The pub crawl was . . . blah. Well, it was very very amusing to see Simon and Yet Another Chris in drag, since they've both never been known to deviate from the scruffy jeans and t-shirt look. We gave Chris the prize for the best costume, as most of the non-committee-members hadn't done anything particularly special, and Simon isn't a student anymore. (He cleans Eliot College and hides in shame when he spies me walking through.) But the atmosphere was poor, especially compared to the previous year, when I was whipping complete strangers.

Keynes Bar, The Monument and Wetherspoons were relatively dead, The Cherry Tree was its usual crowded self, but the Hobgoblin and The Beercart Arms - the two most important destinations on the itinery - were impossible to squeeze into. And there were loads of us there, but that proved hinderanceful rather than helpful, as it was impossible to get everyone to finish their drinks in a synchronised fashion, and a lot of people decided against respecting my authorityyyyyyy and going off to somewhere more or less crowded.

Nevertheless, the weather was very favourable (the previous year, my headgear was flapping everywhere in the wind) and after failing to cram into the Beercart Arms, I ended up wandering around with Anna The Goth, Sarah The Vice Goth, Abi, Matt, Bill (this was the first time we'd met in person), and Jim (who I'd only met a few times before), lookin' for adventure, and whatever came our way. Unfortunately, not much was forthcoming. We went to Dane John Park, where there was supposed to be a huge party happening, but all we found were a handful of kids. We headed back along the highwaystreet, where Goth Chris, Rock Soc Committee Chris and two people named Laura and Andrew, who had lightsabers, joined our party in searching for a party.

Matt and Sarah decided we should go and visit The Swingers (the scary people in this entry). On our way to their house, we decided to trick or treat a house which still had lights on, and this really pleasant guy answered the door, gave us food and enthusiastically wished us a happy Hallowe'en. Also, in one of the late night food places, I found myself whipping a fish tank.

The swingers weren't in or at least were pretending not to be in, so Goth Chris got bored of standing on the street wondering what to do, and went home. The rest of us eventually decided to go to the cemetery (what typical goths we are!) Most of us sat in the hut, while the others did battle with the lightsabers. I suggested playing "Truth Or Dare", but the general consensus was that we were too old and too open with each other in the normal run of things for it to be interesting. But we started playing anyway and everyone got scarily into it and controversial statements were made.

Anna, Sarah, Abi and myself finally decided to head homewards at about 2, although we had to wait twenty minutes for a taxi. As it zoomed down my road, I saw Soppygit, who had been to The Venue, and a tall person heading towards the house. Nooooo! She's pulled! I thought (normally I'd be happy for her, but, you know, timing) but the tall person turned out to be Mary Ellen, who Soppygit does not regard *that* way. Regardless of this relief, I went on to dream that Bryn had a new girlfriend, who he'd been seeing during the last three weeks of our relationship. We went round to her house, which was near mine, and it had a bowling alley in the garden.

Consequently, my period of sleep was not long or pleasant, and getting up for my nine o'clock lecture Very Difficult. Being a science student sucks. All the arts and social science people have reading weeks (i.e. no lectures) this week.

Saturday 2 November 2002

Yesterday was very depressing, but in the end I finally managed to get on with things. I turned the page in the calendar I got free with that copy of Metal Hammer which reviewed the Rammstein gig I went to. I thought anyone had to be more aesthetically pleasing than October's Dimmu Borgir, only to discover November is Kittie month. And I have a sneaking suspicion December is Marilyn Manson. I had a shower, fell in love with my Korg minisynth (a belated 21st birthday present from my parents) and read "AD Police". Anna The Goth had invited me round to her house for the evening for an All Saints celebration (fortunately, without any All Saints).

One wrong turn-off and one phonecall later, I arrived. Anna and Stef's housemate Phil was fascinated by the springs in my boots and insisted on trying them on and bouncing around the kitchen. We (me, Anna, Stef, Dale, Sarah and Phil) watched Zombie Flesh Eaters which Dale thought was the best film ever; everyone else couldn't believe how bad it was. I fell asleep halfway through. Then we watched a French film - I was like w00t, but my eyes were struggling to read the subtitles, so I fell asleep again.

Afterwards, everyone went to bed, except me and Sarah. She was putting her shoes on, preparing to go home, while I was intending to curl up on the sofa (I live a bit too far away to walk back at night, and in any case, I have more luck sleeping in other people's houses) - but she said something, which resulted in us talking for hours. At three, we were about to go to her house for some toast, but at that moment Trevor, who also lives with Anna and Stef, arrived back from his job at The Venue, and we talked to him for ages.

Then Sarah and I went to hers. It should be pointed out that she has the funchiest house ever. Even the toilet roll has stars on it! Also, the downstairs bathroom is a converted garage, so it's huge and contains a washing machine and ironing board - quel novelty!

Anyway neither of us were very tired, so we watched this Open University type o program on TV, which informed me that white blood cells are rubbish cleaners, who fight and have orgies. We chatted for a few more hours and learned we had a lot more in common than we'd previously believed. It made me feel better too - talking to someone who not only shares your problems but who's had a much worse time than you have really puts things in perspective.

I went to bed at six, but only slept for a couple of hours. She didn't bother to sleep at all. At nine, we went round to my house and played with my synth for a while. Then Sarah went to Nodnol in search of a tiny corset and I went to the computer room. (Could this sentence be a better piece of characterisation?)

Sunday 3 November 2002

Oh, what a (totally pants) night!

After going to the computer room, I went home home, felt ok and did some work, slightly related to my latest Huge Assignment Of Dume for an hour and a half. Felt tired, so got into bed with Howard Marks and Type O Negative. Kinky. Dozed off. Dozed on again, feeling really awake. Decided to sit in Keynes Bar and read until someone I knew came along. Keynes Bar was full of strangers, as far as I could tell, and there was nowhere to sit, so I went to the computer room instead. I had one solitary e-mail and only a couple of new LJ entries to read. Luckily, at that moment, Mikey texted me, saying, if I needed someone to talk to, he was there. Despite not needing to Talk, per se, out of complete boredom, I called him. (For the first time.) But since I've spent about 1370234234 hours on the phone in the last month, mostly discussing Things with Bryn and making plans with Sarah (because her phone won't let me send text messages to it), I had to keep the conversation short, as my parents pay the bill and go psychotic if I've made calls for any reason other than talking to them and plan-making. After that, I went to Keynes JCR and read. I fell asleep for about an hour, then staggered home, slept for a few hours, and had terrible difficulty getting out of bed this morning.

Tuesday 5 November 2002, 9.59pm

This is where I have spent midnight on the last five days:

Thursday: The cemetery.
Friday: In Anna and Stef's living room.
Saturday: Asleep in Keynes JCR.
Sunday: Sick bay.
Monday: The cemetery.

My reason for being in Sick Bay wasn't particularly interesting. On Sunday, after telling three people not to call me because I had to do The Huge Assignment Of Dume, upon realising it was impossible, I answered Sarah Yoj's proposal, "Yes, call me." We talked for fifty minutes (for the first time since November 2000) and I arranged to visit her in four weeks' time. W00t!

(Sorry, Ibid, you can't have my Suffolk virginity. [Note to everyone else: Suffolk is the only county in England I haven't been to. Ibid lives there, and wishes to exhibit its glories unto me, but Sarah Yoj lives there too.])

After that, I spoke to Mum, then had to set off to see "Talk To Her" with Soppygit and Tall John. It was pretty good, but somehow not especially captivating. Afterwards, just before 11pm, we set off back to my house, but Soppygit's leg was killing her, so we went to Sick Bay. We had to wait forever, and she had to hobble home afterwards, so we didn't get back until quarter to one.

And being in the graveyard wasn't especially exciting either. Anna The Goth, Matt, Abi and I decided to go there after The Beercart Arms. We played Truth Or Dare, burned a pizza box (pritty green flames!) and froze to deth. I eventually got home at 2.42.

Saturday 9 November 2002

Last night at The Pit, Anna, Nick and I were to split the goth and industrial set between us. We all brought our CDs and quickly established that we all had copies of many of the same items - but generally, at least one of the CDs in every threesome was a burn. One of the few things we each had a proper copy of was "Pretty Hate Machine".

And I think the three of them must have slept together and had a baby, because by the end of the night, a fourth copy of "Pretty Hate Machine" with no discernible owner had appeared!

The other highlight of my night was Sarah The Vice Goth, being a Welsh person, attempting to have sex with the sheep on my Sheep On Drugs t-shirt. She also insisted on taking a picture of me doing an impression of a sheep on drugs.

I had both lengthy and sweet dreams last night. There was this teenage guy who spent over a thousand years hacking into a computer system, but he finally succeeded, which meant he and me and three and he and me and three other people could stroll around a city in the fourth millennium while invincible. Also, Bryn and I went to his old Parkwood house, where I fell asleep on top of him, which was nice . . .

Unfortunately, my alarm clock put a premature an end to that, because I had to go to campus to move Pit equipment. Yoj.

Sunday 10 November 2002

A few weeks ago, at Nisha's party, three of us were watching "Blind Date" - simply because it was on and we were waiting for everyone else to get changed - and when one of the contestants said "I'm in blue". We all said, "Huh? He's not wearing blue!"

Then the next contestant announced he was in blue too. I was thinking, maybe they've started using the "in the blue corner" terminology on this programme? After all, I'd only seen it once before, and that was years ago.

When the third contestant said he was in blue too, I finally understood - they meant they were in Blue the boyband! What the beep? Was this a new show called "Stars In Their Date" or perhaps "Blind Eyes"? Obviously I was rather disheartened - why on earth do boy band members need to go on a programme to help lonely people find dates? From my existence in penpal land in the days of Take That mania, I know that not all boyband wannabe-groupies are underage! Worse still, apparently, when the winner returned from the date, his conclusion was, "I'm too busy with my career to have a relationship now, but she's a really nice girl and I'll keep in touch." What a waste of time! It was obviously just a ploy to get the show's ratings higher!

Nevertheless, I was amused by the extent of how (purposefully) out of touch I am with popular "culture".

Then, a few days ago, someone posted to the Cumbria Goths mailing list, "This quiz says I'm a teeny goth! Help!" I sympathised, saying I got the same result, even though I was twenty one. "There's nothing wrong with liking pink!" I protested. I got the response, "Yeah, Pink is a really good singer!"

Eep! A Pink as well as a Blue that I'm only marginally aware of! A Pink that even fellow goths know about! My favourite colour has been polluted with bad connotations by a pop sensation! Woe!

Oh well, I will have to modify the direction of my affections to scarlet. At the Pit, Nick held up a CD to me, saying, "Check this out." I looked - "Scarlet" - it said, and I thought, "Oh, right, another of Nick's bizarre acquisitions - hang on, Independent Love Song?" "Oh, yessssss!" I cried.

For it is one of the most rockin' songs ever, and I'd completely forgotten about it!

Tuesday 12 November 2002

On Sunday night, I dreamed Britain was waging brutal war on Iraq and the end of the world was nigh. In order to test their mad b0mbing sk1llz, the British pilots bombed parts of northern England, because after all, no one lives there. I was at home, and I heard and saw a bomb go off a couple of streets away.

My house turned into this huge gymnasium, and there were about a hundred people in it playing a warped version of Quidditch (I saw the Harry Potter film with Hazel on Saturday). I didn't have a broomstick, but I saw the Snitch hovering near the ground, so I ran over to it and attempted to grab hold of it. It was very hard to clasp its fluttering metal wings shut without getting hurt, but I succeeded on the third attempt, thus winning the game for my team.

Then my house was itself again, and I was in the living room with Sleeve, Chris, John and Iain. The latter three kept saying to me, "You really want to sleep with Sleeve, don't you? You should." I didn't want to, though.

My subconscious clearly has a thing about sleeping with rock soc presidents, doesn't it? Next thing I know, I'll have a dream where I meet myself and we get it on.

Wednesday 13 November 2002

On days when I have to teach ickle first years, I make a concerted effort to dress down. I wear mini-skirts fairly often, but on teaching days, I stick to longer skirts and trousers. First years are easily distracted enough as it is; it for the best if they don't know of The Dark Side of my life.

Tonight, I am going to see King Prawn. I've never heard anything by them, but:
1) They're somewhat famous.
2) They're playing in Canterbury. Consider that no remotely famous bands play in Canterbury, ever.
3) They aren't aevil pop music.
4) They supported 3 Colours Red.
5) It's only £2 to get in.
6) I am the president of the rock society, and must support the local music scene.
7) There's very little to do in Canterbury – every opportunity for excitement must be taken advantage of.

Since they're ska, after last night's exercise in overgothicness, I didn't think my usual regalia was in order. On went the red tartan mini-skirt and fishnet stockings. Out came the leather jacket and spiky wristband. But what top?

The vast majority of my shirts: Too big and will cover mini-skirt.

Sheep On Drugs shirt: Despite Sheep On Drugs having some elements of punk in their music, they represent the opposite end of my musical tastes.

Sex Pistols t-shirt: Is primarily white and blue and didn't really go with the predominate red and greenness of the skirt.

"I Hate Slogans" shirt: You can't really read the slogan when I've got the leather jacket on.

Plain black t-shirt: Stuck behind wardrobe. It's a long and boring story, but the one werebear I have in Canterbury is stuck there too. I'm sure this is a large part of the reason why I can't sleep.

Black velvet tops: Have a bit of a fabric conflict with the joint forces of the tartan skirt, leather jacket and fishnet tights.

Pink Punkyfish top: Magenta and red? I might be masochistic, but I've got my limits.

Tops made from pairs of tights: My belly button shall not be displayed to the general public! Ever!

Fishnet, lace and mesh top: Too many bludi fabrics.

That left me with a lacy top, which isn't perfect, but it was the best I was going to manage.

The doorbell rang. I went to answer it, thinking it might be one of my King Prawn-going partners. In fact, it was some friends of Simba, who's an Actuarial Science student in the year below mine . . . Actuarial Science students share a lot of lessons with Maths students . . .

And as if having the door answered by someone in big boots o dume, fishnet stockings, a tartan mini-skirt and a black lacy top isn't scary enough in the normal run of things, I have this nasty feeling that I may have taught them last year!

Thursday 14 November 2002

Last night, I went to see King Prawn at The Beercart Arms. The evening itself was ok - the place was packed, but for the most part the crowd wasn't *my* people. Still, I blew bubbles and had some interesting conversations with Matt, Abi and Zak, so it wasn't entirely pants.

The first support band, No Half Measures, were pretty good: they were enthusiastic, and their music was punk with a subtle hint of reggae. I was a bit annoyed when they gave out their fliers though - their logo has almost exactly the same design as Nine Inch Nails', and on first glance, "NHM" looks rather a lot "NIN" - so I was given a few moments of false hope. (Not that I was seriously expecting Trent to come to Canterbury any time soon.) Nevertheless, they're playing at The Beercart again in two weeks' time, so I'll probably go along.

The second band were a bit poo - every song was entirely forgettable. But they had the best name ever (and all Bryn's workmates agree with me here): Sticky Back Spastics.

King Prawn . . . nah, bit too rappy for my liking, and the fact that one of their songs was called, "Smoke Some S***" was indicative of their "jump around!" attitude. Their set got a bit more varied amd better towards the end, though.

Since it was raining, we didn't linger outside the Beercart for long, so despite spending an inordinate amount of time chatting outside Rutherford Dining Hall on the way back to Klair's room, I got to bed at the respectable hour of 12.30. (I get up at 8 each morning, so midnight is my optimal bedtime, and since I went to bed at 4.15 and 2.30 on the previous two nights, 12.30 was comparatively very civilised.)

I got full marks on the Huge Assignment Of Dume. How, I don't know. I think the lecturers must just assume I'm wonderful and don't actually bother to read my work. This gives me another 0.3125% towards my final overall grade, woohoo! 46.3125% down, 23.6875% to go before I can have a first.

I have been head-hunted, by a company who picks out elite students to help them find places in the blue-chip professions upon their graduation. Eep! I'm very flattered, and if I wanted that kind of job, I would be thrilled, but my only attraction to that lifestyle is the salary and the travel opportunities. They said they placed people in the IT and Media industries, which could be ok . . . but my degree isn't exactly suited to those, while it's very suited to Accountancy, Banking, all that kind of bumph . . . and the company see the intention behind any job as going up the ladder as quickly as possible into management. Though I love and am skill at Operational Research (a Maths / Management Science crossover subject), um, you know, I kind of like my soul.

Naturally, Bryn is incredibly jealous, because although he'd rather avoid karoshi, since he dreams of top-of-the-range technology and exercise equipment, he desperately wants a high paid job - but as he has third class honours, no one's even hunting for his toenail clippings. (Except me, because they're quite painful if you unexpectedly stand on them.) Nope, there is no justice in the world.

I'm seeing Bryn tomorrow. He's going to be on campus for a careers meeting and we want to go into town in the afternoon, so he's coming to my two o'clock Stochastic Modelling lecture. Bryn used to go to his ex's lectures all the time, as she did the first year Social Anthropology, which is fairly understandable for a layperson, but he never went to any of mine. Now, the time to make amends has come.

Friday 15 November 2002

On Monday, I went to The Beercart Arms (nah! Never!) and for the first time this term started, I properly enyojed myself and headbanged for a good portion of the night. (Whereas, in recent weeks, I've only danced to the goth songs.) The fact that all day, thanks to the ever-present sleeping problems, my head had been swimming every time I lowered it slightly made this not a good choice of night to wish to headbang lotsly . . . but it was worth it. The DJ played Ministry, two Queens Of The Stone Age songs, "Close To Me" by Teh Kewr which made a welcome change from the weekly rendition of "Lovecats", and . . .

For the first time since I started going to rock clubs, I did not have to put up with hearing "Killin' In The Name Of" by Rage Against The Machine!

Incredible! (I do like the song, but for the last year or so, due to over-exposure, every rendition of it has made me homicidal. I know that's the point, but I'm a pacifist by nature, so it wasn't pleasant.)

There was then an adventure involving ridable sheep, the garage in Wincheap (which is the best thing ever - it was shut, but there was a guy inside, and he'd sell you whatever you desired, by passing it through a hatch. What could be niftier than watching the guy supposed to be behind the counter come out from behind it and do your shopping for you?), a badger named Dave who goes around stealing bottles of water and two blokes stealing a tree. Which was fun.

On Tuesday eve, I went to LGBT, since there was a "yes, no, maybe" game happening, in which we were asked questions, and had to move to the side of the room corresponding to our opinions, and then were asked to clarify them. Some of the questions were interesting, some were amusing, some were irritating - I'm almost as sick of people saying, "There's no such thing as normal" as I became in 1999 of people thinking they were Really Clever by saying, "1st January 2000 isn't the start of the new millennium! It's 1st January 2001". But it was still good - I've only been twice before and have confessed to being an evil straight person of duuuuume, yet I was rather alarmed by the enthusiasm with which I was greeted as I walked in. Scarier still, I received a: "I've always wanted to say this: I know you off the Internet!" Turned out to be Kim, and Natalya was also present! Funchie!

Afterwards, I ran into someone I met at Drama Society on Sunday (a scriptwriting meeting and an Improv session were meant to be happening, but only ten people turned up in total, so we combined the two events) and managed to sell her and her friends tickets to the forthcoming rock society event. (An indie version of The Pit, imaginatively called Indie-pendence, since we couldn't come up with any interesting names that everyone on the committee liked.) Then I went to Keynes Bar, to join the LGBT types, and a bunch of rock society people drifted in (some of whom I'd only ever met briefly at Freshers' Fair until then).

At 11.20, I went to indie night at The Venue with Soppygit. I hadn't been for some weeks, since the music's not great and I hate the floor it's usually held on - there's no dancefloor as such and it's so crowded people are forever shoving past you. But last week and this week it was held in The Lighthouse, the restaurant above The Venue. It would only last half as long, but it would only cost half as much to get in . . . and since I reckoned the Lighthouse was big enough to dance and talk in with ease, I thought I'd check it out. Last week, I got stuck in Rutherford bar talking to Ben instead, but this week, I made it . . .

. . . and I really enyojed it!

I felt flipping out of place. At the indie night two years ago, Bryn and I were considered The Ultimate Dressers, but indie has moved on in a big way since then, and it was hard to spot other people wearing black, much less PVC. And I only knew about eight people. The fact that the old indie night used to begin with An Hour Of Power, and they played "The Beautiful People" and "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and the like in the last two hours, and the new one, um, doesn't, was responsible for a more rock society filled clientele in days gone by.

But the DJ just about had enough suitable CDs to cover two and a half hours. There was a bunch of "garage rock", and in my eyes, the word "garage" in the term is aptly indicative of the quality of that style (lo-fi = the aural equivalent of websites with intentionally broken HTML which used to be all the rage in 1998) but he also played Manic Street Preachers, Queens Of The Stone Age, Foo Fighters (beep him! And The Beercart Arms DJ! I don't *want* to buy the new Foo Fighters album! I almost exclusively listen to goth, industrial and in between genres now, and Metal Hammer only gave it 6/10 and that's a *bad* sign), Super Furry Animals (thanks to Soppygit), Elastica and other goodness. "Richard III" by Supergrass and "Nancy Boy" by Placebo sounded like such poo I thought they were substandard cover versions, but I coped, for once again, I was in the mood to dance. Which was nice, because lately I've been more in the mood to listen to drum'n'bass than indie, rock and metal - a feeling that doesn't befit the president of the rock society.

I managed to sell a couple of Pit tickets in the toilets to some girls who I overheard expressing a wish for more classic stuff. I also had some rather surreal conversations. One was a bloke who was trying to tell me the theory of why moshing is so wonderful (thoughts of pensioners and hen produce going on here).

Much stranger, though, some bloke in a yellow shirt - not a neon yellow one, which would rule, but a normal sunny yellow - which never bodes well - came up to me and asked how one washed a PVC skirt. I should have asked, "Why exactly do you want to know?" but gave the easy answer: "With difficulty." After he'd asked for more details, he went away. Then, about an hour later, he came back, and said, "Tell you what. If I buy you a drink, I'll shag you all night."

"Uh," I said, thinking, 'Well, it might help my 'too tired to do anything, but not sleepy enough to sleep problem', "I don't really do the one night stand thing."

"Tonight and tomorrow night, then?" he asked.

I told the truth: that I had just come out of a relationship and wasn't really sure what I wanted right now, but a two-night-stand definitely wasn't it. I said I'd give him a hug though, which amused him a lot.

He wasn't bad looking and he gets full marks for originality - forget the old routine of "Can I buy you a drink? Good, will you sleep with me?", men being the prostitutes is the way forward! But, you know, even if I did do one night stands, not with anyone who wears sunny yellow! Pink, definitely; yellow, *shudder*.

Saturday 16 November 2002

I skipped my lecture yesterday, since I had things I needed to get in town, but Bryn kept dragging me into clothes shops. Which was odd I thought men loathed to hang around while their girlfriends tried on clothes, never mind their ex-girlfriends? Yet the second we entered 3rd Eye, he started grabbing tops in a way that a starving Homer Simpson would grab doughnuts: "Try this on. And this. Don't go away yet, take this too. And this. Wait, have this one as well." And it wasn't like he wanted to see me in my underwear, or feel me up while assessing the fit of the fabric; rather it was a case of, "Zed? I can still see you." "Bryn? It's a small curtain. It's not like there's anything you haven't seen before, but the other people in the shop aren't deserving of such a privilege." And a "Sorry" when his hand brushed anywhere too close to the chest area.)

The quest for tops was because I've lost beeploads of weight recently (it's believed I have an overactive thyroid which is causing this and the sleep problem) and so most of my t-shirts have gone from being "oversized" to "ridiculous". But very few of these ones fir either, and they were all marked "one size"! This is devastating - when I was seventeen, I despaired of clothes shops because everything was too small for me. Now everything's too big; the only things that fit were fluffy "I'm a goth! And a vampyre!" hoodies and slogan t-shirts. I find the latter amusing, but the whole point of buying more clothes is to acquire something I can wear by day. "Clitoris is not a Greek Island . . . but it's still good to visit" does not meet this requirement.

However, I did come across a short black satin skirt with velvet flowers on for £3, a bargain that had to be taken advantage of, and although I didn't want to go to Siesta, because everything in there is too expensive, and on the whole, too big, Bryn said we should look around, and he insisted I tried on this purple velvet skirt.

Oh, it was lovely. £27, but since that's not too bad for good velvet in Canterbury or London, and I could view it as paying £8 for the other skirt, and £22 for this, if it made me feel better, I bought it. I also noticed some black tights with purple spider webs on, black and purple striped arm warmers and black, pink and purple striped leg warmers, all of which I had to make mine.

Shortly after acquiring all this purpleness, I coincidentally ran into Sophie and Ben. When I showed her the extent of it, she made a concerted effort to grab the bag off me, but it was so precious, I held on for dear life.

After parting company with Bryn at the station (he had to go to his stepsister's birthday celebration that evening), I went to get some food, and then was about to recommence the search for tops, when I ran into Matt and James for the second time that day, along with Anna The Goth and Sarah The Vice Goth. Sarah went into Boots to get some sleeping p1llz, but they wouldn't let her have any. I said, "Go to the medical centre." I held up the medication I'd picked up earlier. "Look, I got prescribed temazepan." (Yes, quite.)

This was the second time that day my possessions were nearly snatched from me.

She managed to get some medication from Superdrug called "Dreem On" (ha!) I ended up hanging around with them until after the shops had closed. D'oh. Oh well, I broke the bank enough in that day.

In the evening I went round to Sleeve's with Soppygit and Tall John to watch "Terminator 2". I liked it very much. After that, Sleeve and Tall John went to see "Evil Dead" at Cinema 3; I considered going with them, and making it A Night For Seeing Films I Should Have Watched Years Ago, but valued my money and sleep too much.

Sunday 17 November 2002

So today I was telling Bryn about that insane Sikth video I saw last month, since I'd forgotten about until then. "There's this band called SikTh," I began, and he cut in with, "Yeah, we saw them."

"We did?" I asked incredulously. "Where?"

"They were supporting The Cardiacs last November," he said.

Having checked the Internet, I have discovered he spoke the truth. How bizarre!

Tuesday 19 November 2002

Whenever you print something at UKC, the printer insists on accompanying it with a piece of paper with your name on it. Nothing else. Owing to the uselessness of these outchurnings (except as scrap paper, a commodity which most people have far too much of), many get left in the vicinity of the printer.

As I was passing it today, I saw a piece of paper with "A. Cooper" on it. I had to steal it! Alice Cooper goes to UKC! D00d!

Did loads of work on Sunday and Monday, then went to - guess where? - The Beercart Arms on Monday evening. Predictable? Moi? Perish the thought!

Twas v. weird - many familiar faces were absent and many unfamiliar ones were present. It's good to see so many people discovering the yojs of the place, but scary to walk from one end of the pub to the other, and not know anyone for 80% of it. My theory is that aliens are abducting Beercartians and forcing them to undergo dramatic plastic surgery, for a laugh.

The music was also strange; there was no goff 'n' industrial - not even NIN and The Cure, who are staples; there wasn't much variety in the music all night through; and the end part was all back to front. Not to say it was bad, precisely, just odd - it was mostly standard but less popular songs - and the dancefloor was fairly empty even towards the end.

I'm meant to be receiving a free copy of the new issue of Kaleidoscope magazine - the one with my reviews in it - but I haven't heard anything from Mike 'n' Nadine in ages - not since Whitby in fact. I hope they didn't die from the sheer gothicness of it all. However, Anna The Goth bought a copy in Nodnol and brought it to The Beercart, so I squee-ed over seeing my name in print. Everyone I showed it to was most impressed.

My intention was to go home straight after but since:
1) Matt was to turn 21 at midnight and
2) There was an electronica night happened at Alberry's - a rare occurrence indeed - I decided to go to it, as Matt, Anna, Sarah The Vice Goth, Abi and a bunch of other people had done.

Urgh. It didn't agree to me at all. The dancefloor at Alberry's is in the basement; the higher parts of its ceiling hover at 6'6", so most men have to duck to avoid the rafters, and it seems like every smoke particle ever produced there has remained. The music was odd - up until midnight it was weird minimal stuff with three tunes of different tempos going on at once; interesting, but not exactly easy to dance to, and afterwards, it was Armand Van Helden and that type o bumph. And the crowd? Almost entirely leery twenty-somethinged men in suits.

The fact that I'm taking temazepan and my body now expects sleep at about eleven didn't help. I dozed off, then felt like complete poo when I woke up. Everyone asked if I was all right, and if I wanted to go home, and since I hate to be a burden on anyone, admitting "no" and "yes" - I couldn't lie as the truth was quite obvious - made me feel like poo through and through.

But in other regards it was quite a kewl night. Abi and Matt got together at long last, and since Ben is growing his fingernails really long - something which, the general consensus is, looks really rank on a bloke (and I pity his poor girlfriend. Since Bryn didn't own a pair of nail clippers, he just let his nails grow too. I tried to buy him some, but the only ones I could find were miniscule; I asked Mum to buy some on my behalf, but she didn't believe I couldn't find any, and consequently didn't. I tried biting his nails, but he said it hurt, so I just had to remember to insist he cut his nails whenever he was in the vicinity of my nail clippers [which wasn't often last academic year]. So, most of the time, I was pained by them) - Sarah and me started a petition to get him to cut them; I think he agreed to it if we got a hundred signatures. We got eleven there (including Ben's) and I got those of my tutor, the postgraduate who has to teach first year computing for Maths, and Lydia who's in my lectures.

Anyway, me, Anna, Sarah, Abi and Matt got a taxi, and since I'd started rambling about all my doubts, I told everyone to come back to my house for a natter. Which ended up going on until . . . er . . . 3.45. (Anna and Sarah started reading out the problem page in Soppygit's issue of Company magazine, which causes much amusement. Somehow, neither Soppygit nor Jo woke up.) As usual, I had to get up at 8 this morning, to teach, although I somehow missed the first two blasts of my snooze alarm.

Erk. My psychologist (who I'm seeing, free of charge, at the recommendation of the medical centre in an attempt to sort out my sleeping problems - yes, quite) was not impressed by the record of my sleeping habits I handed her, detailing the last eight days. It was probably the heaviest week I've ever had:

Last Monday: in the graveyard - got in at 4.
Tuesday: The Venue - got in at 2.30.
Wednesday: King Prawn - got in at 12.30.
Thursday: the computer room with chocolate - got in at 2.30.
Friday: sane night, but a night out nonetheless.
Saturday: second viewing of Harry Potter 2 avec Bryn - got in at 12.30 and then talked until 2.45.
Sunday: sane night.
Monday: This.

Friday 22 November 2002

Reason #46 Why It Is Actually Quite A Good Thing That Bryn Dumped Me:

When I moved into my house in September, we decided it would be a good idea if he had his own key for the front door, while I had one for his. So I copied them.

When we broke up, one of the first things he did was to ensure that we gave the duplicate keys back. Now I'm not a scary stalker-type person, which is something he could be pretty sure of, but indeed, you can never be too careful - especially since Dave's ex has taken to spending hours sitting on the doorstep of his house whenever she learns Dave is home from university.

Yesterday, I was locking my front door, when I dropped the key. It slipped down a crack in the doorstep, into an unseeable crevice.

Luckily, I had Bryn's former copy of the front door key to use instead. Hurrah!

Fashion observation of the day: I own a black leather trenchcoat that cost £150. Not many people own such things. I have worn it virtually every day for the last eleven months, and perhaps two people have commented on how funchie it is.

I also own a purple fake-leather jacket that cost £20. When I bought it, everyone owned such a thing. I rarely wear it, but I put it on today - and within an hour, two people had commented on how funchie it is.

Fashion annoyance of the day: Braiding wool into one's hair looks really funchie. But getting it to stay in place and still look funchie? Impossible.

Sunday 24 November 2002

Before Indie-pendence, the security guards told us they weren't going to allow anyone to bring drugs, knives, biiiiig chains or other such thangs into Keynes JCR. So we didn't have to say this to everyone attending, we decided to make some posters declaring it, so I sent Adrian to steal some paper from the computer room, while I bought some white tack.

He came back with a bunch of useless print outs, the sort that led me to the discovery that Alice Cooper goes to UKC. One of them was created by someone named "R. Poon". As if "Poon" wasn't a cool enough surname, "R. Poon" sounds like "harpoon"! Can a name get any better?

I went to this Party O Weirdness in Keynes JCR last night, which advertised its music as, "80s Electroclashpop, Techno, Trance, Ambient, Breakbeat and Hiphop". Odd combination - and "80s Electroclashpop"??? "Electroclash" is just a poncy word for "synthpop", so apart from "synthpoppop" making little sense, in the 80s - when they rightly didn't see anything embarrassing about admitting to using synths - they definitely just called it "synthpop"!

Anyway, for the first half an hour there was no music at all, and when it did happen, it sounded like an orchestra doing a particularly painful warm up exercise repetitively. Really - it was violins playing the same two elongated notes over and over again. How you were supposed to dance to it, I don't know. So I left to see "My Little Eye" au cinéma avec Sleevel, Tall Johnal, and Sleevel's friend, Mikel. (Don't ask why I'm ending everyone's name with 'l' today, ok? I just feel like it.)

After that, I was tired so went home, while the others (a much better "big scary house in the middle of nowhere" film) headed off to the party. But just as I was entering my not particularly big or scary house in the middle of the street, I saw Soppygittal on her way to universitay, so I walked her there. She needed to track down Tall Johnal, so we went to the partay, at which the music had improved dramatically, but he wasn't there, and we were both tired so I couldn't stay.

But possibly due not taking my temazepan until 4am the night before (after Indie-pendence, I went to a surprise birthday party for Anna The Gothal), I didn't sleep very well. Again.