Coincidence or not: we are all revising like mad, yet the post count is rocketing up. Anyway, I think it's time to discuss on one of my pet hates: false modesty. I detest people who are falsely modest in an obvious way. I like understatement, but active false modesty is a pernicious sentiment that continues widely today. I thought that its peak was in the the fourth year of prep school. I still have distinct memories of art classes with the girls showing off their really good paintings to each other with the lines of "Oh, mine's so bad. Yours is so much better," to which the reply would be "No, mine is awful, oh, I wish I was as good as you." All this would be said while I looked at my own creation, which was invariably messy, wrong or otherwise feeble. I thought that the false modesty would stop at university, especially Oxford; after all, we're all good enough to be here, otherwise we wouldn't have been admitted. But no, whether it's exams or essays or tute work, the attitude abounds, and it is not just limited to women.

Interestingly, however, I discovered (or rediscovered, since this is revision), that false modesty dates back much further than 1995. Indeed, examples can be found in sixth century Gaul. The poet Venantius Fortunatus (who just so happens to be a set text) is full of unnecessary self deprecation and false modesty. As he writes to Gregory of Tours in his Preface to his Personal and Political Poems, "I am astonished that you are are deceived by love of my trifles, beacuse you earnestly insist that I should bring out some of my little works, composed in ignorance, and send them to you; for, when they have been published, it will not be possible either to be astonished by them or to love them, especially since, when I, incompetent as I am, left Ravenna and crossed the Po..."

Grow up man (although Gregory himself was also open to tinges of unnecessary self deprecation)! I don't care if it is literary convention; you're good and you know it, as you go on to state later in the Preface. As Kant would say, sapera aude! Have the courage of your own knowledge! And besides, you never saw Asterix doubting his abilities, did you?

A couple from Hereford have today entered the Guinness Book of Records for being married for eighty years. A couple of hours later, in the same place that the BBC celebrated this anniversary, they honour a marriage bureau in India which specialises in marrying people who are HIV-Positive. In many ways both these events make me want to weep for the sake of humanity. The sheer devotion which has enabled Mr and Mrs Arrowsmith to live happily ever after for so many years, always making sure they "didn't go to bed on an argument", is a display of human sentiment which, in a generation where girls delight in becomming pregnant at the age of twelve, is so rarely seen. On the other hand, there is clearly a need for society to provide opportunities for two people, who are both HIV-Positive, to get married. From the tone of the report, it seems that this bureau has become a lifeline for some sufferers, and an opportunity to socialise and receive emotional support. But have we really got to the stage where this is necessary? I suppose in the interests of world-wide health, it could be seen as a good thing that HIV is being "contained", but is this really the way that we want society to be heading? It just seem rather sad.

An update on the story of the 21st Century School: Though the story still exists as per the link in my last post, and was last updated earlier today according to that same link, it is nowhere to be found on any BBC News index page - not Oxford's news page, nor the Education news index.

There is similarly nothing on the university's own media pages. There is an article on the homepage of the James Martin Institute, but it's dated for tomorrow! Either the news has been suppressed, or a time lord is at work.

Happily, that last website gave me a link to the website of the 21st Century School itself, which can be found here. The website says the school will spend its money as follows:

- Initiating new research and encouraging members of the University to take up new areas and styles of thinking, through seminar series and conferences.

- Operating a research grant programme that will stimulate innovative Research Institutes.

- Having an influential institutional presence that starts with a high-profile Director, a small secretariat and a number of Fellows, and expands to become a pivotal part of the University.

The last one costs very little indeed, perhaps a couple of hundred thousand pounds maximum in wages and associated costs but barely that much, surely. Most members of the university who will be involved with this are already on the payroll, one assumes, and don't require a full-time wage for their services here.

It's the first two that will cost the money, and now I see what is happening here. The university has very cleverly come up with a way to assign the money from the endowment to absolutely anything they like, but all the while claiming that it is with the big issues facing humanity in mind. All manner of science and arts grants can go ahead with that broad a mandate. Presumably Martin's funds had to be used in a way somehow relevant to the very real legacy the man himself has left behind him, so the university worded its new programme to both reflect that and allow it the maximum scope in terms of where those funds go.

In summary, then, this isn't a waste of money as I might have suggested below, because then I didn't realise how this was working. It's a ploy. It's a way of unlocking money in such a fashion that everyone is happy. With cunning like this going on, the world is in safe hands.

Oxford University is going to put the vast endowment it received from computing guru James Martin last year to use: funding the '21st Century School'.

The new school is designed to look at 'issues such as climate change, disease, ageing societies and technology' according to reports.

On the face of it, this is A Good Thing. Who, after all, could deride the allocation of funding to the process of conquering the problems associated with those issues?

Well, I could. The plans, apparently, are for ten academics to be hosted per year, with the intention of creating a network of 'future thinkers'.

I've got news for the university, I can get them their network of future thinkers, and I'll do it for a lot less than £3m per annum. If they'd care to name the future thinkers they had in mind, I'll be delighted to organise a little mailing list or an online forum or something, where they can all register and discuss poverty etc. If they don't mind pop-ups, which truly are a modern scourge deserving of their attention, then it'll be free.

Seriously though, what is the £3m going to be spent on each year? Drinks and nibbles during intellectual discussions? First class transcontinental air fares for conferences on global warming? Designing a nice looking letterhead? I can't understand why developing a network of distinguished academics to tackle the biggest problems facing humanity costs £3m a year. Are these people not prepared to lend their services to the human race gratis, or does our continued existence come at the price of a junior suite in the Randolph?

I'll see if I can find some detailed information on the 21st Century School later, including spending plans, because there must be more to it than the reports are having us believe. Until I see where the money is going, it sounds to me like £3m a year getting people to think about saving the world is precisely why the world needs saving.

Well, I’m a third of the way through now and I’ve currently done as many exams as OJ; how does that work eh? Oh I remember now, something to do with 33,000 words. Anyway, Tort (all to do with duties of care, nuisance etc) had the same rubric as before: four questions, and at least two problem questions. The paper was quite good overall but the problems took ages to answer, so I was constantly clock-watching and cut short one so I could move on to the next one. Surprisingly, the examiners omitted two large areas of the course: there was no problem question on nuisance, and nothing on the rule in Rylands v Fletcher (a strict liability rule to do with the “escape” of a “dangerous” thing after a “non-natural” use of land). But ho-hum, they can’t include everything, and it didn’t really bother me. I could have happily answered three essay questions and chose the two I eventually did rather carefully: this year’s “hot topic” is “causation” (there have been a couple of meaty, controversial cases) and I expect that every candidate would have been able to answer the question on causation in the paper. That’s quite bad from where I was sitting because there’s no way my answer is going to stand out from the rest. Consequently, I ditched that, and all the damn knowledge I had and completed two equally sound answers from the other questions. I think that was a good move. So, the questions:

[Quote by Lord Hoffman, extra-judicially regarding the liability of public authorities, and the justification for this liability]. To what extent is this an adequate explanation of the English law on tort liability of public authorities.

To what extent, if at all, is insurance, and the capacity of a party to insure against a loss or liability, relevant to tort liability? To what extent should it be?

And the problems in reduced form:

A public library had known for several years that skateboarders had used a platform outside the library to practice their skills. One day, “Harry” got injured – he was too “cool” to wear a helmet. Discussions of Occupier’s Liability, trespasser or visitor, contributory negligence, special protection for children. Harry’s incident caused Janet to lose control of her pushchair which sends her son into the road: she suffers PTS disorder (can she claim? ?thin skull principle applies because she had post natal depression?), and then Leo crashed his bike in order to stop hitting Harry. – there were lots more complicated twists, but that’s the gist.

Classic quote for this second problem: Nancy is driving her son Oliver to Oxford University for an interview to read Law. O has strong exam grades, but not sufficient to secure him a place at Oxford. O dreams of becoming a solicitor and working as a partner for a large city law firm. N drives negligently and crashes the car. Then a car (driven negligently) crashes into the ambulance carrying O and he is injured further as a result and the driver of the ambulance dies. The husband of the driver has a claim under the Fatal Accidents Act, but there are issues regarding the fact that his relationship with his wife was “on the rocks” at the time of her death, and he is already seeking a new wife, through a singles club!

So there we go. All fun and games. As OJ noted, glancing through the rest of the paper, some of the questions really are thoroughly depressing! That’s all over now though, now on to the joys of Land Law. Oh dear.

Dayorama: The Wonder Years.

Well alright, Dayorama: The Wonder Months. The initial period from August 2002 to March 2003 (with a three month break between November and February even then!) which marked the brief lifespan of the first, and award-winning, incarnation of this weblog.

I am thrilled to present to you the original posts from Dayorama v1.0 in their entirety, starting with my very opening post - now all available on this very website.

These posts date back to a time before either of us had even arrived at university: it was the heady period in between school and university where we really had nothing better to do than write a current affairs weblog.

The contents are sometimes very questionable, sometimes a bit ignorant of facts (especially with hindsight and the benefit of a university education), sometimes entirely irrelevant. Very occasionally, we manage to be interesting. I do wonder how the hell we got recognition from the Guardian, but the posts where we admit that a renewed burst of posting is all down to being shortlisted are proof it really did happen.

In the end, it's no surprise we ended up consumed by university so much that the weblog peters out almost from the moment we arrived there. But this archive is very much worth having all the same, and like a museum curator full of paternal love and affection for a new exhibit, I'm delighted to have our old posts back in our archive.

Think you've got it bad? Exams catching up with you? Stress at work? Home life getting you down? It could be worse. You might end up having to pay a fine for not having your car properly taxed, and then you might reverse into somebody else's car. These two incidents definitely made this guy unhappy:

"The reg was expired on 1/20/04, but f*** them. Anyways, I catch 2 citations for that nonsense. Then all of a sudden every f***ing cop has a hard on for me. I got pulled over twice after this. Now I aint been pulled over in a good year or two, so for this bullsh*t to happen in the last week is on some other sh*t. Now I gotta pay these cocks a grip of loot. But whatever."

Go and read the full story here. It's worth it. Try to keep track of the swearword-per-sentence average as you go along. He's not happy.

Update: Read the full contents of the mixtape he has prepared, found beneath his post. Every time you read the word 'cats', read it as though he is actually talking about cats. There's the funny. Right there.

Let's be honest about this. I'm writing this review with an eye to seeing if my cunning little ploy to get ratings to show up on certain 'In Review' posts will work. Those with access to the test pages for the new-look Dayorama will know if it has worked, because there'll be a rating just above this paragraph. If there isn't, chances are I'm tearing my hair out somewhere trying to fix it. Those of you who can only see the old Dayorama pages at the time of writing will have no idea if my cunning plans are working - sorry. Patience is a virtue.

On to the film itself. I was accompanied by our good friend Mr Wooding, whose most illustrious achievement of the evening was finding out that he could get a larger tub of popcorn for five pence less than the cost of a medium size one, owing to some form of combo deal. Needless to say this was a source of great mirth, although the big man barely got through a fifth of his gargantuan tub throughout the two-hour duration of the film.

Now, it's not the unmitigated disaster that some film reviewers and Star Wars naysayers would have you believe. I'm relatively neutral when it comes to Star Wars - I quite like watching the old films, but not enough to have gone to see any of the new ones on the big screen before, so I'm not much of a dedicated fan, more an observer whose curiosity has been mildly piqued. And I must say, this film wasn't bad. Some of the action scenes were fantastic and set-pieces reminiscent of the original films were a fixture throughout (let's face it, I bet that's what most people came to see).

There were two major problems that I could personally identify, and they are inextricably linked.

The first is Padme, played by Natalie Portman. This is one of the worst performances I have ever seen on the big screen. The basic premise (look away now if you want to be spared plot details) is that a love affair between Anakin and Padme ends up with the former spiralling towards the Dark Side in a misguided quest to save the latter. The problem is that Portman is so relentlessly useless that it's impossible to believe that she's worth all of Anakin's trouble. 'Hold me like you used to,' she pitifully mews, having (so I believe) been quite a powerful, strong character in previous episodes. All of a sudden she's a timid, homely, rudderless bambi of a young woman whose life is wasted without the guiding force of Anakin beside her.

This is pap. As Portman delivers her lines, you can hear the cardboard holding her performance up creaking. 'Maybe we're on the wrong side!' She exclaims, in the sort of formal, monotone political discussion that must go on in every household. 'Don't say that!' Retorts Anakin. 'You sound like a Separatist!' Oh now come on, don't be coy with us Mr Lucas. They might well be exceptionally powerful characters at the heart of a galactical empire and battlefield (though you wouldn't know it from Portman's interpretation of Padme), but the dialogue when the two are on screen together is so stilted that you can almost see them reading their scripts as they speak. No one talks like this! Jesus Christ, if you thought your boyfriend or girlfriend might just be on the wrong side in a war, or if your other half had just mooted that same point at you, you'd be a whole lot more animated no matter what your relationship was like. I know some couples who would be at each other's throats in that situation; I know others who would find it hilarious and be laughing and joking the whole way through what is quite a serious discussion. But I know of no human beings who would be expressing these sentiments in the dull, emotionless dribble seeping out of the mouths of this pair.

The second problem stems from Portman's dire performance - the relationship around which the film's entire plot revolves simply isn't conceivable. Anakin, as whom Hayden Christensen puts in what I thought was quite a good performance, looks convincing as he is torn between the devious Palpatine and the love of his life. But how can he be in love with that? The quivering, whimpering morass of puppy eyes and panic that is Padme would never attract someone of Anakin's stature and deep, fermenting emotional turmoil. She's so utterly spineless and transparent that I've seen oily puddles with more layers. The film relies on suspension of disbelief for its finer set-piece moments of technological wizardry, but the most prolonged disbelief is reserved for the apparent feelings Anakin harbours for the mannequin with the minimalist top-floor apartment and precious little else. Would you lose your legs and boil your skin away in a river of molten lava for her? Would you heck.

Film reviews which ridicule the basic premise rarely turn out all right, but I don't want to sound too harsh - ultimately, this was certainly watchable enough and I didn't feel particularly let down by it, but then I'm no ardent Star Wars fanatic like the individual who saw fit to holler and clap when Darth Vader donned his famous black mask for the first time. It's by no means a classic and it'll never match the prestige bestowed upon the original triumvirate, but it explains what's going on in Darth's mind in those next instalments, and it held my attention. 'Engaging,' as OJ put it - your eyes are engaged with the action, your brain is engaged wondering just how good Padme must be in bed to warrant that kind of loyalty.

I think the general consensus on this paper would be "fair but tough". There were a couple of "hot topics" that I suspect a few people spent rather too long concentrating on, and then they didn't come up. I breathed a sigh of relief when I knew instantly that I could do two essays - the rubric requires at least two problem questions... but there is no chance I could manage three, so I like to have a 50:50 split of essays and problems.

I can't really include the problem questions here as one of them took up nearly a whole side of A4. However, one was about a woman called Anne who wanted to take her family on holiday and the holiday company (Boating Ltd) couldn't brovide her with a boat... and so it went on. Terms and conditions, frustration of contract, breach, damages for mental distress (based on the fact she couldn't have the holiday she expected... the fact she could afford to go to France for a different holiday however, was probably good enough anyway, and I did point out that the weather would probably be better anyway) etc. The second problem was a misrepresentation case, requiring the application of the Misrepresentation Act 1967 (a crap bit of legislative drafting by the way). Ernest had relied on Frederick's advice when he purchased F's car repair business from him. Silly E didn't look at the paper work though, and believed F when he said that business was going well. Some rather hard-line discussion from me. The law doesn't operate to protect bad bargains you know.

And the questions...

Critically assess the theoretical and practical impact of the Contract (Rights of Third Parties) Act 1999, s 1(1) and (2).

Has the requirement of consideration for the creation of an informal contrat outlived its usefullness? How might this area of law be reformed?

So, that's two down, seven to go. On to Tort for tomorrow now.

These sorts of debates in court e.g. should the chicken be classified as livestock or a domestic creature, make studying law worthwhile. There was a case we were taught for Law Moderations concerning a statute which prohibited vehicles in public parks. I forget the facts of the case (lets hope I fare better with Contract tomorrow), but the court debated whether an aeroplane was a vehicle or not for the sake of the statute. Good stuff.

You may notice that Dayorama looks a little different. This is a result of essential engineering work, and of me forgetting to rename one file which accidentally replaced another file and erased our old CSS (CSS files being the files that control the appearance of text, backgrounds etc).

This may also give away our intention to replace this design with a new one in the near future. There, now you have a reason to keep checking back.

Whales, apparently, produced better noises in the 1960s. That's the view of an expert in the recording of whalesong, who has a few other interesting points to make here.

Because I am suffering, you get to suffer to: I've been complaining of a sore throat for the past few days, but put this down to being a little stressed/tired and feeling generally a bit knackered and head-coldy. However, I became suspicious last night when it was still hurting and I decided to inspect my throat in a magnified mirror. What did I see? A wonderfully red throat... and a giant volcano of a mouth ulscer. It's horrid. No wonder it hurts so much. I have just gargled with TCP. A bodily function OJ describes as "amazing". Not so much amazing, but rather bloody 'orrid when done with TCP. Fingers crossed it will help the ulscer go away, and if not then perhaps by pouring excess TCP down my blocked sink the pipes may start to clear.

What a thrilling title eh? Only my half subject, so two essays in two hours rather than the usual four in three hours. The questions were predictable, although a couple had an interesting spin to them. It seemed to go ok, but who can tell. Our special subject is strange in the way that we are taught only by seminars, so I have only had two essays (my last collection) marked in this subject. We'll just have to see. Satisfying nevertheless.

2. Why has defining the Community's legislative competence in relation to consumer protection measures been more problematic than defining it in relation to environmental protection measures? Is this an adequate state of affairs?

5. Will the proper implementation of the Aarhus Convention on Access to Information, Public Particpation in Decision-Making and Access to Justice in Environmental Matters 1998 lead to better EC environmental law?

Further to our earlier posts, the BBC has now altered the projection of their new weather map in order to show more of the north and Scotland. Boy, their complaints system does work well indeed.

Go to www.shakethecow.co.uk. Enter the site (provided you are above legal drinking age where you live), then click 'Play The Game'. Enjoy.

Comment from Amy: Aww! See their little tails go sweep!! And jump over the curling stones (is there a proper term?). Very cute. :)

I love summer eights here. It's the Oxford rowing competition where teams of eight men or women supplied by each college attempt to 'bump' the crew in front without suffering the same fate at the hands, and oars, of those behind. There are over one hundred and fifty teams of eight involved, plus their coxes (those who steer the boat) and coaches for each team, so a lot of people have spent their week wrapped up in this.

Today I got to see the admin side of things, which as you can imagine is equally sizeable. I was reporting for Oxide on events from the river - partly because of my lack of rowing knowledge, and partly because of a need for up-to-date and accurate information, I ended up lurking by the 'race desk' at the main boathouse, on the 'wrong' side of the river opposite the college boathouses, for over four hours.

Considering the amount of responsibility in the hands of a few people (the safety of all the rowers, the safety of other river traffic and the safety of spectators - particularly given the number of cyclists pinging along the riverbank to keep up with competitors), there's a remarkably relaxed and good-humoured atmosphere at the race desk. That they were happy to tolerate me asking questions about results every ten or fifteen minutes is testament to their patience. Their role is a combination of making sure the river is clear of obstacles, directing traffic, starting races, ensuring safety during a race, and both collating and announcing results. They do a very good job and are calm about it as well - there's as many jokes go out across the tannoy from the team of six or seven as there are warnings about oncoming river traffic.

My job was to just loiter, really, for four hours, gathering results and any other information I could. 'Other information' included a Brasenose cox getting a blow to the back of the head from a rival oar during a race (and being quite badly shaken by it apparently) and a Jesus crew rowing into the riverbank, then returning with a piece of their boat in their hands to lodge a dispute about the incident. Which made for good radio - shame the technology wasn't really playing ball. I got on air live a couple of times via my mobile, but the other times I just had to phone through results and info to the presenter, who then broadcast it themselves. It was disappointing not to be going on air every half an hour with the latest bumps scrawled on the sheet of paper in front of me, but it was good practice for actually being a journalist. I'm sure dealing with the frustration of technology not working is going to be quite a big part of any future job...

In related news, I'm now deeply sunburnt. It never occurs to me that this will happen to me in Oxford - not on a cricket pitch (as last year) and not by the riverside (as in my first year and this year). The smell of suncream the moment I got to the river alerted me to this daft oversight (not the first this week), but distant rolls of thunder and a few summery squalls momentarily reassured me that I'd just get very wet instead. Alas, I got burnt to hell. Happily, I got some token compensation in the form of four free ice creams as the afternoon went on, all provided by those kind people at Unilever. Their plan was to recruit people with such goodies, but as I pointed out, chances are my broadcast journalism course will lead me to spend more time screwing them over with investigative reports than doing them any favours. I only mentioned that after the fourth freebie, mind.

And one more in the series on our exam questions. I dislike General History. I'm really not bothered about European history; had I not had to take a medieval paper, I would have taken the General papers on America, but alas not. On the other hand, I do appreciate that taking papers outside of one's interest is intellectually stimulating, and does help you develop as a historian. And 700 to 900 is one of the more interesting periods that I could have taken... but only just. Anyway, the questions were as follows:

5. What were the principle aims of Byzantine policy towards the Bulgars in this period?

6. What were the main stages in the decline of Carolingian royal power?

12. Why was the use of images such a hotly debated issue?

My reaction is meh; they're all over generalised questions, especially the last one. But it's done, and I never have to worry about Bulgaria and the Islamic Empire ever again, which I can assure readers is a very good thing indeed. Onwards to the last exam, the Special Subject on the Merovingians on Thursday afternoon, which while only slightly more interesting in content, has the novelty of being a commentaries paper.

I'll just add a couple of extra fun notes about exams. It was extremely warm today. such that only one person in the exam room wasn't in just their shirts. There were so few candidates today (they split the General papers over three days) that I wasn't by my usual bench on the wall, which was disappointing. And at the end, the invigilator was keen to get the General II papers, only to discover that they were not sitting their exams today, which confused the hell out of everybody. Still, onwards, with Amy sitting her first one tomorrow!

Sorry I've been a bit quiet on here the past few days. I've been working on an outline for the new Dayorama site. Whenever I start working on a new design for a website, I always end up shunning the old design still visible to the public, on the basis that it's soon going to become yesterday's money. Silly, but happens every time.

I've now got a design laid out that I'm quite happy with, and hopefully I can show it to Amy and OJ some time soon, although there's exams for both of those two over the next few days. The problem with the design is that it's a design - a mock-up done in a graphics application which has approximately nil functionality. Nor am I sure I can actually do half the stuff I've done in the design in front of me, because a) I've not tried and b) I'd need to upgrade our current weblog system to do so, which I can't really do yet. And that's OJ's department anyway. So we'll see, but it'll be a while yet before anything around here changes.

On the exam front, I recovered from Tuesday morning's debacle to put in what felt like a fairly healthy performance this afternoon. The paper was the 1856 to 1914 world history one, which I've never had much affinity for, but it went better than I had been expecting, so that's something. If you're still playing along at Be An Oxford Student, here's the questions (remember you're referring to the period 1856 to 1914, and shouldn't really mention the UK too much since it's covered in other papers):

12. Did the continuing appeal of religious miracles depend on the failures of modern medicine?

20. Was socialism anything more than a radical democratic movement?

28. Did the rise of the metropolis create a new urban culture?

Bon chance. The only rubric this time is that you must answer three questions, so no problem there for once. Good luck to the rest of the erstwhile Dayorama crew over the next two days - my memory, which is functioning on a skeleton staff at this time of night, tells me that OJ has one later on Friday and Amy starts on Saturday. I'm sure they'll both do us very proud.

I abandoned the television in frustration and dejection at around 8:30pm on Wednesday night, safe in the knowledge that AC Milan were cruising to victory in the Champions League final.

That Liverpool scored three goals in the opening ten minutes of the second half to put themselves on level terms was only brought home to me by the sound of cheering from the common room below my bedroom, so I put the radio on and listened to the ensuing hour and a half. As the entire country if not the world must know by now, it was one of the greatest Cup Finals of all time, if not one of the greatest football matches ever. Especially because it was an English team wot won it.

The added advantage from my point of view is that if UEFA now let Liverpool defend their Champions League title, then Manchester City might get the UEFA Cup spot that Liverpool would vacate in order to do so. At the moment, Liverpool didn't qualify for next season's Champions League through their Premiership placing, so they'd need UEFA to change the rules so that teams who win the title get automatic entry into the next season's Champions League. Currently there's no such rule. Sadly from both mine and Liverpool's point of view, UEFA spokesman William Gaillard insists UEFA won't change the rules immediately simply for Liverpool's (and City's) benefit.

This is potentially understandable. These rules exist for a reason and at least one team would, we must assume, lose out if Liverpool are allowed into the Champions League. They won't throw another team out to make way for Liverpool - the likelihood is that an extra qualifying match would take place, meaning two teams fight it out for one spot, rather than both teams being guaranteed a spot. Someone, somewhere would suffer an injustice to allow Liverpool in. These rules also exist in a sport where the financial stakes are extremely high: we can no longer say 'but it's only a game' and rewrite the rules, because millions of pounds rest on almost every Champions League result. UEFA says it will look at its rules, but like any other competition, it won't change its rules in the middle of a campaign.

Think of it this way. A golfer playing on the PGA Tour wins one competition but fails to make the cut in every single other tour event that year. His PGA Tour card is withdrawn. It's highly unlikely that he would be invited back to defend his title in that one event with his accreditation withdrawn.

However, now we reach the flip side. What if that one tournament was The Masters? There'd be an outcry if our one-hit wonder of a golfer wasn't allowed back to defend the famed green jacket. This is the situation Liverpool find themselves in, all the more so because of the circumstances of their victory. They were rank outsiders who couldn't even qualify for the Champions League ahead of a team who were nearly relegated last season (arch-rivals Everton), but they turned around a three-goal deficit and won a stunning final on penalties. In essence, our golfer has come from ten shots back in the last round to pip Tiger Woods to the post by one shot, holing an eagle at the eighteenth with the last shot of the day. It is inconceivable that a team who became champions of Europe in such astonishing fashion should be entirely absent from the competition the following year, rules or no rules.

Or, more to the point, I want City to be in Europe! No fair.

At 4.20am this morning, the inhabitants of the Mitre awoke to the shrill tones of the fire alarm. In somewhat of a daze, everyone clamered out into the Turl and there we waited for the alarm to be turned off (needless to say it was a false alarm) Only in Oxford would you find students who chose to rescue their exam Q-cards and sit in the Turl in the early hours of the morning and revise for their finals. Other students saw the early morning as a great opportunity to get up early and work, and did just that. I on the other hand crawlled back to bed and lay awake for the next couple of hours listening to the peaceful tones of the burglar alarm of the solicitors on the other side of the High, the beer kegs arriving at the pub, the milk float, the bottle crusher, and of course the road sweeper. Grrr!

The I.D. card, pictured here: where have I seen this style of arrow before? Is it the fedex poster? Is it the London Underground? Is it a bit like the old British Airways logo (with the line going underneath)? It just looks so familiar.

Ok, so this closing of the comments? It's really boring, and takes quite a long time. I've managed just over 100..., so just under 600 to go... I came across another amusing comment string: "jock itch". Heh.

Of course, I should point out that I only know how to close comments on future posts. As well as deleting all the old spam comments, Amy can now also go through every post and close comments on them, because I can't see an easier way to do it. Of course, if you still wish to comment on something you've read on here, then do feel free to email us - our contact details are found in the right sidebar. And of course, this also means that spelling mistakes will go uncorrected...

Comment by Amy: Yep, I'm going to plough through and close the comments on all the old posts. This beast will be beaten.

OK, so last week Ollie procrastinated by posting like beast and creating his wonderful graph. This week, I have been deleting all the random comments from the website. We began the week with 672 posts and over 8000 comments. This is an average of about 12 comments per post. In reality, most of our older posts have had between 20-50 stray comments, and one had 249. I’m not sure quite what the comments are telling us… offers for male m****bation, fleshlights (I believe OJ clicked on this at some stage; the mind boggles), p***s enlargement (Ollie’s “Not as Boring as Chiken” post had 21 such comments), s*x toys, weight loss, weight loss for stupid people (?), anxiety pills, enhancement pills, online casinos, and so the list continues. However, slowly but surely I have deleted them and we now have about 2000 remaining. Its been quite satisfying actually; in a spare five minutes you can delete a couple of hundred comments. It all adds up by the end of the day. It can be a little demoralising though when you clear a post, and five minutes later there has been another random spam comment added. Later today, OJ is going to delete the comments function from the website. This will only be temporary, and sometime when finals are all over we shall hopefully upgrade the website platform and we will be able to filter spam much more effectively.

In reality, I couldn’t have chosen a better day to remove this facility; can you imagine how many comments Ollie’s last post would have attracted? Perhaps it is time to add Chris’ (Ollie’s Dad) remarks about the event: [paraphrased] you’re rather like Manchester City FC; you make mistakes when it’s most critical. Luckily for Ollie, and Man City, he has loyal supporters, and somehow always manages to land on his feet.

The latest in our little series of exam questions lifted from papers we have just completed. Today, Anglo-Saxon Archaeology. Remember to refer to the prescribed archaeological sites and do pay attention to the rubric (see below):

5. Is there an archaeology of kingship?

9. Can the survival of the British be detected archaeologically?

12. What degree of technological expertise is revealed by building methods?

Finished? Good. You've failed the paper. "What?" I hear you say. "But I did exactly the questions you did!" Indeed... indeed. Alas, the rubric on the front of the paper tells us to answer at least one question from Section A (questions 1 to 4), and you'll notice none of the questions above fall into that category.

All of which is a roundabout way of saying that I'm a pillock and, in my haste and desire to just write down stuff that I knew, totally forgot about the restrictions on which questions I could answer. The little red handbook which governs the rules and regulations for the Modern History faculty would have it that I now fail the exam for not following the rubric. My tutor, however, reassures me the worst that can happen is I get pulled down a grade, or get my paper marked as though I only answered two out of three questions. Which, whilst hardly worth celebrating, is a relief. Onward and upward.

Further subjects are meant to allow us to engage in more depth with the primary sources and secondary debates concerning a specific subject. They are usually related in some way to the interests of the student, and if I could marry one of my exam papers, I would marry my further subject. The sources for this paper were textual, and all very interesting. It was a shame, then, that the questions failed to address about half of the documents, as the 1760s have apparently disappeared from the question paper. Behold this morning's fun:

Section A

4: "We dissent, first, because it is the opinion of the most celebrated writers on government, and confirmed by uniform experience, that a very extensice territory cannot be governed on the principles of dreedom, otherwise than by a confederation of republics, possessing all the powers of internal government, but united in the management of their general and foreign concerns" (The Address and Reasons of Dissent of the Minority of the Convention of the State of Pennsylvania to their constituents). How did supporters of the proposed federal Constitution contest this position?

6: "Every master of slaves is born a petty tyrant. They bring the judgement of heaven on a Country" (George Mason). To what extent di the federal constitution ratified in 1789 reflect this point of view?

Section B

12: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise therof" (First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America). Was this a natural outcome of the American Revolution?

All answers should be illustrated, as far as possible, by reference to the prescribed authorities. (The same authorities that I have, for the most part, forgotten already.)

Further to OJ's initial post, continue to hone your Oxford examination skills by attempting these three questions from yesterday's paper, which deals with British history from the year 300 AD to the year 1087:

4. How far was the coinage an instrument of royal power?

9. When did a clear concept of English national identity first emerge?

15. Did the supremacy of Offa of Mercia differ in kind, or only in degree, from that of earlier kings?

Please note: some Anglo-Saxon knowledge may be required. Although that said, I got by okay.

As per below, today was the first day of finals for two us. So instead of revising for tomorrow's exam, here you can see the questions I did today:

A7: Are historical theories about the development of democracy inevitably affected by national considerations?

B5: What challenges does the post-modernist approach to evidence pose for the historian?

C7: How innovative was Enlightenment historical writing?

Remember to answer questions from Section A with reference to two periods you have studied.

Enjoy!

I feel like a war widow; my two litttle men have gone off into battle, and I am left at home. I didn't think it would bother me, but it is strangely nerve-racking and very very quiet!

Us historians aren't the only ones with a stressful Monday ahead. If you've been reading about the BBC strikes but don't fully understand both sides (or for that matter either side), read this post to discover why employees are walking out.

Terry Wogan, the reason the Eurovision Song Contest is remotely worth watching. He kept me company through a good three and a half hours of what we might loosely term 'revision' this evening.

I think the Greeks won purely because everyone had installed them as the bookies' favourites, and voting European public felt duly obliged to like them. Poor Javine definitely didn't deserve the rough treatment she got, I thought it was one of the best UK entries for years.

In any case, as Mr Wogan was only too keen to point out, the political voting turns the thing into a sham - a watchable sham where we try to guess which neighbour each nation will bestow its twelve points upon, but a sham nonetheless. As our dear Terry also noted, the four great bastions of Eurovisions past - the UK, France, Spain and Germany - finished in the final four places. Clearly no one likes a big old guy any more. Wooding, you have been warned. The lesson to be learnt is that next time you take part in a singing competition, your size and age will rob you of a deserved victory.

What really impressed me was the ease and speed with which Terry Wogan can move between light-hearted, mocking dissection of the idiosyncracies, nay idiocies, of Eurovision, and a deadpan series of heartfelt asides. For example:

Terry's mocking dissection: "So, Greece. Now I wonder, is there a vote for Cyprus in here?"
Terry's series of deadpan, heartfelt asides: "Six points for Malta, they did well. Seven for Denmark, dropping off the pace a little. Eight for Russia, well that's a surprise but it was quite a nice song."

His tone, inflection and level of audible enthusiasm changed entirely midway through the delivery of the results of the Polish jury. For reasons I couldn't fathom, he went straight from chirpy and cheeky to calm and contemplative. If I didn't know better, I'd suggest he was experiencing mood swings brought on by the advanced stages of whisky consumption.

Of all his comments, however, one rang true throughout the night. That girl co-presenting did not need a microphone. It took Wogan no time at all to register this and transform his pastiche of the pair from 'Ant and Shrek' to 'Ant and Shriek'. This is why this man is paid money to get drunk and ridicule our European friends. To think, I'll be just about old enough to have his job when he retires...

As an update to the posts below, we have had another mini rainstorm, which has meant that window seat is now covered with a towel. The drips that I had stopped previously are back again now. It almost feels like...home.

It was a slightly dismal May afternoon; the sun was attempting to emerge from behind the clouds, and every now and then there would be a gentle shower. And then, the sky darkened. And the birds began to flutter, as though they knew something was amiss. The sky got greyer, and greyer, and then suddenly it started to hailstone. Giant balls of ice began to fall from the sky, coating the street in white. People rushed into shops for cover, cyclists got off their bikes, the road flooded and water was gushing everywhere. Then the thunder and lightening began, and the hail continued. After ten minutes or so, everything was peaceful again. There was still a coating of hail on the pavements, and excess water in the gutters, but the sky had returned to normal and once again the sun was beginning to shine. That was Oxford, about 3.20pm. Definitely like a scene from The Day After Tomorrow. Someone must be aware that the day after tomorrow, OJ, Ollie and Anthony all start their finals. In Greek or Roman Mythology, such an extreme occurrence would have been seen as a sign from Zeus or Jupiter, the King of Gods, considered ruler of the sky and weather. What does this mean for these three Oxford finalists?

Luckily, it probably means nothing. Well, nothing more than the fact that Anthony got wet feet as his shoes are rather worse for wear and he happened to be outside for the beginning of the hailstorm. For OJ, it means that he has had to turn off his stereo, heater and clock and strategically position buckets and bins underneath his window to collect the water which poured in – yes, the Mitre really is that dilapidated.

So much for hot summer eh?

There has just been the mother of all hailstorms in Oxford city centre. OJ claimed I had an exclusive with the May Day jumping fiasco a few weeks ago, and if I didn't then, I probably do now with these images:

I had my windows wide open to allow myself a decent angle with the camera, which has just been given the once-over with a towel. I ended up absolutely pelted with hail, sheltering behind the camera (and occasionally a curtain) and taking snapshots at random. The back of my room is absolutely covered with hailstones the size of marbles that are only now beginning to melt. Coupled with a sizeable thunderstorm drifting overhead just now, it's been quite an eventful afternoon. I might get around to revision in a minute...

Further to discussion earlier in the week, I now present OJ's yearbook profile:

"A lot of people have seen OJ this year. Not only is he (still) larger than most other members of College, but he in such regular attendance at Hall that he is almost permanently attached to one of the benches. He spends a significant time in the library, but really this is just to daydream about buffalo, where his next meal is coming from and what he can buy with his girlfriend’s money.

Unfortunately, his passion for America hasn’t ceased, and he continues to parade around in the ghastly orange Princeton t-shirt and talk endlessly about Benjamin Franklin. Perhaps some people would call OJ anal, and others would call him oafish, but really he’s a loveable, gentle giant (albeit a very organised one).

Graduate study at Lincoln next year: A serious career decision, or an admission that the real world is just too damn scary and requires far too much effort?"

This should please Ollie's mum, if no-one else. My favourite character - Chewbroccoli.

At last, evidence that I'm not the only drummer who lists their mother as their number one fan (scroll down a wee bit once you've followed the link).

And so the damn saga continues. Now a bus breaks down on the High. The flashing orange lights of the recovery vehicle beam into my room as the mechanic continually revs the failing engine. Why me?

Regular readers will know that on our evenings out at various local restaurants, it is rarely me that comes a cropper. Aside from the memorable fish bone incident, I've largely kept my reputation intact during these little sojourns.

Tonight, we found ourselves in Pizza Express. Now, I am actually going to do some serious revision in a moment, so allow me to be brief about this in bullet point form:

- OJ knocked his glass of white wine over my pizza. I had flashbacks to the time I accidentally sat on a bus seat soaked with wine having stayed over at OJ's house at the age of about nine. My hand still smells of wine. My pizza didn't actually taste of wine, but this does mark the second successive occasion on which someone has deposited their drink in my food in Pizza Express. The last time out, it was my (then) two-year-old brother Harry, who deftly clipped his Diet Coke into my quattro formaggi.

- OJ's defence regarding this incident was that he had been distracted by the small piece of food he had spat onto my arm, thus losing concentration on his glass of wine. This did little to appease me.

- When asked if we would like to see the dessert menu, OJ said 'no' before either Amy or I had even registered the question. This is akin to enquiring as to whether a pack of ravenous lions would like a lone gazelle to be allowed into their enclosure, only for one of the lions, in a fit of madness, to politely decline. We got the waiter back, asked for dessert menus and made great play of OJ's choice of dessert given that he supposedly didn't want one.

- OJ has been getting a little possessive over Amy recently. More accurately, he has been 'like a tomcat, spraying everywhere' (OJ's own words according to Amy). Amy put this to the test by clasping her arms around my waist in Lincoln JCR following the meal. OJ didn't spray everywhere, presumably having already done so with the wine earlier. Some men need a little time in between spraying sessions.

It's a rainy Friday afternoon. The cat and I are reclining in my room together. The cat, now only too well aware of the dangers of chairs, has taken care to retract its claws before draping itself across my fleece jacket and 'guest' chair. I'm sat at the desk listening to Oxide, having just listened back to my 5pm news bulletin. The 'guest' chair, replete with cat, is propping my door wide open to allow the cat to vacate the premises when it so desires.

The sound of footsteps are heard rising steadily up the staircase, attracting the attention of first the cat's ears, then the entire cat, which actually sits up just in case. A gentleman in his early 20s appears at the top of the staircase. The cat dismounts the chair and assumes the ready-to-pounce position just inside my doorway.

'You're about to get a cat,' I call to the gentleman.
'Oh really?' He stops trying to break into the toilet outside my neighbour Anthony's room and looks at me. 'Is there a toilet around here? I need to wash my strawberries.'
The cat reclines in horror and escapes to my bedroom, no doubt fearing that to be a euphemism.
'Sorry?' Quoth I.
'I'm a Lincoln finalist,' he continues. 'This was the nearest place to the covered market, I need to wash my strawberries.' He gestured to the punnet of strawberries in his hand.
'Er, you can use my sink then,' I replied, working out precisely how Exeter was closer to the covered market than Lincoln.

So he used my sink to wash his strawberries, with the cat looking on expectantly. It was to be disappointed. I got a strawberry for my trouble, though. Nice chap. He can come and wash his strawberries with me any time.

That's it. I've had it with buses. Not only is the Oxford Tube becomming really really irritating as it roars past my window, but as a result of running for a bus earlier, I fell over into the road (yep, and a car even drove past), hit my foot on the side of the curb and I'm now in agony. Ok, it's not that sore, but it is swollen and painful to walk on. Luckily, my muddy hands, dirty knees and sore foot were not in vain; the bus driver saw what happened in his rear view and waited for me (I think he just wanted to laugh at me).

Edit: The irony of the situation? I was running from the hospital (shrink check-up) to catch the bus.

In other news: My transparent pencil case shall include of: kleenex (you never know), a non-stop pencil, a £8.99 Parker fountain pen, a parker roller ball, plenty of spare black ink cartridges (Ollie, how can you swap to blue - horrid, ghastly colour), a watch, and probably the odd biro or two.

Exam stress - we all have it. Such as, there's four days to go until my first Schools paper. Argh and all that. Hence it's reassuring to know that some of the stuff I've done already isn't completely wrong. Over at Slate, they're having a History Book Blitz, and were I not revising like a mad-man, I would otherwise be posting on the numerous interesting discussions regarding American history. But, because I need to work, I shall link only to a piece on a new book about Benjamin Franklin in France. Regular readers will know that Franklin in London was the subject of my thesis, and thankfully the conclusions of the Paris book seem to support my claims: he was a man who was integral to the social scene wherever he went, and who preferred to do business in person. Excellent.

As with political manifestos or F1 pit-stop routines, us historians declare the features at the heart of our modus operandi at different dates and times. OJ announced his four-pen strategy last week to general fanfare, and now it is my turn to reveal the summer 2005 line-up from the Williams camp.

I'm delighted to announce that the coming weeks will see me wielding two Parker Frontier fountain pens: the lead drive has been handed to the £19.99 steel-chassis model, with the £8.49 blue plastic model in reserve. The choice of the steel-chassis model to spearhead the campaign mirrors the decision made during the 2003 campaign, although the blue plastic reserve is a new addition to the squad. In another new development, a second string of four WHSmith black fineliners will be in attendance at all times.

In a change to previous policy, this year I am pleased to reveal that I will be writing with Parker 'washable blue' ink. This marks a departure from the avant-garde black employed in some instances at A Level and the blue-grey chosen for the 2003 exam season. Washable blue is regarded as the traditional emblem of academia and is thus being employed in the hope of associating some aspect of my exam script - even if it is only the ink colour - with intelligence.

So this is what researchers at Oxford's Dept of Physics get up to then. Heh.

The USA has decided there shouldn't be any adverts in space (link: Reuters). The Federal Aviation Administration proposes an amendment to its regulations designed to ensure it can prevent what it calls 'obtrusive' (i.e. undesirably noticeable) advertising in zero gravity.

The Reuters article informs us that an advert in low earth orbit could possess the same dimensions and brightness as the moon - I can imagine how that might be frowned upon. Certainly, all those eerie night scenes in The X Files or romantic midnight liaisons in countless Channel Five drama series would be cheapened for the appearance of the giant, luminous face of David Beckham clutching a can of Pepsi in geosynchronous orbit.

What, however, gives the USA the right to decree this? If the Russians now send up a series of ads for vodka, will we see a new Cold War emerge? If a future US President deploys 'Star Wars' in retaliation, chances are they'll mean a really big advert for the latest remastered DVD box set rather than any military installation.

On a side note, I'm surprised that 'obtrusive' and 'intrusive' are roughly similar (though not identical) in meaning. I don't know why I'm surprised, but I am.

On a second side note, the Exeter college cat got its paw stuck in my desk chair (by way of a claw embedded in the fabric) for a good five minutes earlier. Cue abject panic on both our behalves - cat foreseeing a lifetime chained to chair, human dreaming up explanation to be proffered to Junior Dean regarding circumstances in which cat and chair came to be as one.

It's always nice to come home to an email from Stuart Pearce.

The man himself has dropped an email into the inboxes of anyone whose email address the club happen to have lying around (probably about a hundred thousand people then). This is the sort of thing Kevin Keegan (and indeed almost all other managers) didn't and do not do, but Pearce has already used this tactic to great effect in his short managerial career. When the attendance was a little lacking at home to Birmingham City recently, Pearce had an email sent out to all season ticket holders who didn't turn up, demanding to know why not and asking them politely to make sure they were in their seat for future matches.

By that standard, this is a tame offering. The mail, from 'stuart.pearce@mcfc.co.uk', thanks supporters for all their efforts and promises bigger and better things next season:

'Thank you for your fantastic support throughout this season. For those of you who were able to attend the final game the atmosphere was unbelievable. While we would have all hoped for a different outcome, everybody can be proud of their efforts.

'We will all be looking to take this end of season run into next season, which we are already looking forward to and preparing for. Keep the faith. Stuart Pearce, Manager.'

Though I've edited it here to suit my preferred grammatical technique, it may be of interest that Mr Pearce uses a double-space after a full stop.

So, there I was thinking an illustrious broadcasting career lay beckoning, unprecedented in my family history. And yet it'll take me a good few years to catch up with the number of appearances my Dad is making on the box.

You might recall that last year he had a few minutes on Everything Must Go as a sporting memorabilia expert. Well, one of the very few FA Cup trophies ever to have been made was sold at auction for £420,000 today, and guess who Sky News have collared as their expert?

Apparently he's going on air at 5:45pm, 'provided I can make it through the traffic in time'. I'm also informed he was on the TV 'twenty-five years before you were born'. That's me told, then.

On Tuesday, the world awoke to the news that at the age of 36 Kylie Minogue had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Today we learn that she is to “face surgery this week”. This news has provoked an amazing response from the public worldwide. On Wednesday, The Sun, dedicated its first seven pages to the singing legend (yep, it didn’t even have its usual “page 3” girl). Taking a glance on Kylie’s website or on the BBC comments page, thousands of people are “wishing her well”, “encouraging her to keep strong” or simply pledging that they will be praying for her. In The Sun today, the likes of Cherie Blair, Fergie and Lorraine Kelly are all pictured wearing pink breast cancer wristbands. This is an incredible response: I doubt we would have a similar response if this happened to a member of the current Royal Family. It’s strange, because many “celebrities” must have problems – divorce, health worries, death of family members etc. So what is about Kylie which has captured the attention of the world? Is it because she is so young, so youthful, so full of vitality? Is it because she has been so open about her condition? Is it because cancer is something that has probably touched everyone at some stage in their lives? A few of the comments on the BBC have been more negative – why is Kylie special; lots of women suffer from breast cancer and they are unable to pay for the treatment and care that Kylie can afford. I see their point; money can surely provide the most luxurious rehabilitation centre and perhaps the so-called “best” Doctors, but in the case of cancer money can’t buy life. And with Kylie who has grown-up in the public eye, with many loyal followers, this is where she becomes “normal”. She may be gorgeous and rich, but she’s just like any ordinary woman, and just as vulnerable. No doubt Kylie will appreciate all the messages received, and I hope this episode is an occasion for many people to stop and think about how many people, rich or poor, who are suffering throughout the world.

[excuse the self-ingratiation in this post; it is there to prove a point]

At College breakfast this morning, the subject of exams was being discussed. A first year lawyer started to discuss how they were fortunate not to have two of the hardest Law Moderations in one day (Criminal and Constitutional); instead, they had them on subsequent days. I replied, “well, I was hardcore, I had them both on the same day”. He then attempted to tell me that having Crim and Constit were the hardest exams “ever” – harder than just having “two on the same day”. I then said, “but I’m a lawyer, I had Crim and Constit one the same day”. “What!”, exclaims the first year in question, “you’re not a lawyer, you’re a historian”. I then proceeded to tell this arrogant little terror (who is running for JCR Pres… and did, and may still have my vote) that I was indeed a lawyer, that I did occasionally make it to the law section of the library, and I had attended “law” drinks (possibly giving away the fact that I was a lawyer).

The amazing thing is that I have spoken to this 1st Year about law, tutors, even work, and we’ve also had some amusing banter in the past. And yet he hasn’t clicked. It’s ok, I plan to corner him sometime today and set the record straight: I am not a lazy historian. I am currently studying some of the most "hardcore" FHS options. I have an LPC place at the Inns of Court Law School and arguably the best, and highest paid training contract/job in the City so he’d better bloody get used to the fact that I am corporate whore and quite capable of kicking his ass.

Perhaps reading my yearbook profile (written by OJ) will help him:

"Not many people have seen Amy this year. It’s always the ones you least suspect. She was just like one of the good girls – treading hard to keep her head above water as the law essays came thick and fast. And then the devil came down (though he didn’t look like Al Pacino); she was offered free lunches, riches beyond belief, and intimate acquaintances with oil firms and Chelsea FC. And so began her descent into corporate whoredom, with her soul owned by a lifeless figure known only as Flom.

It needn’t have been this way. Behind those big, brown Bambi eyes lie an innocence; a picture of rustic beauty. A world where pinkness, fluffiness and kittens rule. Where patience doesn’t matter, because everyone is always on time; where the Oxford Tube doesn’t roar by the window and where she can happily be a hermit in her own little world. They do hermitage and acquisitions, don’t they?"

Heh.

I have been accused of using Dayorama to procrastinate in the days leading up to the start of exams (apparently, according to the cynics in question, I have recently been posting a lot more frequently than usual).

Well, I can assure you, what you have seen until this point has not been procrastination. This is procrastination:

As you can see, it shows the cumulative post totals of the three of us for the year thus far. I was originally going to do this as a posts-per-day bar chart with little spikes to indicate unusual activity, but after playing around with the graphics it became obvious that the trends were easier to spot this way.

I fear the graph may prove incriminating evidence for recent procrastination. In fact, my little bursts of activity are surprisingly clear - one in mid-to-late February, one at the beginning of April (followed by an extensive period of flat-lining; clearly, I got tired) and one just now .

OJ is similarly incapable of sustaining posting activity for any length of time, although he's managed a few more than me. He had a very good March and April, but February and May have been dead losses as far as he's concerned.

Amy, of course, is far and away the winner. She and OJ both got off to a good start whilst I was stuck on three posts for what seems like an eternity, and where OJ slackened off the pace, she kept going. There are only two minor plateaus blotting her copybook - one in early February and one in mid-April. Amusingly, just as Amy ground to her February halt, OJ jolted briefly into life to keep the daily post count ticking up, then equally as quickly sank back into oblivion. Luckily, I then emerged from my own posting coma into one of my active periods as the other two hibernated. What a team, eh.

Someone shoots some grainy footage of people mucking around with their forks at the ranch of George Lucas after a screening of Star Wars films there. An enterprising geek seizes on the footage and replaces the forks with slightly more appropriate implements. This is the result.

There seem to be a lot of ducks flying around Oxford at the moment. Yesterday, Lincoln had a couple of mallards wandering around Front Quad. Today there are ducks sitting on the roof of the building next to Starbucks on the High, and even wandering along the street.

Are they hungry? Is the river really that populated by rowers preparing for Summer VIIIs that they can stand it no longer? Did they get confused watching the new BBC weather forecast last night, and after seeing all the flooded countryside (meant to indicate rain), assume that Oxford was just one giant pond? Is this the start of some evolutionary change, where ducks replace the common pigeon? If it is, then you read it here first.

BBC Producers' Guidelines for the General Election, Section 13.2 (p10):
'What matters is the balance of what we broadcast, not the balance of those [opinions] we receive.'

Written with reference to the BBC inviting a response from its audience through its website, by phone, by text, etc.

If the BBC invites views on an issue and ninety per cent of the one thousand or so members of the public who reply take a particular viewpoint (unlikely but possible), does this mean the BBC takes one view from that ninety per cent, another view from the remaining ten per cent, and reports them equally?

For:
This lessens the risk of individuals being unduly influenced by the BBC's coverage. If the BBC reports that a great majority of its listeners/viewers/users are in favour of a certain policy or party, it risks influencing the voting choice of the remainder. The BBC does not want to provide the slightest opportunity for its detractors to label it a mouthpiece for a certain mode of thought on any issue.

Against:
The BBC appears to be gagging itself on issues where correspondence it receives suggests the vast majority of the population has a certain view. Had a similar protest to the one million people marching against war in Iraq been held during the General Election campaign, what steps would the BBC have taken to balance that viewpoint?

Assuming section 13.2 applies to radio phone-ins, how would the presenter and production staff handle a situation as outlined above, where ninety per cent of callers represent one view? Would the show still air one caller representing the majority view for every caller opposing them? What if no such callers are found?

Thoughts?

The English students started their exams this morning, so sub fusc has been broken out, and Schools are well and truly upon us. (Ollie and I start in a week). This is comforting somehow; the phoney war is pretty much over and now the real fight begins. In other news, I see that there is a Civilization IV in production. A good job that this won't be seen until well after finals are over.

If there was ever a need for the BBC Watch category, then this is surely it. Today saw the debut of the BBC's new weather graphics, in 3D and with dynamic imaging. The BBC has online a showcase of the graphics, and a broad selection of viewers' responses. It's not good news for the BBC. Complaints range from motion sickness due to the moving of the map, a lack of clear symbols, to the colour scheme and accessibility. Having seen the South East weather at lunch, let me add my thoughts.

Somewhere in this change is a gem of an idea, but it's been lost in a mass of brown. Someone on the BBC site calls it similar to the inside of a kettle, and I agree. Whoever knew that Britain was so damn brown. It looks like the country has been nuked. Awful. Next up is the dynamic images, used to indicate rain and clouds. They're clever, and useful if you can place your town on the map, but at present they're used without any subtlety. Hence, it looks like Kent is to be flooded tonight, but like some new Atlantis, Maidstone shall reappear tomorrow (keep it underwater, I say). As well as this, the wind diagrams are also too thick. The little white arrows made it look as though the South East was being invaded by an army of angry seagulls - not good. Finally, the plane projection of the map doesn't quite work. It's at an angle that makes it difficult to place Oxford, for example, and the symbols aren't really specific to anything. If the map had some distinguishing features - rivers, hills, or maybe London (rather than Charing Cross, as we had today), then that would improve it. Apparently they can't make the map green as it clashes with the symbols, but really, it would make such a difference. Credit to the BBC for trying, but this needs a lot of improvements. At least it's a step up from magnetic symbols though.

I like to think that I'm in touch with my feminine side. Whether it's buying hedgehogs, or looking at pink things, I'm confident that my masculinity can take it. The last two nights have seen me watching a couple of what most would agree are chick flicks: An Officer and a Gentleman, and Dirty Dancing. I had seen AOAAG before, but enjoyed watching it again, whereas it was the first time (of my life) with Patrick. And by golly, what a good film. Yes, it had a sickly moral plot about growing up, finding yourself and love, but it was so... adult. Above all else, that was what I noticed about the two films: they presented their themes in a mature way. AOAAG has a graphic suicide scene, and plenty of forceful swearing that wouldn't make it past the censors these days. DD has infidelity and abortion presented in a very dark way. Yes, there's dancing, but these are serious films, which really surprised and impressed me. They just don't make it like they did anymore, eh? Next up, I'm told, Pretty Woman...

Don't try to tell me that football in this country isn't one of the greatest microcosms of the human condition you will find in the world. Don't try to tell me that one dwarven, geriatric American will crush the jewel in the crown of British sport in one fell swish of his zimmerframe. Don't even for one moment entertain the notion that this is now a sport as dominated by money as, for example, Formula One.

Yesterday afternoon was one of the most exciting 105-minute periods (allowing for half time) football fans in this country are ever likely to experience. If you follow football here, you do not simply follow the fortunes of your own club, oh no no. For a start, your own club more than likely has arch-rivals a few miles down the road, either in the same town or a nearby town, whose result you will be looking out for in the hope that they'll lose calamitously. Secondly, there are always clubs around you in the league table whose results you watch out for as a direct consequence of assessing the potential progress your team can make. Thirdly, there are those teams who you just don't like for whatever reason (wrong colour shirts, ex-player from local rivals now plays for them, manager looks like a parsnip, ex-wife liked them, etc). Fourthly, there are genuine wars of attrition going on across the league that you can't help but gawp at from a safe distance.

The latter is a new phenomenon for us Manchester City fans - traditionally we have been right in the thick of relegation scraps, or failing that, promotion scraps having been relegated the previous season. To actually sit back and cast an eye over four other clubs fighting for one Premiership place, as Crystal Palace, Norwich, Southampton and West Brom (the eventual winners) did yesterday, is a novelty. Many football pundits have mentioned that this was the closest relegation battle since 1927/28, when eleven clubs were stranded within two points of each other on the last day of the season, and only one would go down. The club that went down that day, out of all eleven, was one Manchester City FC.

This time round, City were locked in a battle of their own for the last spot in next season's UEFA Cup, but by City's standards this was making a mountain out of a molehill. True, we failed spectacularly to achieve our place in Europe thanks to a last-minute penalty miss in true Manchester City style, but you could sense in the stadium that most fans were thrilled simply to be in with a chance of it, and nowhere near the maelstrom going on at the bottom of the table.

Throughout the game, the whispers around the ground involved five games: the four games involving teams at the bottom, and Tottenham Hotspur v Blackburn Rovers (since if Tottenham won by two goals or more, they could threaten our chances of European football, which we went and blew anyway to render this last result irrelevant). Even though the ground was full of fans who supported only Manchester City or Middlesbrough (no one around these parts supports more than one Premiership club, it's a little like being Catholic and Muslim), everyone wanted to know what was happening at the bottom. As rumours spread - 'Palace are winning!'; 'United have equalised!'; 'Southampton are going down!'; 'West Brom have taken the lead!' - you could see the young and old running through the ramifications of each change in scoreline in their minds, trying to establish who the unfortunate three plummeting to the Championship (the bizarrely named old Division One/even older Division Two) would be.

Now, look at the front page of today's edition of The Times. It shows four photos, one from each of the four teams involved in yesterday's battle against the drop. One is of a disconsolate manager, two are of crying supporters, one is of a jubilant West Bromwich Albion player. The sheer emotion these four photos convey sums up, far more succinctly than I ever could, what yesterday's events meant to those involved. This is why I love football, and why so many people in this country do. It's so simple, but it can never be understood or mastered. You'll have good days and, my God, you'll have bad days, but you will always come back, just in case you miss anything. Yesterday made me proud of my miniscule involvement in the sport.

OJ has adopted a hedgehog... Seriously. It's my anniversary present.

For those people who can't resist playing the lottery each week but find it too much effort to walk to the local corner shop, there is now a new option: use direct debit. Yep, that's right. Just pick up a form, complete your numbers, fill in your credit card details and you will be playing the lottery for a minimum of 13 weeks. I'm not really sure I agree with this.

"But Mummy," the little children said as they left the concert, "we really want a DV8 teddy bear!"

Without further ado: www.dv8fanclub.com (replaces the old official site).

If you don't know why this is relevant, don't ask.

Picture the scene: OJ and I ambling around ChCh Meadow. Along one part of the river are some very tiny goslings, together with their Mummy and Daddy. A little further on are some larger goslings, together with parents. We comment on the difference in size betweent the goslings. Even further along we see two more adult geese, together with smaller birds. OJ says "look at those, they are nearly fully grown geese". The birds in question were ducks.

Another case of the pheasant and the peacock?

Estelle Morris? A working peer? Why?

Eight years ago, as the country was revelling in the golden promises of a Labour government, if someone had predicted that in 2005 E could be bought for 50p (see Ollie's post below) and that "happy slapping" was the latest craze, surely we would have laughed? How wrong we would have been. I don't wish rant on about the "doom and gloom" in society, but surely there is something amiss when teenagers slap strangers in the street, film them on their mobiles, and then send the video to friends? Is this really how someone gains fame and notoriety amongst their friends? School children have always "beaten up" the weakest/fattest/richest/poorest kid in class, or put a pin on a teacher's chair, but surely this "happy slapping" is significantly more sinister. Clearly there is something screwed with moral values in society.

What is the solution? Perhaps one option is for everyone to find some form of religion, faith, or moral standard to adhere to? This worked for one "born-again" fare dodger who moved to NZ and then sent TFL £400 to cover years of fare dodging.

Ectasy tablets can now be purchased for as little as fifty pence (not a fact gleaned through personal experience, I hasten to add). Apparently children have been known to go through 20 in a day, supplied in nine out of ten cases by friends, not dealers.

As one source points out, this now roughly equates to a bar of chocolate per ecstasy pill publicly available. Rocket scientists can rest easy in their chairs because I have already deduced that this means something is seriously wrong. Obviously there's a major problem with youth culture (cf. John Prescott supporting the banning of baseball caps and hooded tops in Bluewater shopping centre yesterday), but why aren't we stopping these pills at the source? Is it this country's borders (siddown, Howard!)? Is it ineffective policing? Is it a sheer overabundance of drugs and if so, how did that come about?

Ahem...

'He laid her on the table, so white clean & bare
His forehead wet with beads of sweat, he rubbed her here & there
He touched her neck & then felt her breast, & then drooling felt her thigh
The [yeah we'll censor that word] was wet & all was set, he gave a joyous cry. The [yep, that word too] was wide... He looked inside, all was dark & murky.'

Lovely. Just what you expect to receive as the first text messages to the SIM of your new Vodafone 3G mobile internet access card. Possibly one of the finest closing sentences I've ever seen, evoking the optimum erotic potential from the word 'murky'. I bet women love that. 'Oh you're so dark! And murky!'

According to Boris in today's Telegraph, all we need to get us through these dreaded finals is the fear...

"You need the fear to push up your brain's RPM, and it is only when the flywheel is humming that you suddenly see the connections, and problems disappear; and there comes a magic moment when the clouds in your head all part at once, and you can see straight up to the stars"

Bring on those stars.

I've added a new category, 'BBC Watch', since frankly about half our items could come under this description. I might go back and file some older stories under this heading later.

Now, my good friends and potential future employers at Broadcasting House have decided that the BBC just can't do enough with its content on its own. Having lasted about a day or so with the 'Latest Published Stories' RSS feed, which has already clocked up hundreds of items from the UK alone, I can understand this.

The solution they have devised is BBC Backstage, launched today and comfortably in beta. Don't get excited, you budding journalists - this is very much targeted at web developers rather than those armed with a microphone. You can find all the RSS feeds here along with plenty of other BBC content, forming a playground for web developers to suggest, devise and create their ideas for dynamic applications based on the BBC's output.

My favourite example of this so far is "Where Is The BBC News?". If you've ever bought a copy of The Week, the news review magazine, you'll know it has a few pages dedicated to news across Europe/the world, where the countries involved in the news are highlighted in red on a world map in the centre of a double-page spread. Now you can do this with the BBC News Online (World Edition) home page. Great stuff.

Have you seen how many banks have announced some form of regressive job-cutting action in the last 24 hours? The list is as follows:

Lloyds TSB
465 jobs at risk in Swansea, Plymouth, Cardiff, Taunton and Stockton. The Lloyds TSB Group Union claims staff are victims of 'offshoring by proxy' - the bank transferring work abroad in stages - but the bank insists it is shifting work to larger centres, e.g. Manchester.

Clydesdale Bank
Planning to close more than 25% of its Scottish branches as a result of action by parent company National Australia Bank, which is also making 750 local staff redundant as part of a global move to shed over four thousand employees from the payroll.

Yorkshire Bank
Losing 40 outlets as part of National Australia Bank's policy shift outlined above.

So, are we in the opening stages of some form of recession? This is hardly aggressive, positive action from the groups in question. If so, then Gordon Brown is going to start having a hard time of things, as outlined in a BBC News Online article yesterday. Which makes it all the more puzzling that Oliver Letwin has chosen now, of all times, to step down as Shadow Chancellor to concentrate on his City career and identify with rural issues.

So, what did Oliver Letwin do wrong? You won't find any mention of his new job on the BBC News site, which neglects to inform us where the old Shadow Chancellor will be plying his trade in the newly-shuffled Conservative warhorse.

A bit of research finds him tucking into the meaty post of Shadow Secretary of State for the Environment, Food and Rural Affairs. Lucky boy. Less Gordon Brown, more Margaret Beckett. The door out of politics is this way, Ollie.

Update: Previous incumbents of Mr Letwin's new post include Peter Ainsworth and David Lidington for the Tories (MP for Aylesbury, which includes my home town of Stokenchurch inside its constituency boundary), and Joan Walley for Labour. Sum total of political achievement, nil.

The best argument I can make for adopting RSS is that this post will show up in my news aggregator the moment I post it.

It's great fun watching the news ticker that comes with Newz Crawler, my aggregator of choice, as it flashes up the latest BBC headlines alongside sport from the Manchester Evening News, music from This Is Fake DIY, online comics from Goats and Jeff Rowland, weblog content from Boing Boing and Neil Gaiman and, finally, Dayorama.

So, aggregators, eh? Close cousins of crocodiles perhaps? I don't blame anyone for not having a clue what RSS (Really Simple Syndication) is all about. It was a foreign language to me until yesterday - the fact that I am now heartily enjoying its benefits should be testament to how simple it actually is.

My interest has peaked, as you might expect, due to the BBC's decision to relentlessly plug RSS as a format this week. Those of you reading BBC News Online editor Pete Clifton's weekly journal on the site will know that he's had this planned for a while, and that means that, as ever, the BBC is a good place to get started. There are now RSS buttons on practically every page of the site, and a little guide to help you get started (which I used).

I don't think you need to feel ashamed, or that you're jumping on a bandwagon, just because it took something the size of the BBC to persuade you to get involved. This is the perfect time to start, because only now are the majority of major content-driven websites devoting time and energy to providing an RSS feed worth having.

I won't go into the details of getting started, since if you just click here and follow the instructions, you'll be away pretty quickly anyway. I've opted for Newz Crawler out of the many choices for how to view RSS feeds - those of you who prefer FireFox to IE are well placed to take advantage of its ability to offer RSS browsing capability, as are those keen to invest in Tiger, the new Mac operating system (the Mac browser, Safari, now integrates RSS as well).

Once you've made that choice, it just becomes a question of finding RSS feeds you think you will like and adding them to your news aggregator (probably just a question of copying and pasting the RSS link, which will be whatever comes up when you click on a little orange RSS button on a website).

At the moment, my RSS feeds are:
BBC News, UK Edition, Front Page (i.e. their top stories);
BBC News, UK Edition, Latest Published Stories (catches every UK-related news article published, good for obscure regional news!);
BBC Sport, Football Front Page;
BBC Sport, Manchester City FC;
Manchester Evening News, Manchester City FC;
This Is Fake DIY, News Feed;
Boing Boing (weblog);
Neil Gaiman (weblog);
Dayorama (weblog);
Overcompensating (online comic);
Goats (online comic).

No doubt I'll add more in future, but I fear there will be such a thing as too many. It already takes quite a while to read through all those if I leave the PC for any length of time.

The way RSS works is that it shows you story titles and a brief description of the story - you then click a link to see the full article on the website from which it originated. This is interesting from a Dayorama point of view, since it turns out that I'm the only one of us that has been doing an 'Excerpt' to go in the brief description section since we launched. All my stories have neat one-sentence summaries of their content, usually the first line. The other two have a few sentence that trail off with a series of dots. See, always one step ahead.

Finally, if you want to add Dayorama, there's a link at the bottom of all the menus to the right that should mention XML. That'll do the trick if you add the link to your aggregator. Enjoy!

There is something particularly un-relaxing about listening to Classic FM's lunchtime requests and listening to requests from people "who have just finished their final exams", or "have just one of their final exams to go". Grrr. *calms down* Just 32 days to go...

So, according to a survey by the Scrapbook Inspirations magazine, apparently our Top Ten “Personal Memories” are:

Child birth
Holiday
Wedding day
View/personal place
Band
Falling in love
Christmas
Sunset
University days
First pay cheque

Are these particularly surprising? Perhaps not. “University Days” seems a little broad - perhaps wishful thinking? And “Seeing a Band” – is this really so memorable? I suppose it is no different to having an amazing holiday, or going to a special, personal place. What would mine be? I think probably receiving my A levels/the letter of acceptance to Oxford. I also have fond memories of holidays (as well as not-so-fond), and certain special places.

What about “British Memories” then? Apparently, our top five are:

Live Aid, 1985
Rugby world cup, 2003
Football world cup, 1966
VE Day, 1945
Kelly Holmes, 2004

I am amazed that Holmes has made it in, but perhaps she is fresh in people’s memories. VE Day 1945 is a bit strange; for this to count as a “memory”, out of the 2,000 interviewed, a significant proportion would be 65yrs+. Perhaps some people interpreted the survey incorrectly? I suppose it is only natural that sporting events are included, but what about some Politics – perhaps Blair in 1997? Or maybe Charles and Diana’s Wedding? What classifies as a British Memory anyway? Something that has “made a difference! to Britain, or something that has simply occurred here e.g. a wedding? I’d be interested to know what events featured lower down in the survey.

And finally, “World Memories”

Berlin wall, 1989
Moon landing, 1969
Mandela release, 1990
Halley's comet, 1986
Hong Kong handover, 1997

I certainly remember the HK handover, and Mandela being released (it was the day of my 6th Birthday Party and I remember my Mother watching it on the television as she prepared sandwiches/pineapple on sticks or whatever, and telling me that it was a “very important event”!). It does surprise me that the survey did not feature any “deaths” e.g. JFK, Elvis, Monroe Diana etc. These are the sorts of events that people tend to know, "I was there when...".

It’s an interesting survey nevertheless. A sociologists dream!

Not much happening around here, but I don't seem to be able to access Amazon at the moment. The website comes up with an error from within Amazon. Yet it's fine from Amy's room. Weird. 2 weeks until finals tomorrow!

And that concludes this week's episode of Doctor Who, a broadcast on behalf of BBC News.

For those that did not see it, it was a sublime piece of satire designed as a nod to the BBC's critics in the aftermath of Gilligan, Hutton etc. The message? We're doing the best we can, and we could be a whole lot worse. As the episode opens, The Doctor and his lovely assistant Rose (along with tag-along British kid we met in the last episode) are on a space station orbiting Earth in around the year 200,000.

The people on this space station are 'the Journalists'. We see them using holes in their heads to acquire data feeds as other journalists sit around channeling information through microchips in their heads. They address each other as 'ladies, gentlemen, both, undecided or robot', insist on impartiality at all times and the space station on which they are based controls the information that, effectively, everyone reads.

So it's the BBC in the year 200,000 then. Except someone's been monitoring their output and has discovered it to be lies, manipulated by someone at the very top. A security scan by the evil 'Editor', who we see on the 500th floor of the space station commanding a crew of a dead people whose microchips use their lifeless bodies to operate machinery, reveals that the culprit is a woman, not (as you might expect) The Doctor. She gets 'promoted' to floor 500 and is done away with after a brief confrontation with the 'Editor' over lies. She accuses him of consciously manipulating output and lying to the public. He enjoys it so much he asks her to say it again.

When The Doctor works his way up to floor 500, we learn that in actuality, the 'Editor' is second in command to the 'Editor-in-Chief'. And wouldn't you know it, the 'Editor-in-Chief' is a massive, snarling puddle of brown sludge, who controls the station and 'allows' humans to live there through some twisted benevolence. The station keeps our alien puddle of sludge cool (although it's very hot on the other levels since the air con is working overtime), the alien lets everyone live. The humans are conned into thinking they have a function as journalists. Little do they know they're all being manipulated. Humankind has been set back about eighty or ninety years at least, reckons The Doctor.

In the end a newly-enlightened journalist friend steals her way up to floor 500, finds out what is going on from the shadows as the 'Editor' mocks The Doctor, and uses the hole in her head to communicate this to the rest of the station whilst shutting down the air con, thus killing the alien sludgeball.

This summary does not convey the very funny and blindingly obvious parallels with the BBC's navel-gazing quest for balanced reporting through self-monitoring. You could also see why it was a good idea to broadcast it just after the General Election - at one point The Doctor questions why there are no aliens on the station, and is told something about strict immigration controls, which must have been implemented by the 'Editor-in-Chief', who turns out to be a pile of brown sludge that eats people it doesn't like. Michael Howard would have been less than thrilled.

I was browsing through the local council results for this election and something caught my attention. The BBC gives you an option to "click on the letter below to find your council". Usually, such a list would include every letter of the alphabet. This isn't necessary in this case: only the letters B C D E G H I K L N O S W are required (there may be a couple more due to the fact that not all Councils have elections each year). We simply don't have Councils beginning with F, Q, V, W etc. I don't know much about Old English/our Anglo-Saxon routes (although I am quite interested, so perhaps I shall endeavour to learn more about it over the summer), but surely the fact we don't use every letter has something to do with our linguistic Heritage? Fascinating stuff. Ollie, help here?

Seeing as neither of the other two have posted yet, here’s my election summary:

Labour have won a historic 3rd term in office. With 634 out of 646 declared, Labour have 355, the Conservatives have 197 and the Lib Dems have 62. As a result, Blair says he has “listened and learned” during the election campaign and will focus on the "public’s priorities" in his third term. I thought this was what he was always meant to do? Howard has announced that he will step down as leader sometime before the next election to let someone younger take over. And Kennedy has pledged to present a “real alternative” at the next election, indicating a "new era" of politics. I dread to think - more yellow, that's for sure.

After Sunderland South were the first to declare, the results continued to trickle in, reported with great style by Ollie and OJ on Oxide Student Radio. Unsurprisingly people such as Boris Johnson and Ann Widdecombe retained their seats - the South East is still predominantly "blue". Oliver Letwin, Theresa May and David Davis for the Conservatives and Jack Straw for Labour also managed to remain in Office. Flook lost in Taunton, but Torridge and West Devon switched from Lib Dem to Tory. The “Respect” (anti-war manifesto) candidate Goerge Galloway has taken the so-called Labour safe seat in Bethnal Green and Bow. Unsurprisingly, Kilroy-Silk didn’t get anywhere, only getting 6% of the vote in his constitudency. The Lib Dems faired well in Scotland, as did the SNP; Labour appears to have lost a lot of support North of the border. It also lost its safest seat in Wales, Blaenau Gwent. The Green Party have still failed to win any seats; stick to Europe, that’s my advice. UKIP also failed to get anywhere, and luckily the BNP didn’t either, although rather worryingly they did increase their share of the vote.

There was a slightly higher turnout than in 1997, with 61.28% of people voting. Some marginal seats increased by as much as 15%. Blair has about 36% of the popular vote. And finally, next time around, the Electoral Commission promise to prevent postal voting fraud.

With thanks due to the BBC, here ends my brief summary.

The BBC descibe today as "[the day where] voters decide the next government". From 10pm tonight you can listen to exclusive coverage of the results by OJ and Ollie, brought to you from the depths of broadcasting HQ of Oxide Radio. On the website, the show this evening is described as being "what may be Oxford Student Radio's most ambitious show ever". Good luck guys!

I think that reading lots of dull, dusty history books for the past three years has finally got to OJ; for the past week or so he has started saying the most odd things. For starters, we had the immortal “you’re enough to make a good dog break its leash” last week. Yep, you guessed it, it’s a quote from the West Wing. And last night, when I asked him what he was chatting to people about over dinner he replied, “oh it was very blah blah blah fishcakes”. Apparently, that means “they didn’t say much”. Oh dear oh dear.

Apparently Ollie has heard of the phrase too. Is this a strange history thing? Or perhaps a strange boy thing? I don't suppose it matters. At the end of the day, "yadda yadda yadda" (apprently, the translation of "blah blah blah fishcakes")

Someone at the BBC has a lot of imagination... or spare time.

Finally, Dayorama has its first scoop. Budding journalist Ollie Williams wrote about the dangers of jumping into the Cherwell on May Day a mere 7 hours after the event. And the story has been repeated throughout today's papers. It's a slow news day when the Telegraph's front picture is a very wet student. Over 100 students (fools, all of them), jumped from the bridge, as reported by The Telegraph, The Sun (who have a particularly nasty close up of what looks like a broken ankle), The Guardian, and even the BBC on their front page. And City rejected this guy...?

I can remember the heady days of last Friday, putting together the 5pm bulletin for student radio. We had a story about the Oxford Uni Labour Club chair, a few stories involving world news and then, to finish, I decided to bung in a quick item about not throwing yourself into a load of knee-deep water on May Day. One prominent surgeon explained how three people in the last ten years had ended up with severe spinal injuries because of it.

Well, now it's a damn sight more than three. According to reports, at least half of the one hundred sheer blinding idiots stupid enough to mount the fencing and jump needed treatment from paramedics. Some of them have serious injuries.

This warning was all over the place prior to the event, fences were in place during the event and frankly the inhabitants of this university should have more sense anyway. I watched some of them jumping in as the choir were singing (punctuating the prayer with a splash every now and then), and not only will they now feel like idiots, possibly for a very long time, but they all very much looked like idiots too.

Without beating the same old drum too loudly, if this place was rid of alcohol for just one day, or if you could somehow limit the intake of some individuals with no self control, these things would never happen. The government legislates to ban smoking everywhere, and rightly so, but what the government taketh away with one hand it giveth with another, opening bars for 24 hours. Smoking kills but alcohol could have paralysed quite a few this morning.

Oh, and this website has had at least one posting every day, for the past 6 months.

Yes, that time of year again. Pinch punch and all. Rather than joining them, I listened to the revellers making their way to Magdalen bridge this morning. A glorious morning for it actually; beautiful sunshine and very warm.

The festivities began last night, with May Balls etc, and there were some amazing fireworks - from Parks perhaps? OJ and I watched them from a window in the Mitre and I don't think I'd ever watched such large fireworks from that distance (1km or so) before, whilst still being able to see the whole width of the display. It really was amazing to see them on the skyline, illuminating Exeter, Trinity and Balliol Colleges. Very magical.