Well no one else has bothered to post of late, but here is post number 200. Not bad really. No point letting this thing slip now - especially as we all embark on job interviews, OJ goes back to Oxford next week with the title of the BHG - no, not the BFG spelt incorrectly, just the Big History Gimp acronym. Is it an acronym? I am sure someone will soon tell me. Anyway, and Ollie ends his teenage years. There's a lot to share there really. Oh and our finals are looming too...

Modern art eh? What a load of rubbish.

Like all good things, OJ must reign no more.

Yesterday I arrived in Devon. I had quite an epic trip. Lenham (middle of Kent) to Ldn Victoria on the 6.14am or something train. A wait in the rain on Buck Palace Rd for the Oxford Express (I take the Express, not the Tube, far more superior, comfortable and fewer/less kids) where I promptly drowned. A short walk from Gipsy Lane to the Warneford when I felt so so ill – I think it was the early morning, dehydration and the sensation of evaporation experienced on the Express; I went from a drowned rat to a well polished hamster. From there, I caught the 15 to outside Café Zouk on the High, went to College to check OJ’s pidge (empty) and then went back to the High to get the 5 to the station. I then got the 12.20 to Reading, and then the 13.00 to Tiverton. All quite long really. A great way to read a trashy novel and get some sleep. I am definitely perfecting this train/bus sleep. What I wanted to rant about however, and I have started now , so I’ll finish, is that I went on 3 trains. The latter two were early Virgin stock. Quite comfortable in standard class (with ear plugs) and the air conditioning wasn’t too crap. A far cry from my trip earlier in the summer when I upgraded to 1st class as refused to spend 4 hours from Tiverton to Crewe sitting in a piss smelling carriageway, sitting on my bag. The thing is, the first train I got from Lenham to Victoria was ancient/ I have no idea how old actually, I just know that they are old. The trains are in standard ex-BR colours (the blue, red and white), the seats are blue with lighter blue dashes, the doors are ‘slam door’ and these trains on the SE line are apparently the rolling stock of other people’s rolling stock. Great. The worst trains still in service today. The thing is, I feel quite affectionate towards them. As I lady on the train commented “how do you do that, dear” as I skilfully applied eye liner as the train jolted along. “I went to school for 6 years every day on the train. Learning to do your make-up was a necessity”. And we both had a smile. It’s true though. I know that if I stand in a particular spot, the carriage will align itself with the seat “O” (a sign at such an early age that I would marry an Oliver? The spacing of the carriage seats means that 10 people, at least would be able to sit in the same little section of the carriage and be able to chat to each other. Where does that happen in aeroplane seating? So much for fancying each other, bitching about people, discussing the latest episode of Eastenders. Those were the days. The only additions I can see to the trains have been the three safety bars to stop you sticking your head out of the window – there is only room for a hand to lean out of the window and open the door. In all my time getting those trains, I have never been on one which has broken down (famous last words). Ok, they have hit umbrellas (fell from a track-side beer garden), spun on leaves, ice , rain and been delayed by no driver or sunshine, but heh, they were ok really. And getting to school late was always fun, especially when about 60 people all rocked up as “latecomers” to assembly and the head asked “I hope you all have a good reason for being late”. Well, duh. The point is, these trains may be crap and old, but they work. They may smell a little of piss and stale water, but they are still clean enough (just). There is no electric display telling you of the next station, but you do get a cheery conductor who can criticise the beautiful morning, when it is raining. The new trains on our line (electric, display the stations etc) started life badly. There are only about 3 running – and they have such low capacity that they take the graveyard-shift runs e.g. mid afternoon – after the commuters, before the school kids, before the commuters on the way home and certainly before the drunks on the last train. First, they arrived and “didn’t fit on the lines”. Yep, they were 3” too wide. Ha. Thus, every station was “shaved” by 3” so the trains would fit. For those in the know, this is the reason for two ‘yellow lines’ on some platforms – the original, and the new line about 3” further back! It’s new technology you see. These trains won’t still be running in 50 years like the old ones. Our station received a new display clock showing the time and the next few trains. This has now been replaced with one of the original click, click, click station clocks. Clearly something went wrong. The “information point” has, to my knowledge, never worked. So why? Come on. In this day and age we seem to make things to only last a few years, and as a result they do. They are crap. People treat the new trains robustly, in the same way they have done the old ones. No wonder that the tables break. The air conditioning breaks, the displays shatter. Bring me a train which has been built to last any day. And also, why on earth with all this modern technology we have these days – men on the moon; mobile phones; blue tooth; la la la can station announcements not be clear. Why is it always “The treeeeeeyyyyynbnnnnnn now on platform ***fuzz*** ***crackle*** will be the 10:tweeeennntty two (very quiet by now) to P…. and the rest of the word is lost in a haze. Grrr!!!! Privatisation. Thatcher. Love the woman but she has a lot to answer for.

P.S. If you don't get the title, you need to read more Larkin. :o)

Oh come on guys. The templates f***ed again!

We have 5 posts to go before 200. Well, 4 after this. OJ hasn't yet posted about his oh so amazing job; I have a post about trains which is in the making, maybe one on Tabs too and Ollie needs to delight us on his antics of the past few weeks or plans for Norway. Or something.

It's an order, dammit. From a fiesty she-devil of a woman. So go get typing!

As Ollie will no doubt agree, MSN conversations can really make one smile. The thing is, I think the one we had earlier will one day come back to haunt. Everything from Hugh to Johnny Depp; boyfriends (both of us); flying squirrels; the olympics; laughing at OJ (love you really); cuteness; work; weddings and sex... oh and hair (or lack of). Heh. At least it made me smile!!

Yay! I am half the way to having a training contract at the world's most respected corporate law firm! W-woo! Feeling a mixture of nerves, happiness and "oh f***"!

Will still love you both (one more than the other, sorry Ollie), when earning my thousands. In fact, one assumes I'll be supporting one through a PhD, whatever job! :p

:-) (as OJ's Dad would write)

This is not about the British lack of sunshine at the moment, nor does it have anything to do with the above post.

I had a really shite few hours this weekend. Ok, the "trigger" factor (term used by shrinks worldwide... usually having a bad childhood etc) was relatively simple in this case - I was told, in no uncertain terms, by a family member that I was getting fat. Close to the border. Had to be careful not to let myself go etc. Hmmm. Bollocks.

I reacted in an unusual way. I laughed. I tried to be positive. To think that it was crap. That other people loved me for who I am. That it didn't matter. That I couldn't judge myself on my weight and I wasn't a bad person for being 100g heavier on the scale. I then (about an hour later) burst into uncontrollable tears. I tried so so hard not to let the comments affect me. I really tried hard to rationalise. I tried to think positively, to think of the love that other people give me, to look forward and to do all of my little therapy-taught strategies. However, something like that was just a little bit too much. A little too close to home in many ways) and that one comment went back to even bigger triggers from a long time (well, five years) ago. Such is life.

I am now fine. I was after a drive and a long run. Oh, and a cottage-cheese moment to OJ. And I learnt one thing. Something which people always tell me, therapist being the main person, but OJ too, that there really is no point in crying. I guess I hinted at it in that silly quote I put on Ollie's post "today it may be raining, but tomorrow the sun will shine". And it is true, but I have finally realised it for myself. Just like, one day I realised that I needed to get better, and I decided it was time to get help. The thing is, I cry, it is a release. I feel crap. But recently the pain has been rotten, but the time period reduced. I used to be 'down' for long periods. In the last few weeks, with the help of treatment, my 'down' periods may now only last for 30mins or so. Just one burst of tears, one over-reaction, and then back to normal. Well, if I can get over something in that space of time, then really I should be able to rationalise it there and then.

Ok, so this isn't always going to work for me, but it is certainly worth bearing it in mind. Saturday morning I felt shit. But by Saturday evening I was ok. Saturday morning I thought I couldn't get through the next hour. I am still here. it is something to bear in mind, however crap things get, however hard work gets, however nightmarish our finals will end up being, however shit living at home is, the sun will shine again sometime, even if we do live in England. So there, that's my testamony. Here's to the sunshine. Feel free to direct me to this post when I next feel shit.

Reading the Metro this morning (in my 23rd floor office in Canary Wharf overlooking Greenwich and the Thames... plug plug) there was an articule on Gay Bingo. Apparently a "drag queen with a bitch of an attitude is putting the Balls back into the numbers game". Astounding. What is even more amazing is that apparently 42% of new members joining bingo hall Gala are aged 19-34. Apparently the attraction is the oportunity for socialising with friends + the chance to win money. This may be me being incredibly snobbish, but I can not imagine anything worse than a room full of cackling women shouting and jeering if their numbers come up. I think 'legs eleven, gay heaven' sounds even worse. I guess some must like it though. I'd rather spend an evening in with my parents than going to Bingo. Anyone fancy a trip to Gala in Cowley next term? No, I thought not.

You have to wonder about America (and I'm only posting this to stop OJ going into some long diatribe that neither I nor Amy will understand about US politics). Their politicians do the darnedest things.

Firstly, a US state governor, James McGreevey, has resigned his post, admitting an extramarital gay affair. He's a Democrat, which means he should technically have been kind of pro-gay but not enough to annoy any conservative gun-toting southerners (a bit like our Liberal Democrats - hog the middle lane and say anything to anyone - except better at it). Of course, he's clearly a sight gayer than anyone would previously have guessed. 'My truth is that I am a gay American,' he declared to a press conference, thus making himself both a bigot and a liberal at the same time. He said he had been struggling with his sexuality since adolescence. You can tell from the photo, actually. He looks gay.

Anyway, from the outing of one politician to the outing of another. Michael Moore, everyone's favourite facetious, one dimensional peddler of interesting tat, has released footage and a transcript of the new CIA chief, the improbably named Porter Goss, categorically stating that he can't do the job of CIA chief. The excerpt, which was left on the Fahrenheit 9/11 cutting room floor but which Moore conveniently kept hold of, shows a pre-appointment Goss admitting: 'I couldn't get a job with CIA today. I am not qualified'. Welcome to the Bush administration, Mr Goss, where ineptitude is no barrier to promotion. Goss also admitted he had no knowledge of Arabic and that his kids chastised him for being incapable with computers. The country is in good hands, even if the mouse is not.

Oddly, as I start writing, a Welsh disco version of the Genesis hit "Land Of Confusion" has come on the radio. I'm listening to BBC Radio Wales, which explains the Welshness, and is a long story. The verses are different to the Genesis version but the chorus is identical... wow. Oh apparently they're Swedish and they've called it "This Is The World We Live In". Which is convenient, because near neighbours of the Swedes are...

Norway. Now, I made it clear a few days ago in a comment that I intended to visit Norway, and since then I've done nothing but fall even further in love with the place. I even have a rough itinerary planned out for next summer, which is definitely going ahead to the extent that I've transferred funds to start saving for it. The plan - as it stands in its developmental, rudimentary form - is to travel via Eurostar to the continent, then up by train via Copenhagen to Oslo. From there, to tour the country using a variety of means of transport. From Oslo first to Bergen, which is a rail journey famed for its beauty, then up to Trondheim and Hell in the centre of the country via the Norwegian National Park. Then you reach the thin spine of Norway, so it's a rail trip up to the Lofoten Islands and then on to Tromso. From there, a final push will get us to the Nordkapp, the northernmost point in Europe, which I'm desperate to say I've been to. Then at the moment I'm planning on going down a little to the northern Norwegian inland town of Narvik, from where there is a train down to Stockholm through Swedish countryside, which will provide a connection to a route home.

Anyway, enough of that boring itinerary crap, I'm aiming to do this next August although I've got a strong inclination to just get on a flight next week and go. I'm pining for the fjords, you see. There's also ample opportunity to put my Anglo-Saxon historical learning to good use given that much Norwegian architecture and history coincides with that of England, particularly of course the English northern coast, half of which got carved up and taken back to Norway by overexuberant Vikings. Trondheim has a cathedral, there's an allegedly exceptionally beautiful fishing village called Risor and the whole glacier thing speaks for itself.

To be honest, in four or five years time I can see myself living there. Doing what, I don't know ("I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay..."), but it's exactly my kind of environment. Not many people, loads of gorgeous scenery, cold, and the people probably have a relatively good grasp of English.

Not that it would be a problem if they didn't, because I'm now learning Norwegian. I've felt like an idiot for years for giving up my German and French, but I don't want to cover old ground with them or learn something extremely common like Spanish because it would bore me. Norwegian is not only a little-known language, but it has proven quite easy to pick up so far and has a number of similarities with both English and German (understandable when you consider that the three areas spent the first thousand years after the birth of Christ trading cultures, books, women and invasions). The title of this post is one of the first phrases you'll see in any language guide, and is crucial to the entire Norwegian ethos and enviroment - "Our friends get fish too."

I'm exactly 20 and a half today.

Last night I couldn’t sleep so I grabbed a book off one of our family bookshelves. I wanted a flick-through, easy to read book and preferably something non-fiction. My hands landed on the ‘lonely planet’ guide to ‘Europe… on a shoestring’. Fine. Something easy and fine to delve into. Hopefully sending me straight to sleep.

There are some odd things about this book.

First, the title is ‘EUROPE on a shoestring’. Thus, one would assume they discuss how to go to European destinations cheaply. It will come of no surprise then that I was rather shocked to be reading about Morocco. Since when has this been in Europe? The author’s explanation… “although it may not be strictly European, it is easier to get to Morocco from Europe”. Hmm. So, seeing as France is easier to get to if you live in Kent than London, does France suddenly become Kentish? I think not. odd logic going on here.

Second, all of the places are listed under country – Spain, Ireland, Slovakia etc. However, there is one exception in the form of “Moscow and St Petersburg”. Why? Why not just put Russia?

Third, the book also includes details on how to get to Canada, Australia and the USA by air. This section is at the beginning of the book. A clear warning that if you find yourself suicidal after reading about Europe, there are other options further afield and on perhaps a slightly larger shoestring.

Lastly, the book includes “helpful hints” to the area. Some real classics here.

Britain: Avoid at all costs – Cock-a-leeky soup; Moan over the Welsh weather by saying “Mae’n uffernol o oer yms” – It’s hellishly cold out here. Wow, that’s good for English-Welsh relations.

Germany: Avoid at all costs – Overpriced cuckoo clocks (I thought that was Switzerland anyway!).

Morocco: Dodge said sketchy salesman by saying “Desole, mais je suis allergique aux tapis” – sorry, I’m allergic to carpets. I guess that would work in France too?

And finally… the Netherlands. Avoid at all costs – Dog crap on the sidewalks.

It’s description of Oxford includes… eating at the Turf or Heroes; visiting Po Na Na or the BT and glaring “across rooftops at the city’s dreaming spires”.

What a laugh. I’d recommend for amusing, light reading any day. I just hope to the Angel of Europe that no-one takes it seriously! (Aptly, I have put this post in the category of Vitriol)

You're A Theory of Justice!
by John Rawls
In the beginning, you lived in a town. The town had many problems! Rather than moving, you decided to come up with the idea for the best town ever. Going all the way back to the original position, you created the idea for the best town ever! Lo and behold, the best town ever looked almost identical to the town you lived in. You decided to stay in the town. Now you resent people mistaking your refined thought experiments for "the wall of stupidity" in high school debate rounds.
Take the Book Quiz at the Blue Pyramid.

1) Only a week left to go with the job! And for those who doubted the Heathrow problems last week, it was on the front page of the Telegraph today because they still have vast quantities of German luggage to send out (such a shame...).

2) Blogger has no search facility any more. This is most unhelpful for finding elusive blogs.

3) When you're told by your girlfriend to post just to make sure the site looks OK, you are truly whipped.

I have learnt something about myself this weekend that I had really ever realised before. When I am anxious or stressed inside, I swear. A lot.

Yesterday and today *sets scene: parents back, job interview, London placement starting on Monday for a job I want more than anything (same feeling as wanting to get into Oxford), therapy issues, thinking of next term – work and finals, emotional hormones etc* I have been swearing something chronic. I am not proud of it, but in an email to OJ yesterday every other sentence, maybe even ever sentence must have contained a word (s) that should only be uttered after the 9 o’clock watershed. Does that exist now btw? The last time I briefly saw Eastenders leads me to think that it does not. It is quite fascinating really – I have never really noticed this before. Clearly when I am relaxed I am quite content to mutter “bother” under my breath rather than the more obvious “b****cks”, yet now “f***ing is much more natural than “really irritating”. Ah well, at least we all know that if I start to swear it means the steam will be out of the ears next, probably promptly followed by a burst of tears. The things that only life can teach you.

Hmm. Tomorrow, I have my first job interview. I have about eight lined up, most of which will be in the first week of September. I can’t quite believe it really. Two years ago we didn’t have our A level results and now I am having a job interview – for LPC sponsorship and a two year training contract. Oh f***. This interview is for something which will last until 2008. Blimey! The thing with me is that I am confident and bubbly to the last. I do all the “right” things e.g. the Oxbridge law degree followed the high city training contract (hopefully!) etc and yet sometimes never quite stop to think about what I am doing – take picking a College for instance; I don’t really have any idea why Lincoln other than the fact it was small and pretty. I wouldn’t be able to have told you one thing about the academic excellence, the law tutors etc. Ooops. I just snow ball my way in somehow. I am hoping this will work for training contracts too… Ok, this time I have researched them (even if I don’t know which one I want as yet and in many ways can’t decide until I get job offers) but the thought of actually going into an interview tomorrow is at this point rather daunting. I am currently trying to answer questions they may ask e.g. do you have commercial awareness? etc but as for everything else… heh, I’ll just smile and hope for the best. So long as I think before I speak, then all will be well. I’ll report on how it goes tomorrow… if I survive…

aghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Update: 10.30am 06-08-2004
For once in my life I am actually nervous. I am never nervous. For some reason I am. Hmm. Ah well, best to get them over and done with now rather than later. My skirt is tight round my ass. Bugger.

After a week with OJ, a few rocky days with Aunt and now several days of spending time with people I love in the sunshine, I am totally relaxed. Hugh Grant, chocolate and trashy love novels have aided this process. Today, I went swimming. I haven’t been swimming for about a year. I was always a water baby in younger years. My first nursery/primary school had a swimming pool I still have the towel with all distance badges on it. Naturally, I was the first one to swim 1000m in my year. The gym I go to was closed today and since I had purchased a swimming costume at the weekend (for use on the beach, see above), I decided to go swimming. 64 lengths of the pool = 1000m, and therefore 64 lengths I did. I’ve done it a few times before but today it was particularly enjoyable. Maybe because I was relaxed enough to just keep on swimming rather than being frustrated that I had x number of lengths to go. It was a cooler and welcome change from running and of course, as OJ noted, it is good for the inner thighs. What was lovely about the pool was the variety of people in it – a mother with a young baby splashing in the shallow end; elderly couples getting their weekly exercise; the woman who was clearly swimming to lose weight; me – ensuring I got to my target distance, just doing it to feel good and fit; the loved-up couple clearly staying at the hotel. Such a spread of people and smiles.

Naturally, not all was successful. I wore my swimsuit to the gym underneath a top and short skirt. I took my gym kit, shampoo, la la la, the usual kit which lives in the car… but neglected to bring bra and knickers. It is a good thing OJ wasn’t around. :p Anyway, this meant that I went to Tesco (I like Tesco at the moment btw – 3 times in 4 days, cheap petrol, good melons and amusing staff e.g. thick as shit and worthy of laughing at) and also went to the garage to pump up my tyres… whilst being commando with a short skirt on. Heh, I have no shame – I go knickerless with dresses all the time, and the breeze is welcome on a hot day… but bending down at the garage was a bit risky. I had to twist the skirt round to ensure the split didn’t ride up so high. Honestly, I should have been born blonde. I’ll try to remember tomorrow – after all, I am meeting the mother-in-law-to-be for coffee, seeing the shrink and then meeting young Williams. wouldn’t want any of them to get the wrong impression!!

Back to Hugh…

So, since I have a bit of spare time before I have to head off to work, I can share a few other things that have come up.

Having been stuck in Exeter last Saturday whilst working, I ventured into Waterstones and exited poorer. Brideshead Revisted is now mine, since I should really read it; the same goes for The Grapes of Wrath. The third book was Galileo's Finger, written by a Fellow at Lincoln, as well as looking interesting and being part of a 3 for 2 deal. It's rare that I succumb to such tactics, but unfortunately they always get me in book and music shops. Combine the two, such as in the case of Borders, and I usually leave significantly poorer (particularly due to their foreign press and magazine section). Indeed, since they have a Starbucks there I should imagine it would be completely feasible to live your entire life in Borders, a bit like the guy who lives in Charles de Gaulle (the airport, not the man) and about whom a film is near release.

Anyway, the reason I mentioned this was because I thought of Ollie whilst I was there when I saw a new Eric Durschmied, From Armageddon to the Fall of Rome: How the Myth Makers Changed the World. Further research on Amazon reveals that an even newer book, Unsung Heroes, has been released a few months back. Scholarly, but not in the traditional sense, I have no doubt that Ollie, if he has not read them yet, will soon purchase and pontificate about really random bits of history. It's worth noting that given the rate he is producing each book, he must be making a packet.

Other stuff of note - I've been trying to work out why it sounds as if it's raining outside when it isn't. Answer - I've turned the fan in my room on. D'oh.

Finally, since it is a new month, and we're trying to post often enough such that the template doesn't collapse again, I have just briefly reviewed the stats for last month (before Ollie got to them). Observations:

1) We had slightly over 100 unique users over the whole of July. Why spammers think that it is a good idea to put 117 comments about online drug stores on here is beyond me - it's not as if anyone will actually read them. You'll get more response by standing in the middle of a street for an hour with a sign.

2) Despite the few visitors, they did come from exotic places, including the Seychelles, Taiwan, Pakistan, Saudi Arabia and US (Military). We are thus a true universal blog.

3) Not that many amusing search strings apart from the last two. Number 19 is "different shih tzu haircuts" (which I'm sure makes sense, somehow), and Number 20 is "el paso escorts". Eh?

So, I haven't been posting after the last flourish because I've been doing some typing for a book that is about to published. I was paid nothing, of course, and they sent me twice as much as I had agreed to do, but I do get a free copy, an invitation to the launch party and - most importantly - my name in the acknowledgements. My first published work!... Well, not really, but it's a start. It's also been good to finally use the skills I learnt so enthusiastically in Text Processing classes on Friday afternoons in Sixth Form. It's amazing how quickly you can type 30,000 words when you really want to, though I doubt it will make my essays go any quicker next term.

Alas, having finished the typing, and with only two weeks left of my job (and, boy, is that a post for the future), I now have to face up to the fact that I really need to do academic work. Oh well. In honour of this I have cleared my desk and am about to write a to do list as a sign of my dedication.

I learnt something yesterday. Never buy a film which was released on DVD only a couple of months ago and is now half price. I purchased “Down with Love” hoping for an amusing chick flick. Instead I got first class cringe-trash. Absolutely shocking. Ewan McGregor and Renee Zellweger should be ashamed of themselves.

As Ollie pointed out, yesterday all three of us posted within one hour. Actually, it was within 23 minutes of each other. The current site has been “active” for seven months – lets forget about the six month gap in the middle. With 177 posts in approx 210 days, that really isn’t bad going. However, there are periods where nothing is posted and then, like yesterday, we make up for it with a posting spurt. Not forgetting the comments – some of which (spam aside) can be like mini-posts. Ollie’s comment yesterday (above) is a prime example of this. What I’d like to know is why we do or we don’t post. Nobody posted last week however I refuse to accept the fact that anyone was away from their laptop for long. OJ was at home, and has perfectly good broadband. Ollie is never far from a laptop whether at home, in the upper-lower-right rad cam, on a train or in the windowless hotel room in Poland. Granted, I was away last week but I still used an old, wanky wank laptop with slower than slow dial-up. [Note: Yes, this laptop even makes OJ’s “turn me on, count to ten and I’ll have shut down for you” laptop look like the latest gadget to come out of the Gates emporium] So, why didn’t we post. Were we so busy doing such really interesting things that no one even posted about them on their return and instead found time to talk about the delights of lawnmowering. [Btw: Buckingham Palace lawns are mowed four times – each direction – on every cut. If you want to be like the Queen Ollie, go out and enjoy the grass (as in stuff that grows on a lawn, not the other kind) three more times. I learnt that fact on Gardner’s World whilst with OJ. Thrilling stuff hey?] I am going to make some assumptions here so yes, I will probably make an ass out of myself – now there’s no need to quote that silly rhyme at me OJ :p

OJ – he posts to enlighten us on his wide website reading skills. He picks obscure quotes and links out of nowhere and pops them on our site. I never understand half of the stuff – mostly because they are American-related – but at least he adds to the posts tally. He posts less frequently than Ollie or myself but when he does they can be particularly long – Six degrees - and resemble the horrors of that unforgettable Princeton-experience email. However they can often be rather short and generally ingratiate OJ – see Sub Editor Paradise (this didn’t work btw because I got 27 spam comments last week). And what was that Ode to Cement? However, still a delightful approach to the site; certainly more intellectual than any of the ramblings I make and they always make me smile and think of OJ – even if I then groan.

Ollie and Amy. I will lump both of us together because I think there are similarities in our posting. ** awaits the comments ** Okay, so Ollie can spell and use grammar correctly, but we often post for the same reason. If we are angry or annoyed at something emotionally we post – Amy’s Larkin, Alcohol or Happy Medium. We also both comment about music or films – remember the Harry Potter or The Day After Tomorrow (grrrr - those bloody wolves!) Our posts are usually of more respectable length and unlike OJ we both post to procrastinate. I run out of fingers if I count the number of times last year that Ollie and I were in the middle of writing an essay and at the same time writing a post. Communication via MSN is frequent on these occasions as well. [Note: If Ollie says ‘Away’ it means he is busy but wants to be disturbed. He isn’t actually Away. If he is away then he puts ‘be right back’. If he is ‘busy’ then I still disturb him anyway. OJ is always ‘Away’ which is really unhelpful especially as sometimes he can be away for a whole weekend ooops forgetting to turn of his laptop when his MSN name read “off to Washington DC”] So maybe we just post when we are bored or have plenty of things to do… but there sits Dayorama as such a tempting alternative to work.

From the posts you can glean quite a lot about our individual characters – my posts are certainly badly punctuated and more feminine – and also our interests, hobbies etc. It will be amusing to look back on them in a few years as they do provide a good insight into what we were doing for a few months of University – Maltesars and free puddings anyone? For that reason I think we should aim to keep it going through finals. So there.