A lot has changed since I last updated. Well, not much actually, but it feels like it. First off, I am now a member of the current affairs team of The Ripple , although my exact position on the team is a little vague at the moment - I'm in the process of setting up a meeting with the newly-elected editor to discuss the paper and it's future.

Second of all, I am now a bartender at the Tigers rugby stadium. Although this is not a high-paying, or frequent job, it is a job nonetheless and will go someway to paying off my overdraft.

Oh, and for once it's sunny.

That is all.

We're back in the house and we have no more fleas! And we just got wireless! :D

Oh, as for the title, if you're really interested then repeat the following over and over until you have fifty:

1) Nothing is perfect but she is damn close and so it the relationship, Chip.

2) She makes you very happy, Slappy.

3) The bed is warm and it's cold outside, Slide.

4) You're crap at coming up with names that rhyme with words so no other girl would possibly want you, Stu.

5) She is wonderful, Gul.

That is all.

My back hurts, my mind is adrift, my face is one big smile and I have no explanations. I can't sleep either. The exterminator has gassed the house, we move back in tomorrow (we've been staying in Claire's house - she is a wonderful human being and I am very grateful). I look foreward to playing on my gamecube again. Yes, I know I'm a console behind, but I always have been and always will be, the new ones are always such a rip-off to buy and I'm usually still having fun on the old ones when they come out anyway.

I've seen the Bourne Ultimatum now (saw it the night before it was released at a preview XD) and it is EXCELLENT. You must go see it now. I command thee.

Claire (that's the name of 'the girl' for those who aren't in the know) is back again tomorrow evening and I can't wait. It's always good to see her. Especially when I've seen her so little in the past month or so.

And I went to the library today. I got out two Hemingway books and a 'World Literature' book called Kafka on the Shore by some Japanese author whose name I forget. I love world literature because, assuming the translator is up to scratch,  it's very surprising. Foriegn authors phrase things in different ways, and it's devoid of cliches. At least, Western ones at any rate. And the settings are usually unfamiliar to me.

Here's an interesting question: Do you associate certain languages with certain things? I was thinking as I started my book that Japanese is sort of choppy; reading it, even in translation, is like riding a boat over a slightly rough sea.

I've just sent a text to my mum requestion that she ask all my respective family members if they want to come to Donnington Park. So far it's just me, my dad and Claire, and I think it'd be nice if all my family came with us. My brother and sister have barely met Claire, so it'd be nice for them to meet properly. After all, I already feel like I could pass as her brother's friend, it's only fair she gets to know my family too.

I have just returned back to old blighty from sunny old Spain. And I bring breaking news. Lord Lucan is actually running a pub quiz in Bull Flannigan's Irish Pub in Quesada. And if ever you go there to see him, say hi to the bar manager for me. An excellent fellow, he arranged for transport to the airport for us. it's a shame I drunkenly drove away his customers really...

Anyways. Spain was fantabulous. An excellently relaxing break that both released any and all stress I may have been feeling and increased my already-substantial tolerance for alcohol. Go me!

Not much to say about Spain that won't either incriminate me or my chums, or bore the socks off you, so i won't say too much. If you want to know more, just ask. I would definitely like to go back though, it's now been added to the rather large list of places I'd like to take the girlfriend one day. Though I'd rather go to a more Spanish part of Spain. I hardly saw a Spanish person where I was, and I definitely didn't see any of the topless Spanish girls i was promised when I signed up for the holiday. It was like being in a smaller version of Britain that had been transported to somewhere hot and sunny and had all of it's under forties removed. But it was very pleasant.

So now i'm at home. Alone. My dad is here between 9 and 5 for work, my mum and sister return from Canada on Saturday about 10 hours before I leave for Leicester to see my girl. And God knows when my brother returns from New Jersey or if he will even come home. He seems to have more or less written the family off and be doing his own thing. Or maybe I'm just being overly-cynical of his constant absence.

I'm hoping to get my sister to come to a Thin Lizzy concert in December with myself and the girlfriend and maybe a couple of my sister's friends if they're interested. This is a genius plan to get my sister and girlfriend to know each other a bit, get to know my sister a bit more myself, and meet a few of her friends, whilst simultaneously upping the level of awe with which they all regard me. I repeat, go me!

Is it me, or am I holding this family together?

In other news, Amaretto is possibly my greatest find since malt scotch. I am a happy boy. You knew I'd return to the subject of alcohol again didn't you? Am I that predictable?

I'm planning to spend a few days in London with the girl and, frankly, cannot wait. I think we'll see Avenue Q - don't ask, I'm not sure - and probably catch a museum and art gallery or two. My, we are intellectual little bears are we not?

Oh, and for all my male readers (there has to be one or two of you out there!) do NOT, under any circumstance, buy cheap shaving foam as opposed to the brand-named stuff you usually get. You will regret it. I did. Must get my usual stuff tomorrow...

 I saw Hairspray for the second time tonight in another vaguely awkward attempt to maintain usual levels of contact with my dad, and I have to say that that must be the movie of the year. It's absolutely brilliant. Even made up for the especially awkward moment when my dad decided to confide in me. Turns out he knows about as much about the ways of women as me. Which is to say, just less than nothing. Poor chap is being put through it. I'd buy him a beer to make it better, but a) he's my dad, and b) he doesn't even like beer and cider is a poor substitute in my opinion.

Here's a fact for you: Two of the cruelest groups of people in the world are women and bar tenders. They're two of the most wonderful groups too. Another duality for you. Read 'The Castle' by Kafka and nothing will be explained. But you may feel a little better. Certainly more tired anyway.

I've reached that point where I'm rambling now. I beleive they call it 2:36 am.

I think I'll give that sleep thing another whirl. I'm supposed to be having a drink or two with an old accomplice tomorrow night and I really don't feel like it. Mind you, all I feel like these days is getting in the car and gatecrashing the girlfriend's holiday. Still, only two more days until we meet again. It's been too long. Though somewhere in the back of my mind I do realise it has only been three weeks. Feels longer.

Righto, I leave you with a thought-provoking excercise I stole i think from a clever chap called Goerg Cantor (google him! And Turing while you're at it!)).  Get a piece of paper and a pencil. Draw a circle in the middle of the paper. From the centre of the circle draw a line to the outside of the circle as if you were marking the radius. Draw another of these lines. And another. And keep going. Now imagine if your pencil was infinitely sharp. if it was then you'd have an infinitie number of lines, right?

Ok, now draw another, bigger, circle around the first. Extend your radial lines to the outside of the bigger circle. They diverge. This mean you need more lines to fill that circle. Which mean, if you have an infinite number of lines in the first circle, then the number of lines in the outer circle is greater than infinite. Draw another circle and do the same and you make another number bigger than infinite. If you have an infinite number of circles, you have an infinite number of infinites. A whole new, infinite set of numbers all greater than infinitie itself.

And that's what drove Cantor insane. At least it was something justafiably mind-boggling.

Here's a thought for you, based on the last excercise, when you hold a circle, you hold infinite in your hand. Awe inspiring, no?

So, the exterminator finally came. Did I mention the fleas? Not sure i did. My new house had fleas. Which means i'm covered in bites which itch and keep making people gasp and say 'Oh, Jonathan!'. Actually that's mostly my mum. But there you go. so now we've got these lamps which are supposed to kill the buggers in each room. Hope it works because that house was absolutely horrendous last week when I was in it.

I'm going to Spain on the 31st with some friends from home which should be fun. I'm kind of still waiting for that to sink in though, seems like a lot of effort and a long way off at the moment. On the plus side, it's a week to sit in the sun, drink beer, relax, make lots of sexual innuendos and forget that fleas ever existed.

Seriously, fleas - a good reason for nuclear weapons. They're absolute bastards. I hate the devils. I was in the house on my own last week and I spent the week wandering around the house with my penknife and a bar of soap shouting obscenities at the soft furnishings. TIP: Lathered up bar of soap will trap fleas in the sticky lather, pen knife is an excellent weapon for dispatching them.

I'm also feeling rather alramingly broke at the moment. Still waiting for one of the many MANY places with jobs to call me and say 'Hey, you want a job?' whilst trying to fund the Spain trip and a proposed London trip on an ever dwindling overdraft.

On the upside of last week, having spent the week alone with not much to do, i watched a large selection of DVDs. As a result I can offer my esteemed opinions:

1) Reservoir Dogs is a pointless waste of overstylised time - every dies, nuff said.

2) Midnight Cowboy is very good (have yet to see the ending actually) but frustrating as Jon Voigt is the worst male prostitute in the world ever.

3) Die Hard 4 is excellent. nuff said.

4) Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix is ok, but not great. Daniel whatshisname is a terrible actor, as is  Hermione girl. Ron is good though.  Gary Oldman, of course, is a fine actor, and Umbridge was done well. And check out Dumbledore! He was portrayed as I always imagined King Lear to be portrayed. Don't ask me why. Oh, and Bellatrix and Tonks were good too.

5) High Noon = Classic. Go watch it.

6) The Maltese Falcon is also a must see.

7) Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula was rather crap. Very flamboyant and extravagant but quite forgetable and I disliked the changes to the original plot. Bring back Christopher Lee! :D

8) Thoroughly Modern Milly (Watched this compliments of thethe girlfriend ) is FANTASTIC! I absolutely reccommend it.

9) As is Hairspray. This is probably the film of the summer. I thank my lucky stars for a girlfriend who makes me go see such things.

10) Children of Men is probably the best British film of the last twenty years. It's absolutely brilliant. Stop reading this and go watch it now!


In other news, I've just been informed my girlfriend is going to take me to Warwick Castle when she ges paid. I have to say this sounds like the most splendid idea I've heard since someone whispered 'Rambo 4' in my ear. The horizon is looking sunny, happy and fun.

Ta-ta for now!

[To be read in the voice of Stephen Fry]

So here we are again.There's you, sat in front of your computer, reading once more the snappy little anecdotes that make up my life, and here's me, eating a muffin (chocolate chip in case you were curious), spilling crumbs on the floor and typing. Yes, oh illustrius reader, typing. This is not the tired typing of a second world war soldier who, in escaping the German army, has just trecked through the Sahara desert and is now writing his dispatch, nor is it the frantic typing of a secretary with her drug-addicted employer stood behind her talking really fast about the merits of Speed. No, dear, beloved reader, this is the normal, everday, run-of-the-mill typing of an English student on summer vacation.

Please, allow me to divulge the latest ongoings of my week. I have been bitten, nibbled, nipped, swallowed, sucked, chomped, chugged, eaten and partially devoured by the most irritating insect known to man - the common flea. *chuckles loudly*

My house, it seems, oh essentially-fairly-pleasant reader has been infested with the charming little blighters and bugger me but they're all going to die slow, painful deaths at the hands of the council on Friday! *chuckles pleasantly*

I do hope your weeks were all well.  Except you, Mrs White of 23 Wellcote Lane, Sussex. And you of course, Mr Blanker of Mill Road Lancs. Oh, and the Rev. Green of Mystery Terrace, Worc.

Until we meet again, our metaphoircal paths twisting once more together, our branches entwining for another delightful romp of a conversation, our shoo-waddy-daddies shoo-wopping in chorus, our dum-de-dum-dums....

Hmm...in writing the title it occured to me how important punctuation marks are. If I had written 'Last night in halls!' it would sound excited and suggest I am glad to leave. If I'd written 'Last night in halls...' it would sound contemplative and imply I am sorry to leave. The complete lack of punctuation mark betrays very little and I am at a loss to describe eactly how I feel about it. Largely indifferent would, I believe be the correct diagnosis right now. I guess I'd be excited because I get my new YELLOW house tomorrow but I'm too tired and sick of packing to be excited. Not that I've done much packing. So far all my efforts have resulted in is the emptying of my bin. Packing as usual for Block 3 then.

in other news I'm still eagerly looking for a job, except getting less eager and more desperate as my  bank balance  gamely approaches minus  seven hundred.  That can't be good.  And the squirrels are still amassing.

On the plus side I can now add to my list of 'Things I've seen in Leicester':

- One man silently holding a little sign made of a Mcdonalds straw and card reading 'Jesus' in the city centre.
- One creepy old woman
- Two chldren gaping
- And a partridge in a pear tree.

That's all for now. Guess i should get back to packing...!!...!!...!!

NOTE: The punctuation marks expressed in this article are the sole views of it's author and do not express the views of the words themselves. To find out about the views of the words themselves read Barthes.

This beer is lasting forever. How odd.

Dear Reader (when in doubt, begin with the tried and tested),
                                                                                                               I am writing not to inform you of my latest exploits in the exciting and surprisingly risky world of laundry, but to inform you of the current state of the world. The world, as far as I can tell, is mostly absurd and I feel someone ought to officially make note of this. Logic clearly has no place in world politics. Reasons for this deduction? I have none.

However, on an unrelated note, I have spotted in Leicester (I am playing a bizarre real-life game of 'Where's Wally?' with the local inhabitants):

1. Explorer with a wrinkly stomach
2. 14-year-old old married chav couple argueing in street
3. Street preacher being too shy and quiet to et an audience and thus simply pretending he has one while he explains the Bible's stance on wine presses
4. A large flying purple kayak ridden by a mediocre-looking penguin (granted this one was seen whilst I was slightly inebriated)
5. A Native American Indian playing a pipe
6. The National Marxist movement
7. A policewoman with an abnormally large posterior

The list will be extended as my adventures in normality continue.

In other news, the girl got drunk for the first time last week. That was interesting. Amusing too as I drank more or less the same ammount and was completely sober. She is a VERY talkative drunk and so if you ever want a peaceful night then I advise you keep her away from the booze. However, if you want to find out some deep dark secret then booze is certainly a step in the right direction.

The Halls Ball was held last week and featured a bouncy castle and barbeque (don't you just hate it when people write BBQ as if it's the full word?) in the day and a very pleasant ball complete with ska band in the evening. Not much to say about this other than it was most excellent, and party on dude! Oh, and I am not only tug-of-war champion but bungee-thing king. And my drunken alter-ego should never be allowed near bouncy castles.

Sunday was interesting. We went to a German Folk Festival in the park which meant Gulasch, a bizarrely non-German live band and lots and lots of good beer. Which once more resulted in drunkeness. My drunken alter-ego this time decided to dance on a table when the band were taking a break and to sing "I'm a little teapot' like it was the most emotional, meaningful song ever written. I guess my singing wasn't too bad though because the girlfriend was kind enough to stop me falling off a bridge into the canal.

No other news really. There was the sex-change fiasco...but we don't talk about that....

Once more, this is your ever-faithful, reliable, and increasingly drunken student correspondent signing off from somewhere deep in the shizz.

Over and out.

Hey ho folks! Sorry for the delay, leaving you seething in raw tension and all. Do not fear, I am well, having recovered from my episode gotten the girl back and won (Yes won! Ok, so the other party didn't compete, but if they don't show up then they forfeit all claim to victory!) .

I am now happy, enjoying the prospect of clean underwear tomorrow - I have just completed this weeks load, it does seem to be something of a constant event in my life doesn't it? - and am sat, naked and online in the girl's room. Yes indeed, things could not be much better. So it could be a little less FREAKING HOT, and I could have a little money in the bank (God, did you hear that?) and maybe it would be nice if the grey squirrels weren't so blatantly amassing (should that be 'massing'? Nevermind, I quite enjoy the aesthetics that little 'a' gives it :D) for an attack on me and my legions of red squirrels.  But that's neither here nor there, I do afterall have a rather nifty plan involving vodka,  red bull and an army of drunken hyper squirrels...

 Hope all of you in the cyber world I imagine to exist but have yet to find, are well, not too drunk, not too sober, and most of all, having fun!

Here's me, signing off from deep in the heart of mankind. Over and out.

Anger is beginning to manifest itself: Why does the bank hate me so? Why can it not do things right? Why did it have to send me THREE frigging debit cards instead of just one?! Why? Why?! Why?!!!!!!!

Oh dear. Did i just say that? Shame is setting in. I can't believe I can't hold up for ONE NIGHT ALONE!

Fear...What if she doesn't come back? What if she gets hurt in the journey? What if I die in the laundry war before I get to see her again? What if....No, it's too horrible!

No, it's ok folks, I'm fine now. Just had to get that out of my system. Um...this isn't denial is it? No. Can't be. Nothing to be in denial about. Shut up. No, just shut up.

Oh dear, am I talking to myself?

Um...........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................That's a lot of dots.

My esteemed colleagues, in the scant moments since I las tposted, several worrying symptoms of girl-denial have manifested themselves in my behaviour.

THe first is aggression. I have now engaged in a laundry war with an unknown person(s) after my machine broke and I pulled all of their stuff out of their machine  - it was finished and they SHOULD have picked up their stuff. Either way I WILL win this war!

THe second is my constant distancing myself from reality. I am beginning to become convinced that my last name really IS Precieval as the bank apparently tihnks it is (they sent me not one, not two, but THREE cards after I requested a new one, one of which even has the wrong name on!)



Another milestone on my downward spiral just in - I am now contemplating going to Asda and hanging around with a box of eggs to throw at any would be disturbers-of-the=peace. I ought to point out that it is 10:40pm, dark and this is an extraordinarily bad idea, even by my standards. Perhaps it is a plea for the girl to say something sensible to stop me? We may never now.

This is human4582 signing off, 10 hours in.

Friends, relatives, strangers, and admirers, gather around! I am about to unveil an exciting new psychological experiment to be performed on myself!

Here's the premise. The girlfriend has gone. Again. I'm alone because my friends are all revising or entertaining potential girlfriends. The girlfriend has been gone since roughly 2:30pm today. Since then I have:

a) Eaten dinner on time without prompting
b) Done my laundry
c) Sent mulitple emails to my future self (www.bored.com will link you to the right place)
d) Had my personality analysed by a computer based around my dubious drawing skills
e) Managed a lemonade stand online for around an hour
f) Emptied my bin

Here's the thing. We've all seen the comedies on TV where the husband finally gets substantial time alone while his wife is away for a weekend and then he is bored out of his mind. Well folks, I have to admit, I'm almost at that stage of dependency. After 10 hours without the girl I am:

a) bored
b) doing all the pointless and tedious tasks I usually put off
c) managing a lemonade stand online (again)
d) losing sense of reality - and you say 'gravity' is what sticks us to the ground? You sure it's not my sticky    feet? You say that's the melted chocolate I stood in? You sure?
e) Fervently wishing she was here to entertain me, or at the very least make me do something I don't want to do (we don't realise how valuable that really is until it's gone!)
m) losing my abitlity to recite the alphabet


I will keep you updated on my mental decline as the hours pass until I see her again. She returns tomorrow, but who nows what she will return to - I may be a dribbling mess of ego and alter-ego....

A more pronounced and in-depth experiment will take place on Thursday when she is gone till Sunday (possibly Monday).

Updates to follow.

The sun is shining golden down across old court here at halls and it looks very nice from my bedroom window. For once my room is of a reasonable temperature (unless I venture into bed - for some reason that corner is always cold)  and I'm enjoying the platitude and peace of a summer evening alone. I would prefer to spend it with the girlfriendof course, but she is off (hopefully) enjoing herself in York. Wonder if she remembers my advice to go The Gallery, or, less likely anyone other thanher cousin listens to her.

I've just watched the latest episode of Doctor Who which, frankly, was poor. Very poor. And I'm not the only one who says so this time. The story was a weak sort of rework of Solaris, the script was annoying and made the Doctor come across as something of a whiny bitch, the characters were very one dimensional, and there were gaping flaws that surely even the target audience of small children must have noticed ("ooh, we're flying into the sun, lets all stare at it in our fright....no worries about blindness, this is the BBC!"). Enough about that, it doesn't really deserve anymore time spent ranting about it. Next weeks episode looks good though. It's a shame Doctor Who is so hit and miss these days.

Let's talk about Grammar schools, everyone else is. Everyone else being the Conservatives. Being a Times reader I'm not too sure on the viewpoints of the other papers and their readers, but I seem to have read a lot of people championing the grammar school system as the fairest way of providing education (see here for more: http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/debate/letters/article1811233.ece). Interestingly, I've yet to read the viewpoint of someone who didn't go to a grammar school. So here's mine.

I went to school in an area that had a grammar school (Ripon Grammar), a 'city school' for the kids who didn't make in to the grammar (now Ripon College I think) and a few newer, modern comprehensives. I went to the latter in a town about ten minutes from the grammar school and, as such, my school took in a lot of kids from Ripon who didn't make it, or who didn't want to go to, the grammar school. I've seen a lot of bitterness about the grammar school. I've felt bitter about it too, once or twice. They seemed to get all the money, all the chances and all the opportunites. This may well be good, I don't afterall, want to take away form other people. And perhaps this bitterness would have been limited if a full grammar school system had been a place - for example, I felt bitter because after getting my GCSE and A-level results (which are published in the local paper so you can read everyone elses) I found that what were excellent results at my school were only mediocre at the grammar school, and, having met people who go there it seems that their teaching was better and their facilities better and they got more opportunities to extend their studies. I felt bitter because I didn't see why my teachers should be inferior (not to criticise them too much , they were largely very good, but one felt their attempts in sixth form at least were very half hearted - missing classes regularly etc) just because I went to a  state-run comprehensive. It is quite possible that if a full grammar system had ben in place, I would have been sent to a grammar and given the chances and been pushed more to succeed and feasibly ended up in Oxbridge (I do think that if i'd been pushed more I could have made it into one of the top universities- not that I'm unhappy where I am though). Equally though,  why should I get better  treatment just because a test proclaims I'm slightly more intelligent than someone else? Is that not just another way of creating a class system? Is it possible to have a country without some kind of class system, or is one needed?

I used to be in favour of Grammar schools because I felt that the kids who were intelligent and wanted to succeed should be allowed to. I still think they should be allowed to, but not if that means all the best teachers and best chances and facilities are taken away from the others. It is also important to note that mediocre intelligence and a desire to succeed are not mutually exclusive. It is possible to have a lower IQ but through sheer hard work still succeed. Why should we not concentrate merely on trying to provide a good education to all?

I've ranted on for quite a bit on that now so I think I'll sign off now, I just felt that a view from someone who wasn't grammar school educated was needed to even the balance.

Greetings friends from the Netherworld! This is the wonderful place between sober and drunk. Theoretically (and I have theorised on this much) then I should be at my peak - drunk enough for uninhibited deep philisophical thought, sober enough for writing it down and offering an edge of reason upon it. All I seem to have is a headache....

Still, all is good in the Netherworld! Having forgotten the torments of the mornings exam (darn, did i just remember it again? lol) I have spent a rather chilled afternoon being passively aggressive and generally roudy with my good chum and future housemate in a quiet, cheap but not altogether bad cocktail bar playing pool.

The exam then. 'How did it go?' I hear you ask in that deeply concerned voice all imaginary audiences adopt. Well, I answer with mock bravado, it went alright. I may have failed but I also (and this is the important bit) may have passed. There were 126 marks in total, and in my predictions before I left the exam room, I had acheived roughly half. It was, however, a little disconcerting sitting outside before the exam, surrounded by my fellow students - all of whom were worried, stressed and very nervous - knowing that i was actually alarmingly confidant, calm and frankly, just didn't care. At least I didn't waste precious brain cells on nerves! Not that I wasted them on revision either...

Apologies, I've noticed my sentences are faily long and rambly, but I can't be bothered to edit or proof read this so take it as you will. For the record (all important in this age of crimes, misdemeaners and lawsuits) I blame it on the three long island ice teas I have consumed this afternoon.

Sex. No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex. No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.

Was that ironic?

I doubt it.

I got stuck y'see. Ran out of things to say and, well, 'sex' is one of my back-up words. I use it whenever conversation is wearing thin. Along with 'Mr Poopy-pants', 'blow job' and 'that's a felony in some countries you know'.

Nevermind. This has been all very rambly and pointless. Like life some would say. I'd apologise but I just work here. Blame the big guy.

Till next time.

Greetings friends from the Netherworld! This is the wonderful place between sober and drunk. Theoretically (and I have theorised on this much) then I should be at my peak - drunk enough for uninhibited deep philisophical thought, sober enough for writing it down and offering an edge of reason upon it. All I seem to have is a headache....

Still, all is good in the Netherworld! Having forgotten the torments of the mornings exam (darn, did i just remember it again? lol) I have spent a rather chilled afternoon being passively aggressive and generally roudy with my good chum and future housemate in a quiet, cheap but not altogether bad cocktail bar playing pool.

The exam then. 'How did it go?' I hear you ask in that deeply concerned voice all imaginary audiences adopt. Well, I answer with mock bravado, it went alright. I may have failed but I also (and this is the important bit) may have passed. There were 126 marks in total, and in my predictions before I left the exam room, I had acheived roughly half. It was, however, a little disconcerting sitting outside before the exam, surrounded by my fellow students - all of whom were worried, stressed and very nervous - knowing that i was actually alarmingly confidant, calm and frankly, just didn't care. At least I didn't waste precious brain cells on nerves! Not that I wasted them on revision either...

Apologies, I've noticed my sentences are faily long and rambly, but I can't be bothered to edit or proof read this so take it as you will. For the record (all important in this age of crimes, misdemeaners and lawsuits) I blame it on the three long island ice teas I have consumed this afternoon.

Sex. No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex. No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.No, actually, I'm not going to talk about sex. I just wanted your attention again. I know it was lapsing. What I'm actually going to talk about is sex.

Was that ironic?

I doubt it.

I got stuck y'see. Ran out of things to say and, well, 'sex' is one of my back-up words. I use it whenever conversation is wearing thin. Along with 'Mr Poopy-pants', 'blow job' and 'that's a felony in some countries you know'.

Nevermind. This has been all very rambly and pointless. Like life. I'd apologise but I just work here. Blame the big guy.

Till next time.

Roll up, roll up! Gather around folks for the latest show in town! Come see the spectacle, marvel at the humour, the wit, the skill, gasp in astonishment as tale sof student hijinks and general stupidity unfold before your eyes! 

...

Ahem.

*coughs*

I guess I ought to say something else now...

'Hi, my name's Jonathan. Call me Jonny.' How's that for a start?

Um...this all began because the girlfriend's gone home, and I'm supposed to be revising for my Spanish exam tomorrow morning (9:30am - what kinda crazy time is that for a STUDENT?!!!) but I'm bored and this seems the ultimate form of procrastination.

Besides, I've now got a place to rant to - other than the girlfriend and she MUST be getting a little tired of my rants by now lol.

So first rant - John Prescott! Actually, I'm quite pleased, he's made PM's questions fun once more :D
To illucidate, I refer you here: http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/politics/article1801052.ece

One day I'll work out how to do links on lj without simply pasting an address in. My apologies for this crudeness.

Anyways, my point is this: what would politics be without the occasional buffoon to make things interesting? I mean, do we really want to be stuck with the boringly efficient nature of the likes of John Major, or the empty words of David Cameron, or the tired soundbites of Tony Blair? People like Thatcher, Churchill and Reagan (anyone remember the radio broadcast? lol) only come along every so often. We should be grateful for folks like Prescott who are willing to put all common sense and dignity on the line for public morale. Indeed, the Americans like this sort of entertainment so much, they elected a star buffoon  as President.

Second rant (I'm in flow now): Quizes.

Why is it that people on Myspace and Facebook and LJ and God knows how many other sites, feel the need to fill out quizes filled with mundane, boring and tedious questions about their favourite colour, their first pretzel eaten in a snowstorm and other such trivia. I mean, really! I do NOT want to have to wade through fifty boring questions just to get to that juicy one about their favourite sex position or least favourite uncle! Quiz writers should be shot for the torture they put me through in my derranged quests to find some juicy gossip on my friends and aquantances.

Final rant: Time. By this I mean, why is it always wrong? An hour ago I was bored stiff and wanted time to pass more rapidly so it was slow. Now I'm engrossed in disgorging my thoughts of the moment to an unseen, unknown audience, time has played me for the fool once more and barrelled on down that perilous path we call life, causing me to be late for dinner. Anger is mounting. indigestion is consequently foreseeable. Quality of life is therefore decreased. Time therefore sucks. Rant over.


Catch you all later!

*runs*