury.) Much as I like Newcastle, I'm getting kind of sick of the fifty-mile-each-way journey.

Monday 16 September 2002

The wedding:

1. It's kind of strange, a woman I'd only met once before and had barely said a word to, taking my surname. And I'll probably barely see her again, either. Oh well, I'll get used to it. And she seems suitably cool enough person to merit it.

2. The ceremony was fine, except afterwards, we discovered that one of the attendants' cars had been broken into. I suppose, if you're going to break into a car, during a wedding is the best time to do it; you know the car owner isn't going to see you do it. Nevertheless, it's a shade cruel to blight what's meant to be a perfect day.

3. At the reception, everyone was presented with what looked like five pebbles, except coated with silver plastic. In actual fact, they were edible - the apparent plastic included.

4. Highlights of the best man's speech:

"Matthew was a particularly loving child. One night, he hid under his sleeping brother's bed for half an hour, before jumping out to shout 'Boo!' Oliver still has to sleep with the light on to this day."

"At secondary school, Matthew always had trouble with Maths. He could never tell the difference between millimetres and inches . . . I think you know where this one's going."

"Matthew was my best friend at university. Once, when we were on a pubcrawl, I fell down a hole, and he didn't bother to rescue me."

5. Afterwards, everyone had to sign a wedding guestbook. On the front was a picture of two Forever Friends bears, so I wrote inside, "You both look wonderful in the photo on the front of this."

6. On the only other occasion I've been to a wedding (another cousin's), I was too young to get married and had never been kissed. Now, almost two years into a relationship with tentative plans of cohabitation when I finish my degree, I couldn't help but consider the possibility of a 70th-or-so marriage.

Reasons To Get Married

1. I hate my surname. It's only got one syllable, like my first name, so they sound naff together. Furthermore, no one can spell it, or make it out when I say it. Bryn's surname, meanwhile, is groovy, has little room for misinterpretation, has three syllables and sounds snazzy with my first name. And, if I ever had the misfortune of having children, I could give them evil names.

2. Potential marriage allowance.

Reasons Not To Get Married

1. Marriage is an institution and I am an anarchist!

2. Feelings do change, even after years, so it would be foolhardy to involve oneself with something that could well result in messy divorce.

3. It seems a kind of insecure thing to do; like you're scared of being left, or cheated on, so you want more of an assurance that you won't be.

4. The vows are eeky. I've no problem with commitment, but all this stuff about God, children and "forever until death" is quite scary. I know you can write your own vows and it doesn't have to be a Christian marriage, but both Bryn and I have been christened, and our parents are quite strongly religious.

5. Which brings me to the fact that traditional weddings are really not me. If I had any say in the matter, everyone would be wearing blaaaaaack and "Du Hast" would play as we walked down the aisle, and there'd be a Pit afterwards. But I don't somehow think the parents and stepsiblings would agree, so it would be a Big Hassle.

6. Weddings are Big Hassles anyway. Expensive too.

7. And I really don't believe in putting much focus onto single events, because on the day, you could be in a really bad mood or ill or something. This happened last Valentine's Day, so I'm not even making plans for those in the future, much less weddings.

8. A hen night is so not my thing.

9. And stag nights scare me senseless.

10. And the last thing Bryn said to me, before we parted company on Friday morning was, "If you catch the bouquet, you're finding a new boyfriend." (In the event, it wasn't even thrown.)

So, all in all, I think that's enough wedding bells for the moment.

I went round to Tony's on Saturday night, to give him a t-shirt back, that he'd left in the car many weeks ago. On the way, I had to get some groceries. Unfortunately, although both big Spar and little Spar should have been open, neither were, so I had to go to the Co Op. Not only is the Co Op itself evil, since you can never find anything in it and all the aisles are only big enough for one person to shuffle down sideways, but all the scallies hang out outside of it. And so I got all the usual abuse. The best bit was just outside Tony's house though:

Scally #1: Are you a greebo? (Greebos are nu metal kids; I looked vaguely like one, in my Rammstein shirt and blue jeans, but my New Rock boots, the fact that I was wearing a trench coat instead of a hoodie, and the fact that my jeans weren't big enough for three people must have thrown him.)
Zed: No, even worse, I'm a goth.
Scally #1: What's one of them?
Zed: (Oh, good God, this place is backwards.) Er, people who like decent music?
Scally #1: Are they even worse than greebos?
Zed: Yes.
Scally #2: You're well tidy, mind.
Zed: Thank you. *walks on*

Then I had to meet Tony's parents, who thought I was his girlfriend. Argh! After I'd exchanged pleasantries with them, Tony urged me to come upstairs, and they were like, "Well there's an offer you can't refuse." On our way back to my house, two people asked if I was Tony's "new bird" too. Argh! Men and women can just be friends, you know!

On Sunday, I went to Sittingbourne, to stay the night before returning to Canterbury. I arrived without trouble, and then went to meet some people in a pub.

See, a while ago, I joined this mailing list called KentAreaGoths. There were only seven people on it, none of whom were saying anything, so I didn't expect much outcome from it. But last month, we started to exchange "Where exactly are you from and is there anywhere there to do anything?"s. And this couple called Mike and Nadine said, "Anyone else in the Medway area?" So I wrote and said, "Well, I'm staying with my boyfriend in Sittingbourne at the moment." And they said, "Dude! We're in Sittingbourne too! Do you guys want to go for a drink?" So I said ok, but stuff got in the way of doing so, until last night.

I was kind of nervous, because I didn't know much about them, and:
1. Some goths are up their own rear ends.
2. I gathered they were quite a bit older than us, and might have viewed us as annoying ignorant college kids.

But we got along fine and talked constantly for over three hours!

Hooray! Cool people! In! Sittingbourne! Will the wonders ever cease?

And tonight, I'm going to take the Beercart Arms virginities of some of the new Freshers who want to join the rock society. As Blode and friends would say, hooray!

Tuesday 17 September 2002

W00t! That's two groups of online friends met in as many days! For last night, in Keynes Bar, from which the rock society set off to the Beercart, the I met the insane purple-obsessed Sophie and two freshers I've been e-mailing, Klair and Jez, both of whom are most funchie too.

Twas a good night; if the music was a slightly substandard, I didn't notice, for lots of catching up was to be done, since I hadn't been there for almost a month and nearly everyone was back in town. In any case, they played "Lovecats" and "Head Like A Hole" and Iron Maiden and all the usual decent nu-metal, so I've no reason to complain.

Generally spirits seemed high, if a bit too high; the evil underage moshers have left, but the regulars were moshing for all they were worth (not least Bryn, who hadn't been there for a few months). Trouble was, the dance floor was a bit empty, resulting in the bodies and glasses hitting the floor many times, and alas, I learned that not only have John and Amy split up, but Anna and Darren have too. Not only will this mean less communication with Amy and Darren, both of whom I get on with, but two of this year's rock society are now recent dumpees.

Today, at lunch time, once I'd finished doing Internetty stuff, I went to Keynes Bar in order to make some more house posters, as we still haven't found a fourth housemate and some of the posters I put up a while ago have vanished from the noticeboards. Outside, however, I ran into Lex, Jay and Mary Ellen.

Who, you may well ask, are Lex, Jay and Mary Ellen? (Unless you're Tiggs, Sophie, Ben, a knowledgeable Beercartian or stalking me.) Well, Lex is a Beercartian who ended up having quite a few exams at the same time as me last term, outside which we talked a bit. Jay is a Beercartian who I've waved at a few times in the past. And Mary Ellen is a fresher, who has the room next door to Lex and is very eager to become a Beercartian - yoj!

Anyway, I shouldn't have had much to say to any of them, but Lex was in a wheelchair (owing to a poor landing after jumping off a wall - it was meant to be a short cut) so I asked for all the gory details, and then they said they were going into town. They invited me to come too, and although it's very dangerous to let me near shops, since it was looking like it was going to be a really boring day, I agreed. Mary Ellen and I agreed not to let each other buy anything.

So to Canterbury we wende, and, as is often the case when I shop with other people, I was a fairly good girl. All I bought was nail polish remover (which I need, if I want to coordinate my nails with all my many pairs of new garish tights I got off the Internet) and an Iron Maiden poster (which I need, because I've got more wall space than posters, although it will mess up my Accidental Scheme O Posteric Coolness, by which I have a poster of a 60s band (The Beatles), a 70s band (The Sex Pistols), an 80s band (Spinal Tap), a 90s band (Suede) and a 00s bands (Soulfly). Oh well, the 80s deserve the extra recognition.)

The best part of the day? Because we couldn't get Lex's wheelchair up the steps of Methuen's (the groovig bookshop), we got to go through the tradesman's entrance!

When we got back to campus, we returned to Keynes Bar, where a goth woman who works in Natwest started talking to us. She turned out to be our acquaintance Ben's "sort of girlfriend". Then Lex, Jay and I went back to Lex's room, where we listened to music, unpacked stoof, dyed Lex's hair and I read bits of Kerrap and some guides to exceptional sex (none of which belonged to me, I hasten to point out). An unexpectedly interesting day, really.

Wedndesday 18 September 2002

This year, UKC has totally messed up, as far as accommodation goes. 570 rooms on campus were double-booked. I sincerely hope this isn't intentional; most universities in this country give out more rooms than they've got, on the grounds that a handful of students don't turn up, or drop out within the first few weeks, which means they don't make money. Which is:

1. Horrendously stingy. They hire out their rooms to business people and summer school students in the holidays as it is - how much more money do they need?

2. Completely evil. How would they like it if they were eighteen and away from home for the first time. They've been anticipating coming to university, with a mounting feeling of excitement and dread for weeks; then they finally arrive, try to sign in; and then the receptionist says, "Are you sure that's the room you've been allocated? It's just, you see, we seem to have someone in it already"?

And 570 double bookings? It beggars belief, especially bearing in mind there's only about 4000 rooms on campus. Surely they don't expect over 10% of students to not turn up? With this mix up (I hope it's a mix up), maybe it's entirely possible that that many will drop out, though.

And to make matters worse, when the chaos broke out, the university's computer system was down.

Anyway, Soppygit, Jo and I were still lacking a housemate. So we thought, "Hang on. Rather than going to the trouble of putting up posters advertising it, why don't we tell the accommodation office we've got a room available?" A room closer to central campus than some parts of campus at that.

So, on Wednesday morning, I went to the accommodation office. A line of people stretched outside it. I pitched my tent (well, my figurative tent) and set about reading "American Gods".

As I did, I overheard one girl offering another a room. "It's near the town centre," she was saying. "It's a long way from campus, but I don't find I spend that much time on campus anyway; it's much more convenient to be in town."

The other girl seemed non-plussed. "I was in the [road Zed lives on] area last year."

So I piped up, "I've got a room available on [road Zed lives on]."

"Really?" she went. And so I took her round to see it. It turned out she was in some of my lectures, and she seemed really nice, and she really liked the house and room . . . but when she told her Dad (who'd have to pay for it), he said, "No, I want you to try and get a room on campus." She didn't fancy her chances any more than I did, but there was nothing we could do about it.

In the meantime, an alternative solution was available: my landlord gave a homeless postgraduate girl my number, and we arranged to meet, after a rock society committee meeting.

Just before that happened, I got an e-mail from someone at Kerrap. (Note for uninitiated: "Kerrang" is a magazine about recent metal (as well as being a television channel, among other things). It is pretty pants, hence the nickname Kerrap.) She said, "Can I stand at your stall at Freshers Fair tomorrow? I have some free stuff to give out." Since a few days earlier, I'd been thinking, "Rsers, I should have begged Kerrap for some free stuff, but now it's too late", I was most pleased.

Bearing in mind there are about ten people on the rock society committee, the meeting was not very well attended. All of three people turned up. Nevertheless, we made plans, and I sent the other two (Sleeve and Adrian) off to make a flier we could hand out at Freshers' Fair (the next day), while I met the next potential roommate.

She was quite funchie too, and she liked the room . . . only for a room on campus to become available to her, which she took instead. Grr.

In the meantime, Soppygit had returned to Cantenburg. It was her birthday, so we watched some videos: an episode of "Young Americans" - *the* most cheesy wholesome thing ever - and "Shooting Fish", which was ok. They (she, Jo and Tall John) watched another film, but I had to go to Sittingbourne.

Because, in my infinite foolfacedry, I'd suddenly realised I'd forgotten to collect Bryn's Iron Maiden and Cradle Of Filth flags that traditionally adorn our the rock society stall at freshers fair, so I had to get them then.

Still, an unexpected night avec Bryn never goes amiss.

Thursday 19 September 2002

Having to get up at 7.15 the next morning can always go amiss, though, as far as I'm concerned.

I staggered up to Freshers' Fair with my word processor, on which we were planning to put the names of the interested freshers, but in the end, we didn't have time, so we just let them sign bits of paper illegibly. Also, the set up was a bit pants, because:

1. We were placed right next to the (newly-formed) Ska And Punk Society. Hmm, which societies are going to be playing music? That's right, put them next to each other! A metre away from either stand, our sounds cancelled each other out. Also, a lot of people got confused, thinking it was just one society, and only signed one list, mistakenly. The stupid union really do hate us.

2. We had one desk - the sort used for doing exams at - of which there are millions, which certainly weren't all being used elsewhere. We couldn't even fit one flag on the front of the single desk, never mind two. The wordprocessor and CD player only just fitted on desk, with a stack of Kerrap compilations teetered precariously on top of the machinery. There was no space for, say, a cash box, or fliers, or free bumph. Much less for a huge committee + a Kerrang person to comfortably stand around.

It was a very good day, though. About 180 people joined our mailing list (we got 144 last year), and 89 paid the membership fee, which means a budget of £534 already! (It's three pounds to join, then the stupid union provides us with double what we get.) It was ridiculously busy - for two hours, I was constantly getting people to sign up, shouting over the music so much I got through a record quantity of mineral water. Anna The Goth and Sarah The Vice Goth went round handcuffing likely-looking people and dragging them over, and a number of non-committee types helped us out. Wahey!

Afterwards, I luckily got a taxi back home (luckily, on account of the word processor), with Anna, Sarah, and two random girls. While we were waiting, we were besieged by Jinnie - she what besieged me in Keynes Bar two days earlier, and turned up to our stall at Freshers Fair before it even began. I think I'm being stalked. Then again, one of the Kerrap freebies was a sticker saying, "It's good to stalk".

After that, I had to dash into town, because I'd promised everyone who joined they'd be entered into a prize draw to win a £15 HMV voucher (as is traditional), and, um, I didn't have an HMV voucher. Of course, we later decided that we weren't going to announce the winner until two weeks later, making that run into Canterbury entirely pointless, time-consuming and foot-destroying.

Then, twas the first rock soc pub crawl. Talked to various freshers for most of the night and danced to the can can (which Sarah had on her phone) in the streets with Sarah and Anna. I also met a bloke who has no desire whatsoever to get piercings or tattoos, just like me. I've never knowingly found any metallers who share this opinion vefore.

The night went a bit poo when we went to the Beercart Arms, which does a night called "Mum's Old Vinyl" (i.e. poor songs from the last few decades) on a Thursday night. Goth Chris assured the rest of us that he knew the DJ, who was cool, and he'd get him to play some heauge rock chauns (as Sarah Cox would say). But no such luck. The music was quiet, as well as bad, and the place was completely packed. Drinking - which I don't normally do, as it depresses me, but Stef said she'd get me a glass of water and she ended up getting alcohol instead - probably didn't help either. Oh well. I got a taxi home slightly early with two rich and wimpy newcomers. (I haven't taken a taxi home - except after Slimelight - since my first couple of weeks of university, on account of poverty and hardcoreness.)

Friday 20 September 2002

Today, it was back to the accommodation office. I waited in the line, reading "Coraline" for ages, before being told that I'd have to go to the Senate instead. There, my enquiry got dealt with straight away, and five minutes after I'd handed over my details, I got a phonecall, saying a bloke was interested in the room. I showed him round, he said he'd call back when he'd made up his mind (he had a friend trying to get a house, in which he could live) . . . and he never got in touch.

I went over to Sports Fair for a bit (Soppygit and Jo managed to get more than the requisite number of people to join the Athletics Society, which they've only just started), chatted to a hippie bloke who complimented me on my taste in shoes, and went round to see Lex, as she was bored. We played "Spyro The Dragon" on her PlayStation for four hours, before I was overwhelmed tiredness and nausea (computer games - especially the 3D sort - have that effect on me).

Saturday 21 September 2002

Last night, outside the campus shop, in the space of ten seconds, I got asked for a kiss, "beeping goth"ed at (it should be pointed out that I was wearing a Nirvana shirt) and offered really good sex. By three separate blokes, in three separate parties of drunken freshers.

(The first was holding a road sign, and at least attempted to chat me up first. It was the lamest attempt ever, but I suppose it's better than none at all. He introduced himself, said "So you like Nirvana then?" "They're ok, I like the t-shirt more than the band" "Whose your favourite band?" "Er, Nine Inch Nails." "Do you like the Deftones?" "Nah, not really." "Can I have a kiss?" "No.")

Beeping freshers. I've heard that last Sunday, the entrance to Keynes College was soaked with vomit, and the bloke in question had to go to hospital to have his stomach pumped. They charged him £15, as it was self-inflicted, which is just as well, because as you know, lack of hospital beds is kind of a sore point for me. (Speaking of which, my Dad has just come out of hospital and is feeling quite well.)

Worse still, apparently at Freshers Fair, someone was overheard saying, "Yeah, get totally drunk. Having your stomach pumped isn't that bad, I've had it done." Good Mykos. Getting that drunk is Not Cool. It's not fun and you just look stupid - you can't hold your liquor, you don't know your limits, and you're obviously desperate, either to impress or for oblivion.

I know not all freshers are evil, but still. Kids these days. My age group wasn't this bad, I swear!

But I'll live. It would appear that I've adopted a Walk O Confidence. A Walk O Confidence with a limp, since my foot is still blistered, but nevertheless a Walk O Confidence. Because as I approached the road on which I live, the only other person in sight was one in a car, attempting to pull out of the junction. It's not on a steep hill, and yet, upon the sight of me, they stalled. Twice.

This morning, the Senate told me they had a bloke available to look at the room, so I showed him round. He seemed really easy to get on with and enthusiastic about the place . . . but he called to say it was outside his budget. Then a girl got in touch, saying she was interested, so I showed *her* round . . . only for her to never get back to me about it either.

I went to Cinema 3 and saw a film called "The Closet" (yes, it was a gay film). It ruled! And, when I came out of The Closet (oh come on, I had to say that!) I switched my phone on and had a text message from Jo saying she'd found someone that wanted the spare room in our house - a guy who she described as nice, and who Soppygit knows.

I don't know! I spend hours standing outside the accommodation office, walking miles and making small talk with strangers to no avail, and the moment I cease my quest, it completes itself!

Then I saw a lesbian film called "Kissing Jessica Stein". The blurb in the Cinema 3 guide said it was a must for fans of "Ally McBeal" and "Sex In The City"; it would have been nice if it had mentioned the lack of appeal to people who find "Ally McBeal" annoying and have no desire to watch "Sex In The City" whatsoever. It was ok, but somehow not very involving.

Sunday 22 September 2002

Today I went to the first meeting of the Adventure Gaming Society, in order to see if they could get me a room with a table on which I can play Warhammer, since my house this year doesn't have a suitable one. Getting there was a bit of a nightmare, because I'd lost the flyer (flier? I'm so confused) they'd given me. All I could remember was that it started at 2pm, and I thought it was in one of the Darwin lecture theatres. But Bryn thought it was in The Missing Link (the humorously named extension of Darwin College), as that's where that society usuaslly holds its meetings. And since I was too embarrassed to go into either place, in case they were full of Cricket Society people (if indeed there is a Cricket Society) who would laugh at me, I lingered around Darwin, looking like a lost fresher, trying to spot some nerds. But without avail.

Eventually, at 2.25, I gave up and went to Rutherford to go to the computer room, but as I passed the lecture theatres, I noticed an Adventure Gaming Society poster on one of the doors, and some people just going through it. So I hurried in after them, and raced up the steps to find a seat . . .

Only for my new New Rocks to get caught in the steps (which have sort of overhangy bits), and me to fall over. I staggered to my feet, hurried on, and fell over again. Luckily, I saw someone I knew (Trevor) and sat next to him. But it's not like nobody noticed: Goth Chris was there, and when I spoke to him the next day about the meeting, he said, "I going to say hi, but before I could you fell over." Bah. I go to that lecture theatre all the time (Anime soc is held there) and the steps never posed any problems for my old New Rocks, but the new ones just don't agree with it.

Anyway, the meeting was highly boring and useless. Ages were given over to people announcing details about the RPGs that were running this term (which I have no interest in - life is simply too short) and the committee laughing hysterically at in-jokes. I didn't get a chance to find out about a table. I left to get some food in the break in the middle of the meeting, but only came back to find out if I'd won anything in the raffle they entered me into at Freshers Fair. Since I was very lucky in the last raffle I entered (I won twelve CDs, a Monsters Inc t-shirt and two Easter eggs), I was feeling hopeful, but didn't win anything. Admittedly, I didn't really want a cardboard cut-out of Yoda, but it's the principle of the thing. And I fell up the stairs again upon my return to the meeting. Needless to say, I left shortly after that.

The guy who accepted the room yesterday decided he didn't want it after all. Fortunately, he told one of his friends about it, and a couple of days later, said friend accepted the room.

Tuesday 24 September 2002

I am wearing more colour today than I've worn since the age of . . . twelve, perhaps? It wasn't deliberate; I just decided to wear my new neon-yellow-and-black stripey tights, asked myself, "What goes with them?", concluded, "My magenta Punkyfish top", and then noticed my purple (fake) leather jacket, and thought, "That might look quite good with the rest of the outfit", and decided it did indeed and put it on. I'm still wearing a black skirt (albeit a short pleather one) and black boots, but Anna The Goth screamed in terror at the garishness of ensemble, and accused me of turning into a raver. Eek!

Last night was q. good. I was a terrible rock soc committee-person, because I hardly spent any time with the freshers (although I did walk down with Anastasia, who seems to have replaced AJ in the role of Female Postgraduate Rock Soc Friend With A Long Name Starting With A [AJ's first name being Angharad]), but I don't think the other committee-people were much better. I did, however, get to talk at length to people I've not spoken to much before. Lawrence, who I do Maths with. Becky, who was in one of my classes last year. Goth Chris, who . . . is a goth. Called Chris. Which was nice. I got lots of beer spilt on me, which was not so nice, but those responsible apologised profusely, and I was wearing PVC so it didn't matter too much.

Dale has shaved his head! Ack! I didn't recognise him at first! For the uninitiated, Dale used to have long funchie hair that regularly got him mistaken for a girl. And now it is all goned! He still looks good without it, and he still looks like a girl, but eek! Weirdness!

Bryn now thinks he's started a trend. He got his hair cut, now Dale goes a stage further. Next week we'll see someone whose brains fall out when they headbang, you just wait.

Today, I went into central Canterbury to see Bryn, since he had a job interview in Folkestone earlier on and had taken the day off work.

The main reason Bryn and I wanted to look around Canterbury was so we could find a watch I could get him for his birthday, which is coming up. While waiting for me to arrive, he went into a few watch shops . . . and was incredibly thrilled that the shop assistants, who had always ignored him in the past, were offering him Rolexs! The interview suit works wonders! Unfortunately, he's fallen in love with a £2000 one, the sort James Bond wears, but it's just a leeeeetle bit outside my budget.

We couldn't manage to find a reasonably-priced watch, but I bought him the "Subtle Knife" audio cassettes, and myself a torch (as I don't own one, and they're useful if you're planning to DJ in a dark room, as I am), some blister plasters (as my feet are ripped to shreds) and some speakers to plug into my walkman and discman, as my stereo is dead. Bryn bought me a black satin slip (as I got him some underwear an ickle while ago). We went back to my place, and, erm, nevermind. Then I had to go to a meeting about treasuring for the Athletics Society, while he went home.

Thursday 26 September 2002

Yesterday: had lecture, got NUS (Nearly Useless Skanky) Card, went online, went to medical centre for appointment, went to see Sports Officer Guy about money for the Athletics Society, went to bar to do homework, ran into Deaf and Stale there and consequently did no homework whatsoever, was amused by their friend Neil's interpretation of What The Remnants Of Stef's Pie Said About Her Personality, got some bumph from the Maths department, went into town.

There, I rescued my online friend Emma (who goes to college in Canterbury but I'd never met in person before) from The Scary Old Man In Third Eye.

(My experiences of The Scary Old Man In Third Eye:
1. Him trying to convince me to steal postcards from his own shop.
2. Him saying "Hello" to me repetitively.
3. Him trying to convince me not to buy t-shirts there.)

Anyway, we (me and Emma, not me and The Scary Old Man) sat and chatted and people-watched for a couple of hours, which was funchie. Some other scary old man appeared to be taking photos of us, various scary old men tried to talk to me about my boots and my tights were admired from afar by the rather less scary, less old and less manly Antistar (a reader of Emma's livejournal who goes to UKC).

While walking with Emma to the bus station, two Chinese students asked me if I knew how to get to the railway station. Since I am both pants at giving directions and too nice for my own good, I took them there. On my way back, The Curse Of The Smily Nirvana Shirt struck again. (This being: "Whenever I wear my smily Nirvana shirt, I will see someone else in one.)

Then I returned to campus to watch a French film (yay!) called "Comment J'ai Tué Mon Père" (How I Killed My Father). As you can probably guess, it was Very Dark, and I would have been far happier if I'd had Ibid with me, so we could slag off the evil characters and feed virtual soup to the nice ones afterwards, as we are prone to doing.

Friday 27 September 2002

I found out at the last minute that the indie night that was supposed to be happening yesterday evening had been cancelled. So I went to Keynes Bar, to be the bearer of bad news to those who would have been about to rock, if there'd been anywhere to do it.

However, Sleeve, in his infinite presidential glory, decided we should go on a pub crawl instead. I, in my infinite laziness, said, "I can't be bothered going into town. Let's just crawl around the campus bars instead." So we did just that. Well, six of us did - me, Sleeve, and four Freshers - as not that many people had turned up in the first place, and most of the assembled company disappeared as we left Keynes.

Nevertheless, it was a fairly enyojable evening, apart from the fact there was a Paedophilia Night (i.e. an event at which everyone has to turn up in school uniform) happening at The Venue, so all the bars were full of drunken slappers shouting football chants. I talked to:

1. This pink-haired fresher, whose name escapes me, who was wearing a smily Nirvana shirt! As was I! Argh! The curse hath struck me again! Anyway, it turned out she likes Anime, Duran Duran and Madness even more than I do - yoj!

2. Jez The Fresher, who said he'd be more than happy to go to Black Celebration with me if Bryn can't make it.

3. A former drug dealer.

4. Sleeve's friend Richard, who I played table football with. Despite being very very out of practice (I spent two months playing continuously when I was seventeen, but I've only had about five games since), I won 5-4, and he kept telling people I thrashed him. Then he kept praising me about my mathematical and literary abilities, and as he writes too, we agreed to show each other our stories at some point.

This morning, I had a lecture at 9, as is usually the case. Afterwards, I was on my way to the computer room to do some work (really!) . . . when I ran into Stef, and we ended up talking for over three hours. During the course of which, we hung out with , Dale, Anna and Lex a bit, and got married - w00t! Then I had to do some errands, which weren't accomplished very quickly, on account of misplacing my backpack (which I luckily managed to relocate it) and running into Too Many People I Knew. Then I had a lecture, and now I'm typing this, and in twenty minutes' time, I'm off to Sittingbourne so I can spend the night avec Bryn, as - quite apart from the fact I like spending time with him, it's our (unofficial) two-year anniversary. And I'm coming back to Canterbury the next morning to spend the day with my online friend Hazel.

So much for getting any work done. Oh well.

Sunday 29 September 2002

As is usual for me, on Friday afternoon, on the first leg of my journey to Bryn's house, I reached central Canterbury long before I needed to. So I went into HMV to pass the time.

Big mistake. Now I haven't bought a CD for ages - I don't think I've done so since June, and bearing in mind I once thought nothing of buying three every day, this is not bad going at all. But this good behaviour was mostly due to the delights of KaZaA and friends wishing to inflict their music taste on me via burnt CDs.

But now, I am no longer being plied with free music and I don't have (and am not having) an Internet connection at my house in Canterbury, on account of the fact that I only live a couple of minutes away from the nearest computer room - where Internet access is free - and am hardly ever at home anyway, so it doesn't seem worthwhile. But alas, as a consequence, my need for CDs hath returned.

And HMV were having "The Biggest Sale Ever". So I ended up buying a White Zombie album. This seemed reasonable enough: I like the songs I've heard on it and it was a miraculous £4.99. "It's an album I've been meaning to come into possesion of at some point in my life, so I may as well acquire it while it's cheap," I reasoned. The problem was, I saw many other tempting things . . .

While walking through Sittingbourne, I had "grunger!" shouted at me. I was quite impressed as:

1. It's the first time I've received that particular supposed insult and
2. It was accurate! Most of my outfit was goffic - black PVC skirt, purple-pink-and-black stripy tights, New Rocks and trenchcoat - but I was still wearing my smily Nirvana shirt.

(Apologies if my lack of hygiene offends you, but remember it isn't all that hot in south east England, so it really isn't so bad to wear the same t-shirt for three or four days in a row. Anyway, I'd rather be smelly than constantly doing laundry.)

Bryn spent the evening playing his New Super Cheesy Computer Game (tm) (Medieval Total War - every time you deploy some soldiers to a region, you hear them marching, is an example of its cheesiness), while I watched and actually did some homework. Then we watched some Dragonball Z.

The next morning, Bryn called me David. Considering his brother is called that, and we were Being Somewhat Dodgy at the time, I was seriously worried!

Speaking of Dave, he's broken up with Lynsey. Warg! All the long term couples we know are splitting!

Anyway, as usual, I got back to Canterbury far sooner than I needed to, and failed to overcome the temptation to kill some time in HMV before meeting Hazel. I picked up the two albums I'd considered the previous day (Marilyn Manson and ::shudder:: Korn), both of which were on sale, and while trying to kill some more time, stumbled across Faith No More's Greatest Hits which was also going cheap. Thanks to the DJ at the Beercart Arms playing a really good song off it last Monday, I had to have it as well. Woe!

Anyway, I arrived at the bus station far too early, but passed the time in a seemingly unexpensive manner by reading a bit of book 4 of A Series Of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket. Hazel arrived presently, and found each other without difficulty. We then found somewhere to eat with great difficulty, because I had no preference, since I don't eat anything besides toast and sweets anyway, and Hazel hates making such decisions. However, food was finally found to feed fine friends with - or something.

Then we shopped. I bought Lemony Snicket's autobiography, on account of my increasing fondness for and fascination with A Series Of Unfortunate Events. Perhaps it is an expensive hobby after all? Hazel bought a Queen album and a rather charming stuffed frog (we thought of Ibid) to put on top of her computer.

We tried to go to the cathedral, to be All Cultural And Stoof, but as always happens when I go there, it was closed! The crypt and the grounds were open, at a charge of £1, but we quickly reached a mutual agreement: "No ta Kenneth". We went to the art gallery / museum, but it contained nothing of great interest: just a load of WW2 medals and paintings of cows.

So we got the bus to campus (we were both a bit knackered) and I showed her all the Important Bits. She took great yoj in logging in as me (at the same time as I did, no less) and posting a LJ entry from the infamous Eliot computer room, my second home.

We rented a couple of videos - "Harry Potter" and "Meet The Parents" - then went back to my house, where we talked to Soppygit and Jo for a while, then watched them. The videos, that is, endlessly fascinating as Soppygit and Jo are. Harry Potter was better the third time round than the second - leaving nine months, as opposed to one, between viewings helps. It was also quite nice to watch it 1) with a fellow fanatic and 2) on video, so we could talk about it without disturbing anyone. "Meet The Parents" was highly entertaining, if completely devoid of artistic merit.

I finally got to meet my new housemate! He started moving his stuff in on Tuesday, but since I'm always out, I'd never met him. As it was, I only saw him for half a minute, although apparently he stayed the night, but he seemed nice enough. His name is Simba (short for Masimba).

Bryn came round towards the end of "Meet The Parents", annoyed, as he'd been the victim of a prank played by a drunken rugby team, causing him to join me in hatred of the majority of unprofessional rugby players. (Rugby being the important game that got played at my school.) However, I gave him some bubble mixture (procured from my cousin's wedding) and it had the desired therapeutic effect.

After the videos, we were all tired and went to bed, but as soon as me and Bryn got there, we were really awake again, and ended up talking for two and a half hours. It was funchie, although I felt sorry for Hazel, as she was sleeping inches away from us. On the other side of a wall from us, but as I discovered from many nights of listening to Simon and Tasha Being Dodgy two years ago, the walls in the houses on my street aren't exactly thick. (Yes, the house Bryn had when I was in first year is only a few metres away from the one I currently inhabit. I've yet to try to go to the wrong house by accident, though.)

Anyway, we all slept eventually. Hazel and I took the videos back and I took her to the station. Despite checking very carefully that there was a train at 10.20, it turned out to not leave till 10.40, so we had a bit of a wait. But I didn't mind: usually I get rather tongue-tied when meeting people for the first time, but she's v. easy to talk to.

Then I went back home, coerced Bryn into hoovering my room (since he got loads of bits of polystyrene all over the floor when making Warhammer hills a while ago), and went to campus, where I'm currently having a conversation with Ibid via e-mail, before I go to Cinema 3 to see tree fillums! ("Brighton Rock", "Sex And Lucia" and "Minority Report").

Oh yeah, just remembered, sommat weird happened on Monday night. After the Beercart Arms, I was on my way to the taxi rank with some freshers, when some girl came up to me and said, "I've been noticing you around campus for the last two years, and now I'm finally getting to talk to you! W00t!" Well, she didn't say 'W00t!', exactly, but you get the idea. I didn't get to talk to her for very long, since the others were in a hurry to get a taxi, but keweliez! I have achieved celebrity status, it would seem!

Monday 30 September 2002

A while ago I signed up at this website called Gothic Match. Not because I'm looking for a gothic match - I find trendy matches far more satisfying to light (wonder if FC:UK make matches? They seem to make everything else) - but because it gave you the chance to specify whether you were looking for friendship or more. I rather like the idea of having more goth friends.

Unfortunately, having specified that I just wanted friends, the profile it generated completely failed to mention this, although I got round its evil powers by stating in the about me section that I wasn't interested.

However, today I got messages saying that the following people were interested in communicating with me.

* This Guy. Not only is he completely incapable of punctuating, but he states "honesty is a must" . . . yet also answered "No", "Occasionally" *and* "Regularly" to the "Do you smoke question?" and "Don't drink", "Drink occasionally", "Drink regularly" and "Prefer not to say" to the "Do you drink?" . . . and so forth. Maybe he thinks there's only space for one compulsive liar in a friendship.

* And this guy. He's 41, and says he's interested in 16 year olds. Eek!

Also, he e-mailed me a while ago, decided not to write to me again because I didn't have access to any messenger programs, then started sending me messages along the lines of "i ma drink i havwbt skept for days