A distrubing report in today's Telegraph about plans to turn the Radcliffe Camera, presently Oxford's second finest library (after Lincoln), into an interactive visitor centre and coffee shop. See the report for yourself here. All I hope is that this is an April Fool's played a day too early...

I've had an offer accepted on a flat in Bow Quarter... perhaps just maybe I will soon become a woman of property... fingers crossed.

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while. As my family and Amy will be happy to point out, not only do I enjoy my food, but I have particularly strong likes and dislikes. I don’t do the whole “X isn’t great, but I suppose I should eat it” that is a common refrain of many. The list of foods I dislike includes, but is not limited to, the following: olives, liver, kidney, most fish including salmon, crab, and squid, courgette, caraway, aniseed, liquorice, aubergine and peppers. In fact, it is peppers I wish to discuss today. My problems with them are simple: I dislike the taste and, usually, the texture too. Typically, it’s not hard to avoid them, or meals involving them. Most Mediterranean meals are off the menu, as are a lot of dips and ‘spicy’ foods, such as Spanish chicken (a Lincoln favourite). I have no difficulty with this: these are meals using an ingredient that I dislike, and I’m happy not to eat them. I become angry, however, when peppers start appearing in meals where they shouldn’t be. My school, for example, did a particularly nasty bolognaise that contained chopped red peppers. What annoys me is that there is absolutely no need for peppers to be a part of bolognaise. It adds nothing to the taste, merely some unnecessary colour. Cooks these days seem to add capsicum when they can’t think of anything else to do, usually because they look pretty. The sooner this is stopped the better. Indeed, I had had little cause to comment recently, until I picked up some ham at Waitrose, and was faced with the following picture:

I mean, does that look in anyway appetising whatsoever? The ham actually tastes OK, although not great, but what exactly is it that diced pepper adds? The fact that gives away this unnecessary use of pepper in this case is the colour: red, yellow and green. It’s like Playdays for grownups. Come on Waitrose: this ham is good enough to be served alone on a good piece of bread. Get rid of the peppers, and earn some respect!

Random title but then I'm bouncing through a wonderful dimension of unassailable happiness as I write. Which is odd for 8:45am on the Tuesday following a bank holiday, and a night's sleep severely disrupted by a bloody moth that refused to stop buzzing. I gave it ample opportunity to escape out of an open window but it was having none of it. In the end I squished it with a copy of Wuthering Heights (the book), so at least now I'm no longer the only one to have collapsed under the weight of everything that goes on in that novel.

But I digress - I'm happy. I'm thrilled. I'm so ecstatic that even the big, gay vampire monkeys that touch up your dad, as discussed by Phill Jupitus on the radio this morning, wouldn't worry me. Ah, the radio, the source of my unbridled joy. Over the weekend I recorded a pilot radio show for a brand new internet radio station that is launching next month - the plan, as advertised by the station, was for budding DJs to record a show, send it in, and if it's good enough then there might well be a regular spot up for grabs.

Well I finished uploading the show to the internet yesterday for consumption by the lovely people in charge, and the email response this morning opened with: "that, sire, is fantastic". It isn't fantastic, it's pretty mediocre, even allowing for my ever-modest nature - the vocals are quiet and a lot of the stuff I talk about is pretty flimsy. Because it's pre-recorded for possible transmission some weeks from now, I can't really discuss current affairs, music news, upcoming gigs/CDs or anything of a time-sensitive nature on the show; nor did I have a co-host or any wonderful featurettes to drop in, so it's just me and some music for two hours. That's quite tough going to keep interesting, and if I'm honest I'd probably switch me off pretty quickly were I listening, but even this two hour pilot took an entire day to record and export to mp3.

In any case, I'll let you know if it creeps onto the air at any stage. Whilst the email used such lovely terminology as "sire" and "fantastic", it still only contained two sentences - that one and one along the lines of "I'll get back to you later". So despite the enthusiasm, nothing is done and dusted. Better than a slap in the face, mind. When I got the email reply just now, I tore off my headphones and skipped through the deserted college library performing my own little version of the Dean Scream. After all, from such humble beginnings as a pilot show for a tiny new internet radio station, recorded in my bedroom of a Sunday, do broadcasting careers begin.

My bank holiday Monday: It’s always said that there are people in life who like cats and those who like dogs, or those who love marmite and those who hate it; there is no in-between. I think the same must be said for washing cars; you either love it and do it religiously every Sunday afternoon, or you hate it and wait until your car has become a lovely shade of brown before attempting to clean it. I for one fit nicely into the latter category. I can’t see the point of washing a car – the dirt and grime doesn’t seem to damage the paintwork, and as soon as you have given it a clean it gets dirty straight away anyway. It is also a task which appears to be simple, and yet there is quite a skill involved – avoiding the streak lines, making sure you buff the polish properly and it doesn’t leave a white film over the car, getting the quantity of shampoo just right (otherwise it sticks to the car) etc. It’s always me who washes the car my Mother and I use – and rightly so in a way as I get free tax/insurance/petrol etc and out of the 15k miles it has done in 2 years, we have estimated that my mother has contributed only about 4k. I always try to put the car wash off until the end of a vacation (it risks having to do it at both the beginning and the end) but this year our neighbour didn’t help my “avoidance of washing the car” cause. He returned from his winter-three-months in Florida, and within 24hrs of being back had washed the car. Great. And it wasn’t even dirty. I wanted to take the car to the car wash this time – my Mother was nagging me to wash it, so I said I’d take it to the car wash. However, she said (and I kid you not) “it is too dirty to go to the car wash”. Huh? Something about the dirt getting in the rolers and spreading over the car. Whatever. Anyway, it’s done now until at least June. Perhaps when I get my Jag or something I’ll care a little more. On the other hand, perhaps not.

Oxford is once more triumphant in the Boat Race. A clear victory by a stronger, larger and faster crewL Cambridge never stood a chance. And I tip my hat to ITV1, who actually produced the show with high values rather than those that I feared.

Timing is very important in life. I for one, deplore lateness. However, I just wish Ollie had posted his dayorama entry yesterday just 3 minutes later. If he had, then the post would have been "today", and there would have been no need for me to type something, just to ensure that there is a post. At least I'm not breaking with tradition (take that to mean rubbish rambling posts, typing errors or "a post everyday", as you please).

Please, please, listen to 'Funeral', an album by the wonderful Arcade Fire. It's relatively recent, and it's about as uplifting as any album entitled 'Funeral' will get. I recommend in particular the single 'Rebellion (Lies)' and album track 'Neighborhood 4 (Power Out)'. Oh, and read the lyrics to 'Crown Of Love'. Beautiful. And relevant.

If anyone wants to drive me to Bristol and back to see them in early May, I will buy their ticket to get in.

Awww. How cute. Rather like Daisy at the moment, who is on heat and trying to make-love to anything and everything.

Listening to the business news on Radio 2 this evening, my interest was piqued over a report regarding easter eggs and their disproportionate packaging. Apparently Hampshire Trading Standards are investigating a complaint that the packaging is too large given that the egg is so small. I'm not bothered by this, but it does give me cause to note something I have commented on to friends. It used to be that easter eggs were all the same, made by the big chocolate firms ("bigchoc"?) such as Cadbury's and Mars, and cost abotu £6.99. Ten years later in the present, the market has split into two. Bigchoc now dominates the £2.99 niche, whereas more elite brands such as Thorntons, Lindt, and Green and Blacks now command the £9.99 sector. I've even seen a £30 easter egg. If this isn't a GCSE Business Studies case study, then I don't know what is.

The Daily Mail: Sword Man Shot Dead By Police

The Guardian: Sword Man Shot Dead By Police

The Daily Express: Shot Swordsman Was 'Charity Worker'

The Scotsman: Police Kill 'Gentle Christian' In Road Drama

The Sun: POLICE KILL SWORD NUT

Ok, so first there was the lecture timetable. Now the exam timetable. What are the Law Faculty trying to do to me? I start on Saturday 28th May, and finish on Friday 10th June. Hurrah.

Also, I've just taken the kitten out for a walk - yes, laugh if you wish, but little Daisy has a lead and goes for a short walk or two each day. She hasn't been "done" yet, and we don't want any little Dandilions or Buttercups. Daisy is enough. Anyway, I took the Guardian G2 out to read with me. Apparently some 18yr old has set up an airline flying from Oxford - Cambridge. £49 a single. Who wants to go to Cambridge anyway?

Why does the Law Faculty insist on sending out next term's lecture list in 10th week of the previous term? I don't want to think about it yet - I am currently living in a state of bliss (or stupidity) that finals don't exist. Surely they could have at least waited until -2nd or something. On a brief look, I have about 3hrs of lectures a day next term. And that's going to happen...?!...I think not.

I spent last night on a very uncomfortable floor in Balham. It was free, so I’m not complaining, but it was uncomfortable. And Balham hasn’t really grown on me. I went to London yesterday in order to have a tour round Parliament this morning. It was absolutely fantastic, nay inspiring. Instead of giving a blow by blow account, though, I will make only the following points (this is not to say that they will be few):

1) Even though everyone knows that the debating chambers in the Commons and Lords are smaller than they appear on TV, nothing can prepare you for actually how small they are. It was a bit like being back at school. The microphones dangling from the ceiling are not well disguised either; it’s almost Matrix-esque. I pity those who are 6’4” and above.

2) The throne in the Lords has an incredible amount of gold on it.

3) I saw the original copy of the Stamp Act. How cool is that?

4) I also got to stand behind the Despatch Box and pretend to be Prime Minister. Also cool.

5) I saw John Prescott looking grumpy in a Jaguar. I knew he wouldn’t let me down.

6) Also, Oliver Letwin is much thinner in real life than on TV.

7) I saw where Boris locks up his bike. And where they all pick up their mail.

8) Portcullis House is probably the first example I’ve seen of a new government building working well. Isn’t that a surprise – MPs making sure their offices work. I also ate lunch there, which was delicious, in the restaurant that was subsidised by the taxpayer to such an extent that it was about the same price as McDonalds.

9) It’s really time that I got myself an Oystercard.

10) I want to be an MP.

I was pleasantly surprised that I ended up dining with and then travelling back on the same train as my MP, John Burnett, who is an incredibly pleasant and intelligent guy. He was kind enough to just sit and chat with me for a good hour, which was a rewarding experience that gave me some insight into the sort of life an MP leads, and how his political philosophy has deviated from that of the Lib Dems as a whole (he really is an old fashioned liberal). His wife provided the tour for myself and six other constituents (who were also family friends), and was an excellent guide. All in all, I suspect he will be sadly missed by many when he steps down in May.

UPDATE: An Oystercard shall be mine in 5 days. All done online. Magic.

Actually, looking around flats is tremendously exciting and cool (albeit slightly scary). The Bow Quarter development is amazing - great for the transition between student existence and adult life e.g. living on a flat on your own. It's a large secure development, so provides safe living alongside the leisure facilities and good atmosphere - you can see I've been sold! Bow also has good tube links to both the City and Canary Wharf. Now we’ve decided that is probably the best place to live, the actual nightmare process of seeing Mr Mortgage Company, making offers and the such begins. On the upside, there is also opportunity to start looking at furniture and cutlery and pretty things!

Being, as I am, home alone, means that I have to cook for myself. I can cope quite well; so far I've made a korma and a stroganoff while tonight sees some burgers and salad. Today I ran out of bread, however, so I ventured to the bread machine in order to make my own. My dad is the unquestioned expert at this, and regularly makes delicious loaves. I was pleasantly surprised when my first white loaf turned out OK. It didn't look much - the top half wasn't crispy, so it was a two-tone loaf, and it was small - but it sure tasted good. In order to continue my run, I am now baking a loaf with raisins and hazlenuts. We shall see how it goes - it's due to finish about the same time as Wales-Ireland. Bread and rugby, who could want more?

I'm going to watch Goldeneye tonight (ITV1, 8.30pm). I think it is the best Bond film of all time, and thoroughly enjoyable. But it was released in 1995. ten years ago! A decade! I knew the game was slightly out of date when it arrived (and boy, what good memories I have of that), but ten years. Having spent the last few days messing around watching DVDs (thank you screenselect), I suddenly feel old again.

A random question prompted by an email from Anthony last night: Who will come out of Oxford with traditional package: "A wife, a First and a Blue"?

I'm doing very badly (the whole wife bit doesn't help). As is Ollie. As is Anthony. OJ seems to be winning so far...bastard.

Readers (!) may or may not be aware that I am currently looking to purchase a flat in London. So far, this is only in the early stages and has involved looking at property details and organising viewing of properties (this coming Saturday). I thought this would be the easy stage; it is the rest which is complicated – the survey, the putting in of an offer, the situation of the sellers, chains (and collapses), gazumping etc etc. However, I was mistaken. Just getting to see a property is a nightmare. You ring an estate agent and get put through to switchboard. You get asked for details – “Your name, Miss”; “Miss Kennedy”, “Ok, Miss Kenny”, “No, Kennedy, as in the President: K.e.n.n.e.d.y”. “Ah, sorry I do apologise Miss KennARdy”. Grr. And that is just the beginning. You then give all your details (and this gets rather tedious when you are doing it for the 6th time that morning). After that, you get told you will be called back. And you wait. And you carry your mobile around with you. And there is silence. And so you call back the next day. And they are very apologetic and you try and arrange an appointment… and so it goes on. The problem is, I have learnt that not every estate agent is as switched on as the next, and the irritating thing is, that I am at his or her mercy – I have to run to their timetable (to an extent), because after all, they are the ones with the keys so to speak. It’s very frustrating. And I’m a first time buyer, and it should be easy (e.g. I’m not trying to sell my house too). The saga will continue…

Having just watched Gordon Brown's Budget, I'm voting Labour. I understand very little about the economy, but I know when someone is offering me lots of goodies to vote for them and am only too happy to oblige.

Yes folks, that's right, the "Day of the Llama may be about to dawn" - this is, according to the national website of Wales. Ollie may want to defend the first paragraph of this interesting, but slightly weird article.

I regularly get asked at Oxford why I always get up in the morning and get on with tasks so they're finished by about 6 o'clock. People remind me that, as a historian, it is really my duty to work between the hours of 8pm and 2am. I've never gone in for that. The satisfaction of getting a job done is a brilliant feeling - and besides, I rarely work well past midday, let alone in the evening. Today is a case in point. Although the washing was underway early, and now finished, I didn't start ironing until 4. I've now given up because of boredom and hunger; what makes it frustrating is that there are only six more shirts and bedding to do. If I had started at 2 like I ment to, it would all be done. Still, this is the joys of the vac - no pressure. So I'll do it by lunch tomorrow, along with the cleaning of my rugby boots and trainers.

It is inevitable, once I return home, that I will wash. Not just myself, but the vast quantities of clothes that come home with me. Despite being one of the more willing clothes cleaners in college (although not the keenest - a mutual acquaintance is known to wash his shirt every two days), College's washing machines and tumble driers are ultimately industrial monoliths that never clean as well as those at home. The result is a hall littered with piles of clothes, separated into neat colour and dirtiness piles. Conservatively, I think I'll be done with all the washing and ironing by Wednesday evening. I do hope it will be earlier than that, though.

Checking emails can be quite disheartening - I checked mine this morning and Outlook "pinged" 5 unread mails... wow, emails... alas, my enthusiasm was short lived... they were all Dayorama spam offering me porn and viagra. It would have been better not to have any emails, rather than have the temporary excitement of having them, only to be let down at the last minute. At least I know that "Maria" will offer me "comfort" if I need it.

Today after a week’s worth of blustery cold wet weather, it is clear, bright and sunny. Clearly, Trinity term has come early. We’re all heading home… three weeks of DVD watching here we come.

Because I failed to get a Fulbright Scholarship, all my applications to American universities are effectively irrelevant. It is interesting, however, to see what happens with them all. Princeton said no quite quickly; unsurprising given that the program wasn't designed for people like me, although it was disappointing that my time there didn't help me. I'm still waiting to hear from Yale and Brown. Yesterday I received an offer from Chicago for theirMaster of Arts Programme in the Social Sciences. It's a cool course, but tragically they can't afford me. Their offer of financial aid was one third of tuition, which is about $35000 short.

The admissions pack is smooth and American, and is very impressive. They've pulled out all the stops: a letter from the Dean of Students, and a letter from the Programme Director, both signed by hand, and doing as much as possible to persuade me to go. If the money wasn't an issue, I would give it serious thought. One of the things they include, however, is a fold out map of Chicago with the university campus on one side, and information about what to see and do on the other. It's necessary given the spread out nature of the campus in downtown Chicago. It is fantastic - clear, concise, and just what you would need if you were visiting for the first time. I plan on forwarding it to the Oxford Admissions Department to see if they could produce something similar. The number of students who come up for open days in the summer is vast, and this would have been really useful. I doubt we'll do anything similar, though, on grounds of cost. It can't hurt to try, though.

I am writing this post to honour the number of search strings this website receives each week containing the words “shih tzu” or “shih tzu hairstyles”. To further our promotion of shih tzus, it seems appropriate to mention the fact that in the US, prosecutors trying to crack a murder case were relying on a witness… who turned out to be a shih tzu. Oh shih-t. For more info on this little dog, then try the American Shih Tzu Club. Classic.

"To the beginning of the end". That was the toast proposed by OJ* last night when Anthony, OJ and I had a bottle of champagne (a left-over b-day pressie) and chocolate cake.

Today I had my last Rector's Collection; as pointless yet as "Oxford" as ever. My report described me as "sound", something the Rector said was "Tacitean" (OJ has since explained that means short and succinct e.g. taciturn, from the work of Tacitus) Mr Micro-Macro came out with another classic saying "and you've been working on coherant essays haven't you?", "yes, of course" I replied sweetly. My other tutor looked as though he was about to burst into laughter. The Rector then wished me the best of luck for my finals and I walked out. Rather sad in a way. My last tutorial is tomorrow, although I still have endless revision classes and lectures to attend.

In addition to re-discovering my stress ball (see below - I now have targets on my wall to aim at), I've also discovered cue-cards (or calling cards as I prefer referring to them as). Pink, yellow, green and blue... this will make revision exceptionally girly and fun!

*Edit: Apparently it was Anthony who proposed the toast. Apologies to Anthony.

I've just re-discovered my stress-ball. My life feels complete.

When I going through the process of selecting which college I wanted to go to in Oxford, one of the things I liked about Lincoln was its relative anonymity. As this term has shown, however, everything changes, especially when you have a first and second year like we do. It started with selling Brasenose on eBay. Now we’ve had two people elected to the Secretary’s Committee in the Union in two terms; unheard of at Lincoln. Today we made page 5 of the Daily Star. A second year lawyer decided to enter a competition in order to get Lucy Pinder, a buxom model, to pull pints behind our bar. Lo and behold, he got through to the final ten and preparations were being made for Lucy’s visit. Alas, the college authorities were less keen. On the basis that she was not a member of the JCR, the Senior Dean banned Lucy from visiting. Bad move.

First, the JCR decided to make her an honorary member, thereby allowing here to use the JCR facilities, including the bar, as she wishes. Then yesterday a Daily Star hack was seen outside the lodge with a reporter’s notebook. Indeed, I overheard him talking about how the Senior Dean, “Paul McCullough” had been instrumental in the ban. Such inaccuracy (he’s actually called Peter) is reflected in the article, where Lincoln College is now “Lincoln Hall”, and the main splash photo is of All Soul’s. It really wouldn’t have taken much to check. Unfortunately, the article is not online, so I can only urge you all to the go out and buy it (especially as Lucy has, er, her version of sub fusc).

The students come out of it pretty well, thankfully. Second year Mike now seems to be known by the moniker “Noodles”, which is quite frankly bizarre. It is weird to see your friends in the paper, though. There can be no doubt, however, that the SCR are going to be pretty unhappy about this. I eagerly await the riposte on the JCR mailing list. And I would love to be a fly on the wall on Ian’s Rector’s Collection…

One realises one has totally flipped, when one writes "England Revenue" down on a things-to-do-list, rather than "Inland Revenue". Oh dear. I hear you cry... *85k*.

A 2 hour JCR meeting. Oh dear oh dear. More later, but a post for now.

A post from Kent, for the sake of it.

Two posts in one day? Wonders will never cease. Amy has braved the Kentish weather (and more generally, Kent) to go home for the weekend, and having submitted a second draft of my thesis to a friend and written a very poor essay plan for my class on Thursday, I have a free-ish weekend (and week coming up). To celebrate, Amy and I disappeared to Borders last night for a mosy, which along with going to the train station this morning, made me feel distinctly normal, rather than a student. At Borders I picked up Ocean’s Eleven, which I finally watched last night. Brief thoughts: very enjoyable, George Clooney is cool, reminds me a lot of the remade Italian Job with the whole modern bank robbery theme. Tonight is I, Robot, which is another mindless action film I’m looking forward to. I also picked up a copy of The Insider, the diaries of Piers Morgan. And I’m completely hooked. Probably the first time I’ve bought something having read a serialised version (and yes, it was in the Daily Mail, which becomes just about understandable once you read Morgan’s praise for Paul Dacre). The writing itself is nothing special. It’s really just a blog on paper: short sentences with facts, all chronological. Having read more books this term, however, than ever before in the name of the thesis, which have all been in heavily academic prose, this is an absolute joy. It’s much easier than Andrew Marr’s book, which is effectively a monograph, although I will confess to not having given Greg Dyke’s book (a gift from Ollie) a look yet. More than the style, however, is the content. I think this is the first book that actually tells the hidden story behind events that I consciously remember (it starts in 1994, but everything from 1995/6 on rings bells). Utterly compulsive and fascinating. I’ll probably have finished it by tonight.

I’m sure that it’s been mentioned before, but one of the very cool things about being at Oxford is that you get to see famous people. Maybe it’s shallow, but I think it’s neat. Sometimes, however, it works in reverse. Someone who you know on a daily basis suddenly makes the news. This was the case with Labour Dave, who after his stunt of selling Brasenose on eBay, made it to the Sun and the Guardian. And so it was with Dr Howard-Johnston, my tutor from last Trinity. Last week’s Spectator carried an article about saving the Oxford tutorial. It somehow seemed very odd to read something that didn’t mention ninth century Byzantium. It was a good article, mind, and it read like he speaks. I look forward to seeing what responses this week’s issue has.

We all know I love Goats, so to speak. Here's another offering from way back in the archive that has recently become topical once again.

I've just written my last ever tutorial essay :) Essay No. 100 since being at Oxford.

And in other news:

It's a week since I became ill and today is the first day I haven't taken any horrid medicine. I am nearly 100% now, I think (my insides are still a bit confused).

Last night I calculated that by next week, I will have written 88 tutorial essays, 12 Mods Exam essays, and have another 33 to write in my finals. That's 133 essays in my time at Oxford. That's approximately one for every week from Matric to Finals.

OJ and I have vac res for the whole of the Easter Vacation - well, to be more precise, I have vac res for the whole of the vacation so we can both keep lots of junk in Oxford rather than carting it all back home, and then back again 3 weeks later. Luxury (for a price).

I have a 2hr class and a 2hr tutorial this afternoon. The tutorial is going to "go badly" - I wrote my essay in a semi-conscious state last Sunday... it just about scraped 1300 words. Ah, bugger. I suppose 1/88 had to be a disaster!

I was supposed to be going home this weekend. I still might, apart from the fact that Kent is covered by a blanket of snow and the whole county appears to have come to an abrupt halt - no trains, no schools, no roads etc. Useful.

That's all, I'd best work now. It feels like 8th week.

Regarding the Mothers Day cake, I received a £1.00 gift-voucher from M+S this morning. Fantastic. The text of the accompanying letter is below:

-

I am sorry you have been disappointed with the best before date of the Mothers Day cake that you bought from us. Thank you for contacting us about it.

The quality of our food is extremely important to us. We want you to enjoy our food at its very best and we carry out extensive tests to establish the natural life of each of our products. We mark each item with the “use by” date so our customers know how long they remain fresh. Some food has a shorter natural life than others, but we know from our research that an M&S product will keeps its quality and freshness right up to the use by date.

However, I appreciate how disappointing it must have been to realise that the cake would have to be eaten before Mothers Day even though it was marketed as a Mothers Day gift.

It is very helpful to get your feedback that will help us to identify improvements we still need to make. I have passed your comments onto our buying team and I’m enclosing £1.00 with my compliments and best wishes.

Thanks again for getting in touch.

-

It's great. Someone actually had to sit down and write that, including the hideously embarrassing third paragraph. hehe.

March hares are hanging by their feet in the covered market. Bit more than pinch punch there, I think.