Friday night at Princeton is very odd. People are working, and everywhere is quiet. The happening nights are Thursday and Saturday, when everyone (but everyone) heads off to the Eating Clubs on Prospect Avenue, cunningly known as "The Street". The Eating Clubs are the centre of the social scene in Princeton. Their primary purpose is to provide good food to Upperclassmen (Juniors and Seniors, although I'm not sure if Sophomores get to join in the eating too), which apparently they are very good out. Otherwise, they put on parties in the evening on Thursday and Saturday, which you can easily get in to as long as you have a pass. This requires that you know someone at an eating club, which basically means knowing someone on campus. Hell, you can even email for passes. Inclusiveness is key! Excellent!

The drinking age here is 21. And they are strict about it. Princeton being a college town, every restaurant and shop asks for ID, even if you have a beard and are with two teenage children and carry a hefty mortgage. The Eating Clubs provide refuge from this law (and what a stupid law it is, really - die for your country, but can't drink doing it?). Alcohol is free flowing, and since it is private property, the police cannot enter without good reason. The beer here is bad - very bad. I long for a pint of bitter, but am faced instead with "Milwaukee's Best", which cannot really be described in pleasant words. There's the usual cocktails too, but relatively little liquor. So, Eating Clubs are basically the outlet for alcohol needs.

Coming from a country where the drinking age is 18, and from a university where drinking is, if not encouraged, then certainly expected by other students, I have found the attitude to alcohol here very surprising. What we have is a freshman class who, for the vast majority, have not had prolonged exposure to alcohol before, and can't really take it. Watching people here creates the same kind of feeling I had when I was 15 and taking illicit sips of beer and port - the buzz of doing something illegal but not having responsibility. One of the intial meetings I had was with other international students at Forbes. The Dean who took it had some very wise. Coming from Europe, he said, we would find the drinking culture "very immature", especially for the French; those from Asia would be shocked about the scale of drinking. The man knew his stuff.

That said, I have learnt new drinking games. I don't think Beirut will really catch on back in Oxford, although I'll give it a go; similarly, my attempt to introduce Whizz, Bang, Boing was spectacular in its failure. And from the Princeton Rugby Team, I have many new songs which I am sure will catch on back in Deep Hall. So drinking out here is not a complete failure at all. But trying to explain to people that at Oxford, the quality of the college bar is a legitimate consideration in the admissions process is a very amusing process. Having met some of the Princeton students who will be doing the return exchange, I look forward to their introduction to British student life.

Well, that was a disappointment. The BBC says 21 are dead, but from all the hype Isabel had, you would have expected much higher. As it was, all the Princeton Emergancy Preparation was worth little, as it rained a bit and blew some last night. But nothing special. Gregg Easterbrook (yes, he of TMQ) has a nice piece on his new blog at TNR debunking hurricane myths.

Some selected pictures that I took around campus can be found at my personal website. I'm not the world's best photographer, as they show, but it was a pretty sunny day (so much for the hurricane, eh?) so I thought it would be a nice thing to do. Also, they are all pretty large, so they might take a while to download, but they do have some descriptions allowing you to be discerning in your viewing (although I hope you'll look at least at one!).

Yes, I know that's more a public boat lake type title, but I couldn't think of a particularly elegant pun on the flying pigs (although I'm not sure that's much better).

I've been meaning to blog for a while. About ten days, in fact. Sorry for the delay. I know all two of you have been waiting with baited breath for stuff that I've already told you over MSN. As it is, however, you may have to wait another day for substantial posting. I have a dinner with a group of friends tonight, but due to some hurricane or something, things are being cancelled, moved and re-planned. So basically the rest of my evening has been taken. Tomorrow looks a bit better, although if we follow the worst of the reports, I will have been flooded on my fourth floor room, despite Princeton being well in-land, and New Jersey not even in the path of Isabel. I mean, the National Hurricane Centre at the NOAA has moved it down to a category 2 on the scale of 5, and it has yet to make land fall. I now hand over to resident expert Ollie, who has been a fan of the NOAA site for about five years now...

Otherwise - Princeton? It's a wonderful place. I'm having a great time. And more on that in less time than since the last time I posted (if that makes sense).

"... and certainly blogging will become more frequent - perhaps *gasp* daily!"

Really now.

I'm not much of a film buff. I make the trip to the cinema only a handful of times a year, usually accompanying the rest of the family to something like Monsters Inc, Cats & Dogs or Shrek. This means that for a lot of the major blockbusters, I only get to see them either a year later on Sky, or a good four or five years later when they eventually descend to the level of getting an airing on terrestrial television.

Which is where 'Meet Joe Black' finds itself tonight, and it is the first time I've seen it. What a very, very clever film. I suspect everyone else but me knows the premise, but for the benefit of myself once I come to re-read this post long after I've forgotten the film, it revolves around Death taking the form of a rather dashing Brad Pitt, and then entering into a bargain with this old guy, and - so far in the film at least - looking a little smitten with the guy's daughter, who is a doctor or some such.

Now, the idea of Death coming to the planet in corporeal form is good enough, but there are so many clever little plot elements going on that it makes it well worth watching (and certainly worth more attention than I've been giving it over the past hour in between talking to people on MSN Messenger). Death - in the form of Joe Black - wanders into a hospital, sees the daughter in her role as a doctor, and evidently contemplates the whole dying phenomenon in an entirely new light. He strikes up a conversation with an old lady in a wheelchair in what sounded to me like a form of West Indian patois, which must have taken Pitt quite a bit of practice, or else some old West Indian guy a lot of heroic lip-synching.

Pitt, in fact, is amazingly good at portraying an intrigued, somewhat naive Death, confused by the simplest of things, such as peanut butter and the phrase 'there are no certainties in life except death and taxes', to which he understandably takes umbrage. Throughout the film Pitt has plenty of scenes where he has to look ever so slightly uncomfortable whilst not giving too much away to the people around him, and he accomplishes this magnificently. If you want someone to look just a little flustered and disturbed, whilst retaining a little cynicism and a certain air of calm, Brad Pitt is your man.

Anyway, I just felt the necessity to pay a brief tribute to the creativity at work so far in this film. Now I'm going to sit back and watch the ending. At least it is unlikely that Pitt will end up dying.

I'm writing this on the train from Taunton to Reading, and yes, the service is running late. But for once no one can blame the train companies or Network Rail - the delay is due, in the words of one person on the platform, to a 'poor, unfortunate wretch' throwing themselves under a train at Exeter St Thomas. This prevented all services on the other side of Exeter from passing through, and last I heard, Virgin's service to Derby was ninety-five minutes late. The train I am on is an additional service laid on by Great Western in the wake of the problem at Exeter, but they still managed to delay it by thirty-five minutes before it had even left Exeter, as they couldn't find a driver.

Now I was going to write something about the state of the rail network, decaying trains, crumbling infrastructure, can't cope with a single suicidal passenger etc etc (and let's face it there are millions of suicidal passengers let alone one). Then I realised that I would hardly write anything new about it, because it is a topic covered by so many news sources and columnists (mostly ones in the Daily Mail who haven't left their conservatory in the last ten years let alone boarded a train) that there is nothing left to say. BBC News Online even has a man named John Yuill as its very own 'Rail Commuters Champ'.

Instead, I'm going to turn my attention to the people from whom I found out what had happened to all the delayed services. The Departures board at Taunton had a long line of services each with 'Delayed', but no times, posted next to them, and intermittently a message came up saying this was due to 'a fatality at Exeter'. I sat down outside the small cafe on platform five, and began reading my book on the origins of World War One, having phoned my dad to tell him not to expect me at Reading any time soon. Then I began listening in to a group of fairly elderly - and most definitely local, going by their accents - gentlemen who had congregated around the bench next to me. These were, without question, trainspotters. I strongly suspect that this is a pastime simply not known to any nation outside England, as we are the only nation remotely barking enough to produce people whose lives revolve around the race to see as many different trains as possible. My old next door neighbour was one, and when I walked to school each morning, there he would be, positioned on the rail bridge with a camera, a massive lens and assorted notepads. In the old days, with steam engines like Mallard, Sir Nigel Gresley and The Flying Scotsman thundering past, I can see how this would have appealed as a hobby. But who wants to go to all that trouble just for an Intercity 125 engine, identical to all the others except for its number, to trundle past?

Anyway, I digress, for the real amusement here was not the chosen hobby of these gents, but their mannerisms. One old, slightly dwarven bloke, reminiscent of Robin Cook, kept referring affectionately to London Paddington as 'Padd', as though it were a friend who sadly couldn't make this little gathering. He gazed in wonder at the Departures board, and when the additional service on which I am now sat first appeared, he marvelled at how it could be 'On Time' when all the other services were delayed. This despite the words 'Additional Service from Exeter' emblazoned next to it. One wonders how you can enjoy trainspotting as a pleasant diversion with such woeful powers of observation. These gentlemen were all friendly with the cafe staff and the porter, so they obviously spent a fair amount of time here, and indeed they sounded like they had seen it all before. One bloke whispered into a mobile for a few minutes, flipped the outer casing shut on his brick of a device and proudly announced to his colleagues that the delays were due to a remarkably successful suicide attempt outside Exeter St Thomas (a small station outside Exeter St Davids but not on the same line as Exeter Central, for those not in the know). He then called someone else and was similarly pleased to relay this precious knowledge, and it was he who referred to the victim as a 'poor, unfortunate wretch'. This sounded almost sympathetic, but he proceeded to follow it with '... who obviously got so fed up waiting for his train that he decided to end it all', to snorts of delight from his companions. Robin Cook disgorged a particularly ferocious chuckle and then stared wistfully off down the line, no doubt wishing Padd were there to share the moment.

Without wishing to imply that Taunton is particularly well endowed with this breed of moron (and indeed many others), I had the unnerving experience of being stalked by a pair of trainspotters on a visit to Exeter in July. I spent twenty minutes waiting for my train as the couple - clearly husband and wife, and candidates for 'Fred and Rosemary West of the Twenty-First Century' in terms of looks and mannerisms - ambled up and down the platform, passing a carrier bag whose contents I do not wish to know between them and gesticulating at a notepad. I got on the train and thought nothing more of it. At Exeter St Davids I changed trains and got on the local stopping service, bound for Exeter Central, which as the name implies takes you into the centre of Exeter (St Davids is in the middle of nowhere, or at least it seems like it). I took a seat, put my rucksack down and gazed out of the window, only to be confronted by the same couple stood directly outside it, swinging their little carrier bag ominously and scanning the train as though they were some form of Moron Customs & Excise, desperate to prevent the rising tide of intellect from ever permeating the Westcountry. Of course, I knew I was safe, but there were one or two intelligent-looking people who looked petrified at the thought of detection as these two stared in.

I could now go into one of my favourite rants, concerning the passion certain men aged 50 and over have for slicking back their hair into the sort of 'half-Elvis' which screams 'I am a paedophile waiting to happen' at you as they walk down the street, but I sadly don't have the battery life, so I'll have to leave that for another day.

Just a quick apology to everyone who comes on this site looking for information and instead finds usually me, or occasionally OJ, talking absolute bollocks.

Looking through our website stats, already this month we're getting a lot of people coming by looking for info on the Lilt adverts (my fault), the Pringles adverts (my fault) and The Age Of Innocence (my fault). We've also had a couple of somewhat more bizarre requests. Stand up, please, the person who arrived here having typed 'childminder registered slough maidenhead burnham' into Google? And the person who got here by searching for 'ink drawings of j lo's name'? Google somehow decided that both of them would find what they needed in our August archive. Only one of the search terms that got people here is remotely relevant, and that is 'Oxbridge Comments', which accounted for two hits. You'll be wanting OxBlog, guys.

By the way, if you've come here searching for something that has got nothing to do with this site (and very little has anything to do with this site), you can still leave a comment, just so we know you came here. In fact if you got here completely at random, I'd love a little comment just to let us know what brought you here. And if you actually find what you are looking for here, I want a medal, let alone a comment.

I've decided that each week I will let you all know what things have been keeping me amused in a non-obscene way for the last seven days. This week:

Listening to: Vehicles And Animals, by Athlete
My friend Rhys tried to phone me up from a festival in Manchester to let me listen to Athlete a couple of months ago, but I hadn't a clue who the hell they were and didn't answer the phone anyway (was kind of busy... honest, Rhys). Earlier today, I was in Virgin and desperate for some new music to listen to, so I bought a copy of Athlete's album - my reasoning being that Rhys likes REM a lot, REM are good, so Athlete can't be that bad if they carry his recommendation. And yes, Vehicles And Animals is a very good album. The lead vocalist is, shall we say, unique in his use of melodic gluttal stops, but this adds a certain charm to some of the songs. I like the first track, El Salvador, and the last, Le Casio, in particular. Out Of Nowhere is a very, very funny song.

Watching: Cheers
The launch of Paramount 2 has helped me e-Norm-ously (sorry) in this task, so that I now spend most days flicking between Channel 4 and both Paramount channels to satisfy my Cheers craving. I have always loved Frasier and was dimly aware of Cheers, watching it occasionally when I happened across it by accident. I know my dad is a big fan because I can remember playing with some Lego aged six outside a Cheers heritage centre in Boston whilst he looked round it. Anyway, I'm starting to really like it, though not the early episodes with Coach and that blonde one, because the scripts are nowhere near as tight and funny as later seasons with Kirstie Alley (my mum's hero).

Reading: The Origins Of The 1st World War, by James Joll
Not through choice but because it is a good intro to the course I'm doing this coming term. Actually, it's surprisingly interesting considering I thought I would get bored witless by studying the same material again, and very well written - Joll is obviously aware that the people reading his book are going to need entertaining or at the very least kept out of comatose states. So, for a set book, it's good. Doesn't beat last week's Runaway Jury, a John Grisham novel, though. Got to get me another one of them.

Eating: McCoy's
Got to love them. Shame about the adverts likening them to beer, because they are so much tastier and more upmarket than any beer you'd care to name, especially the Salt & Vinegar and Cheese & Onion flavours. And why can't you get Rock Salt flavour anywhere these days? Only been able to find it at Knutsford services in the past two months, that's a tragedy, it's the best plain flavour crisp in the country. Accept no imitations.

Drinking: Diet Coke
Don't ever expect this to change. Ever.

Add your own Pick Of The Week in the comments if you want. Or else bitch at mine. Not that I know you, Amy, or anything.

Somewhere in deepest, darkest Surrey, you will find the village of Sanderstead. Or at least I assume it to be a village, as I haven't heard of it before and neither has my dad, which is pretty unusual for someone as well travelled as him. Once you reach this village, hamlet, sprawling metropolis - whatever it may be - you will find, up the improbably named lane of Glebe Hyrst, a young man by the name of Edward Smith. I know this because he's coming to Exeter College, Oxford, to study history, and it's my job to look after the poor bleeder.

This actually only really involves buying him a couple of drinks in the first week of term, introducing him to people far better qualified than myself to acquant him with the Oxford lifestyle (a creeping, strangling drink culture, traditions which might elsewhere be considered ritual humiliation, almost unbearable peer pressure, what you'd expect from the nation's leading academic institution), and then leaving him to his own devices for the rest of his university life. But first, it involves me sending him a letter explaining who I am, what my role is (I'll give him a slightly different version to the one above) and what to expect at university (again, just in case his anxious parents read the letter, the Oxford I describe to him will not be entirely the one I've just outlined).

Of course, I'm typing the letter up and not writing it by hand, because I don't want to put a lot of effort into a witty, concise, friendly introduction to university life, only to have it spoilt by a) having to cross something out in the last line or b) him being unable to read single bloody word of it. I've already got a few ideas, but knowing the regulars who frequent this column - all one of them, because even OJ isn't regular any more - they might want a say in what I write. So if you've got any suggestions for what I should say to Ed, let me know in the comments. And remember that whilst we are allowed to scare him, I do not want to be held directly responsible for him not turning up and instead being found trying to establish a drugs cartel in Bolivia.

University is just around the corner once again for us students, and most people will probably be worrying about their studies (if they're particularly strange), their drinking (if they fit OJ's profile of the average student which he detailed a few weeks ago), or their love life (in anticipation of 'sharking' the new first year students during freshers' week).

I am worried about my drumming. There are several reasons for this, each of which is potentially quite crucial to my ability to drum, and I believe I am due to play live some time in the first fortnight of term.

Firstly, I am due an operation on my right foot in early October - two days after I'm scheduled to go back to Oxford, in fact - which is going to leave it in plaster for ten days, and this is going to seriously affect my ability to manipulate a bass pedal. So I am going to have to find a way around that.

Secondly, I don't even know what I will be playing on. I'm living out of college so it's a 20 minute journey to the college music room and the drum kit there. I can hardly take that kit out of the college, back to a friend's house to practice, which is where we will most likely end up. So I need to find a kit from somewhere else. I have two in Somerset, one of which is a portable practice kit and is the most likely option, or an electronic one in Buckinghamshire which would be better in terms of sound but much less portable. I need to make this decision fairly quickly or else I won't have anything to drum with regardless of whether my limbs are fully functioning.

Thirdly, I've got to overcome the fact that I will undoubtedly get chronic stage fright prior to performing live. At Taunton School I used to do a fair amount of debating, sometimes with OJ, and it's fair to say that whenever I was called upon, it was all I could do not to pass out in the middle of a speech or argument. I'd like to think I looked okay on the outside, but on more than one occasion I've used a lectern to physically hold myself up with my legs quivering beneath me. Drumming on stage is going to be no different - plus there's no lectern and if your legs quiver, the bass drum and hi hat make a lot of noise. This is quite a problem. Even if I find a drum kit and can still use my right foot, I might not have full control over it and might freeze on stage. I've not drummed live in seven years, and even then it wasn't all that serious (OJ may remember playing the glockenspiel in front of a similar crowd the same day).

This concern - and as you can see it is quite a detailed one - is only one of many, alongside having to sort out the football team, preparing for another term of studying, wondering if I have internet access in my new accommodation, looking after my 'son' (Ed Smith, you'd better behave yourself, boy) and generally easing back into university life. And they say students have it easy.

OJ is leaving for a while, and probably won't be posting for a few days, in a shock move which sent stock markets across the world into a flurry of activity late Tuesday. When he gets to America he says he may well post daily, a suggestion that will be news to the scores of pigs circling Heathrow waiting for a clear runway.

OJ wants to be in American Pie, preferably as Stifler, and was sad enough to watch, or at least refer to, 90210. He 'likes a challenge, but likes the security of home', yet did not opt to turn his house into a secret haven for Middle Eastern terrorists, which would have been a challenge. Admittedly his home may, however, have lost its 'security' aspect. OJ is a big jessie who couldn't eat when he left home for the first time.

He cannot spell 'treize', the French for thirteen, or 'prepared', or 'curiosity', all in the same paragraph, but the latter two may have been typos. He was 'pumped', then 'the vac came', and now he is 'not pumped', leading me to conclude that he is getting sucked by a vac. Whatever turns you on.

You no longer need to read the two posts that follow.

So this will probably be the last post before I leave. I thought I'd try and write down what I think of the exchange, and what I'm expecting. Hopefully, they should provide some amusement come December.

Firstly, the basics. The exchange is between Oxford and Princeton, organised by the respective History faculties as part of a wider university based collaboration. In terms of this particular exchange, then this is only the second year it has happened. There are six of us going, from 4 different colleges (Lincoln, Hugh's, Somerville and Merton). We spend, effectively, Michealmas Term of our second year as students in Princeton for the Fall Semester, although this necessitates extra time on our part - we're starting classes in September; 1st Week isn't for another month. We are required to take at least three classes, of which two must be organised by the History Faculty, and one of which is a Junior Seminar (which is expected to be roughly equivalent to Oxford's Further Subject, which we return to in Hilary). We miss an outline paper at Oxford (British history, in my case) which we would have taken in Finals - consequently, we have to produce two 7,500 word extended essays on a topic arising from our History courses, which will be marked in 18 months time along with our Finals paper, and which are due by Monday of 1st in Hilary. This may mean little to you if you're not an Oxonian or Princetonian, but that's the outline.

I guess the first question I should answer is why do I want to go? I actually had to produce a 750 word statement to this end but it is easily reduced. Firstly, I am interested in America. Everything to do with it - politics, history, lifestyle, culture - I find interesting. A couple of years ago was my zenith, but being a bit older and with more opportunities in the UK, it has lost some of its more zealous attributes. As a historian, however, my fascination with American history remains. Even if I had not been selected, my remaining courses at Oxford would have been tailored around the American options as far as possible. The chance to study American history in America was too good to turn down. So was the opportuinty to be a college student. I had seriously given thought to applying to Harvard, Yale and Princeton whilst in the Upper Sixth, and whilst I know one who did go from the UK to the US (he's now entering his sophomore year at Harvard and having a fantastic time by all accounts), my situation - family and financial was not quite the same. Oxford was the obvious choice, and I was fortunate enough to get in - and I do not regret it one bit. Still, here was an opportunity to have a brief experience of being a US college student, and what's more, all at Oxford prices, thanks to the very generous Princeton endowment. I couldn't really say no. Then it turned out to be competitive. What more did I need? Well, why not mention the opportunity to travel - specifically, to New York and Washington D.C. - two places of interest that I have not yet been to. Excellent.

What do I expect? I don't know. Being a member of generation Y (I think - where did X end and Y begin?), my visions of America are heavily influenced by teen television, depsite judicious reading of Slate, the New York Times and other, more accurate (or not, in the Times' case) sources of information. So I'm expecting Princeton to be a mix of Buffy and American Pie 2, with liberal additions of Dawson's Creek, 90210, Baywatch and Saved by the Bell. Apologies for the distinct time gap there. Seriously? I don't know. Oxford is much the same as I expected in some ways, yet in massively different in others. I don't expect Princeton to be any different. Feedback from previous years is limited by the fact that there has only been one group who have been before. Of the six who went last year, two came back within a fortnight, two loved it completely, and the other two grew to love it. I'd like to think I will love it completely, but I suspect I'll be somewhere between that and the growing to love it. I like a challenge, but I like the security of home. One thing I know for sure - I was homesick for the first three days of freshers' week in Oxford, so much so that I couldn't eat (although I suspect vast quantities of beer had some effect), despite the preparation of a year of boarding school aged 7 - so I should imagine I will be again. Moving house hasn't helped. But the orientation programme (split between pre-orientation orientation for International Students and then regular orientation, all over 10 days) looks well thought out.

The aspect I'm most confident about is the work. I managed Oxford, and by the past accounts, although the standard is roughly equal (we're taking Junior level history classes, and whatever else for the other ones), it is spread over a longer period of time than the 8 week Oxford term. Everyone had told me how hard Oxford was in terms of standard, and I was prepared for that, but nothing could have prepped me for the intensity of the 8 week term. The first two terms, with a 4 day turnaround per essay, were tough - although I'll admit now, before it is mentioned in the comments, that lawyers and medics work harder. The idea of having fewer essays and the same amount of reading is appealing. I'm also looking forward to seeing how American students work, and how the whole system is done. And, being the competitive sod that I am, I'm also looking forward to see if I can hold my own.

The biggest anxiety I have, I suppose, is the whole "Will I fit in?" "Will I make friends" part. I'm not overly concerned - give me a nice room, a good library, some sport and broadband, and I can pretty much fill my own time. I'm not going to fit in - I'm an exchange student from Oxford. My accent - despite its American skewiness - will stand out, as will the various OUAC shirts I've dredged up. I should imagine that "Man Stallions" will take some explaining. I'm prerpared to try and fit in, but with the fact that I'm only there for a term, there's only so far I'll be able to go. I think that cultivating my outsider status as an object of curiousity (well, maybe not that far) may be the way to go. Still, having nice neighbours, as I found this year, makes things much easier and so that's what I'm hoping for. I have a room in Forbes College, although I doubt it can live up to the splendour of Chateau Trieze. Overall, it's one to play by ear.

I must admit that my post-acceptance glee has completely disappeared. The day I was told I had been selected I also had a team trial for University Challenge. Usually, it would have made me as nervous as anything inside - as it did to at least one other member of the team - but I was on such a cloud that I couldn't care less. That was a good day. Throughout the remainder of Trinity (even through Mods) I was pumped about Princeton. Then the vac came. A pretty intensive job and a house move have gotten the better of me. For the last ten days, my focus has been on the state of the carpet, or unpacking books, or removing the fireplace rather than Princeton. In fact, it has rather sneaked up on me. Writing this has been somewhat cathartic. I'm not pumped, but I'm certainly looking forward to it. I just need to get out there.

Yep, I'm sure it's going to be a great film.

In other news, I have returned, now with wireless broadband internet access (more on that later). Apologies for my extended absence. I'm currently doing an impersonation of a drifter, moving from house to house. in the space of a month, I've gone from my old home, to staying at a friend's for a fortnight, to the new home. Moving house, it has to be said, is not a fun process. Being a perfectionist with regards as to how things look makes things even harder. Still, the number of boxes stacked in each room appears to have been reduced since I've been here.

Currently, the biggest upside for me has to be the successful installation of broaband. This is remarkable, not only for its ease of use (we phoned up and hey presto, 10 days later, it was ready to go), but also for the fact that I'm actually in a more remote area down here in Devon than I was back in Somerset. Go figure. BT's commercial-led roll out process has a lot to answer for. As well as getting broadband, my Dad and I set up a wireless network (g, naturally) in the house, which is helped no end by the fact that a bungalow is very small. It was a cinch to do - up and running in 30 minutes, which includes installation of a router, wireless access point and wireless card. Netgear, I salute you! It would have been even faster had I not been so reluctant to realise I had made a mistake on the login value.

So, I've down here in Devon for about 10 days now. I head off to Princeton on Wednesday. Thoughts on that are coming up. Although I've visited Devon, and Dartmoor, a number of times, living here is a wonderful thing. The Moor is beautiful, and driving down for the first time on a sunny afternoon over the top (and through, naturally, a place called Princetown), was stupendous. The air is fresher, the peeople friendlier and Plymouth is an excellent "big" town (given that I'm comparing it to Oxford and Bristol). I'm also impressed with West Devon Borough Council - they've made efforts in all the places that you can see, such as road signs, public gardens etc. It makes a change from Taunton Deane or even, *shudder* Sedgemoor.

My job of a month was very successful and a pleasant place to work. Although I'm bound by various confidentiality clauses (which I signed, not only because I had to to work, but because it also sounds cool to say that on a blog that only your friend and co-founder, and girlfriend read), I can certainly say that I understand why tele-marketing is such a valuable business.

Having gained broadband for all of a glorious...27 hours now, I'm going to have to give it up for a couple of days as the laptop goes in the bag, and I fly over. Setting it up when I get to my dorm will naturally be a priority, and certainly blogging will become more frequent - perhaps *gasp* daily! So please do keep on checking back.