Yes, further to my post earlier today about This Is Fake DIY, the music website I write for, I've achieved one of my goals in life: I've worked Genesis into a music review.

You'll catch a bit of the Field Music approach to vocals in any early Genesis you care to listen to. Try finding 'Cuckoo Cocoon' from their album 'The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway' (this is pre-Phil Collins, don't panic), which somehow manages to be shorter than 'You Can Decide'. You'll realize Genesis' Peter Gabriel wouldn't sound out of place in Field Music. [source]

Also, I see one of the editors has changed 'realise' to 'realize'! You have no idea how angry I am about that. The version with an S is perfectly good English, none of that American spell-things-with-a-zed nonsense.

OK so after a hectic day in IKEA (6hrs of it, no less), do I really want to open my post in London to this:

a) Remember the Barclays change of address saga both here, and here? Well, the most recent billing address now reads "Far Fairfield Bow". What does it take for them to get it right? I speak in clear English over the phone, and last time when it said "Sairsield", I simply told them to replace the "s", with an "f". How can it go so badly wrong? Mark my words, Barclays Customer Complaints are getting an Amy-email.

b) The Parking Permit people at the London Borough of Tower Hamlets. So, I applied for both a residents permit (for the Clio), and some visitor scratchcards. For the former, I needed to provide a council tax or utility bill (I provided a council tax) and also the insurance document stating that I was either policy holder or named driver. For the latter, I needed to provide a council tax bill. I have received two separate letters back. The good news is that my residents permit has been granted. However, they have refused the application for scratchcards saying that they have someone else registered at that address, and can I provide details that I am the sole occupier. Why, when both applications went in the same envelope, to the same department, do I get two connflicting responses? Bonkers.

Luckily IKEA was successful, so I'm not too annoyed. I am puzzled by my 3rd council tax calculation though - all have been different. And I'm a CAB advisor! Also, contents insurance forms are a bitch.

I'm staying with my Fairy Godmother in Suffolk for the next couple of days.

Somerset County Cricket Club won the Twenty20 championships last night with a fantastic display against first Leicestershire, then Lancashire. My dad, a paid-up member of Lancashire CCC, texted me with the result, to his chagrin and my delight. Honorary Lancastrian though I may be, the cricketing heart lies with Somerset - I used to get training at their cricket academy from Somerset all-rounder Graham Rose, so I feel attached to the club, if only slightly.

Despite the enduring appeal of Twenty20, it's having difficulty changing some wider aspects of the human condition. On the Somerset CCC official forum, there is a thread entitled 'Twenty20 CHAMPIONS!!!!' which has, at the time of writing, had seven replies. The thread next to it, entitled 'Girls Aloud At The Oval!' (they entertained the crowd in between matches, The Oval being a cricket ground in London), has had nearly thirty replies. Cricket? What cricket?

From the BBC's Editorial Complaints Unit quarterly report, April-June 2005:

Complaint

The Chair of the British Committee on Romani emancipation complained about a link on a Radio 1 webpage to a session track called “Gyppo kids ate my hamster”, on the grounds that the term “Gyppo” was offensive and pejorative.

The ECU's response

The Unit ruled in March 2005 that the inclusion of this title on the webpage was a mistake.

Further action

The webpage has now been deleted.

This is what I spend my nights doing whenever I say 'working on the music website' to people. This Is Fake DIY is the small news/reviews site in question, which I like to think punches above its weight and has a fantastic look and feel, considering not one person working for it is a paid employee.

This weekend sees the launch of the DIY Guide, a new weekly feature where DIY previews the music being released in the week ahead, as well as gigs that haven't sold out yet. The idea is that DIY will take the hard work and wasted money out of finding good new music, be it live or on CD.

The reason I'm commemorating the launch of the DIY Guide on Dayorama is because I came up with the idea and wrote the majority of this week's Guide - you can read it here. The screengrab above shows the link to the Guide from the main DIY front page, the first time I've scored the DIY equivalent of a front page byline.

I spent yesterday in Thetford playing an Idiotchild gig in a garden, which was interesting if not spectacularly successful. Photos and a full account will follow (I'd threaten you with audio but it's my usual off-the-back-of-a-digital-camera trick and no doubt sounds just as rubbish as whenever I tried it before).

A quick text from Amy, the first thing I've heard from her all day:

"Agh to ikea!"

Quite.

Today, Amy and I graduated from Oxford University. It was a very enjoyable experience, but so very complex, old fashioned and Oxford-esque that words can’t really do it justice. We started off in College, dressed in sub fusc (which, if anyone is interested, includes your commoners gown despite the fact it is not listed as part of the items you should bring in the letter they send out to you), where we had a briefing from our Dean of Degrees. Since there were more that just undergraduates taking part, we all had slightly different parts to take in the ceremony. These differences manifested themselves in the number of times we had to bow to the Proctors and the Vice-Chancellor, and the colour of our hoods. Ultimately, no-one left very much the wiser other than the words “follow what everyone else is doing”, which proved wise indeed.

The ceremony itself took place in the Sheldonian Theatre. I hadn’t been in there since Matriculation – very Alpha and Omega – and had forgotten how small the place was. At least we got to go there: the Sheldonian was out of use for repairs last year, meaning that a lot of people graduated in Schools using video links, which isn’t really the same. The ceremony was led by the Vice-Chancellor, except it wasn’t the Vice-Chancellor, but someone standing in for him from the University who I didn’t recognise. He gave a solid speech about the formality of the ceremony, and what it actually meant to get a degree from Oxford, which I’m sure Amy will describe in a bit more detail. It was just after this that, unfortunately, I started to get the giggles, which my parents could spot from way up in the gallery. Part of the ceremony involved the Senior Proctor reading out some statements in Latin, and then listing people’s names. If you have ever watched the Fast Show, you might remember a sketch involving a foreign fake Spanish news programme, where the presenters said something along the lines of “Efff eff eff, eff eff, Boutrous Boutrous Ghali. Eff eff eff Scorchio!” This was not dissimilar to Latin followed by a list of names, but thankfully I’m not the only one to think so. The use of Latin was a nice touch. Not only did it reinforce the Oxford image, but Oxford is one of only a few places where one could guarantee to have a number of dons who were effectively fluent in it (and could probably translate it to Attic Greek on the fly if they so wished). While everyone who took part knew their words off by heart and was very slick – our ceremony was the first of three today, which happens ten times a year – it suspect the Junior Proctor was a classicist, so neat was his delivery.

Following a lot of Latin, bowing to various people and ceremonially getting our hoods and being re-presented, we left the Sheldonian and had a lunch in College. I should add at this point that we had a vast number of photos taken liberally throughout the day, which I should be able to post tomorrow. Perhaps the highlight was when Amy and I were walking back to the Sheldonian to have our official photographs taken, when we were stopped by tourists who wanted their photos taken with us. I counted five Italian teenagers, and two middle aged Japanese ladies. Unfortunately, no-one wanted my autograph, but the time shall surely come.

And that’s it. As the opening speech noted, the graduation ceremony is a very proper way to close off your career at Oxford. Amy now has no business left with College, other than me and some money that they owe her. She is no longer an Oxford student. Closure indeed.

So, here’s a conversation between OJ and I earlier:

OJ: Thanks, dear
Amy: Don’t call me “dear”, it makes me sound like I’m a big antelope. And whilst I have a red, cold nose in winter, that’s no reason to liken me to Rudolf.
OJ: Do you know what you are? You’re a very clever antelope.
Amy: Really?
OJ: Yep. And now you’re a really thick one…
OJ covers Amy’s eyes with his hand
Amy: Why
OJ: Because you have no idea (eye, deer)

Oh dear.

One of the things about broadcasting is that if you get good enough at what you do, people get to recognise your voice. I've achieved this a little early though. I got a text message at 2:34am this morning saying:

I knew it was your voice.

That was it. It's from a number I don't recognise and included no other information. I replied saying how impressed I was and asking who they were, but nothing.

Maybe it was meant for Paul Davies, the engineer who had my phone number before I did. I frequently get answering machine messages left on my voicemail asking for Paul, including one which wanted him to fax some blueprints for a hydro-electric power plant over (I was tempted to send my own version instead). This would be the first time I've had a text meant for him though, and if it is for him, he's doing something a bit kinky with someone who doesn't know his phone number changed two years ago.

Well, I'm back here for OJ and I's graduation tomorrow. I've just arrived into College and the whole place is overrun with Americans. Currently, I'm camped in OJ's room. It's very exciting. He has lots of new tecnology things for me to fiddle with - like a new keyboard, monitor etc - and of course what screen saver should I chose...? ... what settings can I fiddle with....? ... how should I arrange the icons on his desktop...? Oooh the fun.

Oooh. Due to the late-night opening of DFS, I've just purchased a brown ("Mocha" actually) two-seater leather sofa. Rather exciting. However, it's not so fun when you have to pay the deposit yourself, rather than your Father, who is sitting beside you, paying!

Thankfully I am back from my Aunt's (pearl necklace in tow). Naturally, I must tell the reader about my train journeys:

Travelling from Euston was fine; the train arrived on time at Crewe. However, the journey? I have never felt so travel sick in my life – and that includes the time on the Hovercraft in gale force winds when our boat was the last to dock before the closed the port of Dover due to severe weather. Anyway, I digress. First, I was sitting facing the way I was travelling. I prefer sitting the other way, but I doubt it makes much difference. Second, I was towards the back of the carriage (Coach D – reserved seat – airline – but nobody was next to me). The seat had no window. I was thoroughly blocked in by a screen of Virgin plastic. Therefore, to look out of the window, I needed to stare at the American couple next to me. I was reading my book for the first 45mins or so, and when I looked up I felt terribly queasy. Travel sickness often has a root in your body feeling the motion, but your brain not seeing the motion. Without the window, my eyes couldn’t see I was moving, and consequently I felt incredibly nauseas, as well as slightly claustrophobic. I think I would have been able to throw this off, and just make a conscious effort to look out of the window more, but then the ridiculous occurred. A woman changed her baby in the carriage. Yes, that’s right. Nappies, baby wipes, the lot. And all of a sudden the carriage reeked of shit (sorry to be vulgar, but it did). Poo smelling air-con. Lovely. That was enough for me. My rucksack and I upped sticks and spent the remainder of the journey in the corridor, next to the open window.

Travelling back today, the journey was slightly delayed due to something on the line. But, since I had got on an earlier train in the first place, which had been delayed originally, I actually arrived back 1minute before I was scheduled to, despite leaving 15mins earlier. For some reason my seat was in the quiet coach. The couple next to me began to talk. Loudly. About train spotting: it transpired he was a trains potter, and looked like one too. Woolly hat and all, I kid you not. Honestly, this guy could narrate the whole scenery from Crewe to Nuneaton in great detail – that is so and so, that is the B352 etc. He also discussed the type of railway tracks with his partner (who looked enthralled for sure, not) and the style of the new virgin trains (not enough toilets btw). Anyway, I was getting a bit pissed off by this and was about to text either Ollie or OJ. As I picked up my mobile (which was on silent, naturally, and I would have only used for a text) the gentleman trains potter started to say to his partner: “You know, this is a quiet coach. You’re not meant to use mobiles. But people do. They just don’t care these days. It’s like a lifeline. Glued to them they are” (I can only assume “they” refers to the youth of today!). Clearly this jibe was aimed at me, so I retaliated. In my poshest, sweetest voice I simply said: “Sorry Sir, I was just going to send a text message to my Mother to let her know I was safely on the train. With the problems in London lately, it is good to let her know. I don’t expect that I shall be making much, if any noise that will disturb you. But, Sir, may I remind you that this is a quiet coach and that speaking loudly is incredibly intrusive and disturbing”. I think he got the hint. He didn’t utter another word until him and his partner disembarked at Watford Junction. Victory.

And now I am home. I walked home, wearing a baggy jumper: I left 13.5’C this morning and torrential rain, and returned to Kent to 26’C and sunshine. Just my luck. Daisy is currently chasing a mouse around the kitchen, so couldn’t care less about me and my Mum is at the hairdresser. I now need to plan the rest of the evening e.g. packing/washing/sorting for travelling to Oxford tomorrow. All far too much!

I went to close my bedroom window before bed last night, only to discover the following intruder on the wall next to the window sill:

Quite how a snail managed to ascend to the second floor of the house and consequently negotiate its way in through the open window and up the wall is beyond me. It was going at a fair old whack - for a snail - as well, leaving a nice little trail on my beautiful wall as it went. It also shed some form of slimy substance on my bed, which may require some explaining at a later date.

On an unrelated note, I dislike wireless networks intensely. I'm at my dad's office and have just failed miserably to coax one into life (it looks like a problem with the phone line, although the operators of the phone line insist it is fine). Meanwhile, the network at home is struggling to reach all parts of the house and I can't get the spare hardware I had knocking around to do the job of boosting it. The next comic book superhero will be Wirelessnetworkrepairman, mark my word.

I was back in London today for more meetings, this time on the South Bank. This is one of the areas that has gone under significant renovation in the last decade, and as I walked along the Jubilee Walk, I passed three of the jewels of the area. First was the Millennium Bridge, which as you may remember, had slight issues regarding swinging in the air. I nipped up on to the middle to take a look at what London was like from the middle of the Thames. The answer - very wet and misty from my point of view; enough so that the top of the Gherkin was shrouded. Off from the bridge, I headed into Tate Modern. When I mentioned this to Amy, she gasped and thought it was a bit cultured for me. Well, it was. It's very arty - shock - and the exhibitions didn't do anything for me, although I accept I only popped in for half an hour. But what I grasped today, which is one of the many steps that come from visiting central London more and more often. For a tourist, London is brilliant. I've always compared London to my other favourite cities - Chicago, Toronto, Vienna - using the wonderful clean tourist parts of abroad, compared to suburban north west London. Unsurprisingly, London did not come off too well. Going to the Tate, however, meant that I was effectively a tourist, and boy has London come on since I remember it when I was aged 10 or so. Friendly staff, clean exhibitions, modern and exciting architecture, well designed themes - it's quite extraordinary. Perhaps there is more to the city in the City.

Following Tate Modern, I passed by Shakespeare's Globe, which I didn't have time to stop at, and reached my destination of Southwark Cathedral. It's a gem of a place; it seems almost sunk in the ground, because all the buildings next to it, as well as London Bridge, rise above it. It's a clean, well tended building, with an attractive extension that houses a shop, visitor centre and excellent restaurant, where I had a spot of lunch. Well worth a visit.

The new Doctor Who is, of course, housewives' choice David Tennant. You can find lots of photos of the man in his new role over here.

You can even download desktop wallpaper, no doubt a source of comfort to Amy Jones, who pointed me in the direction of the photos in the first place. "Pinstripes! Converse! The hair!" quoth she. "Mention me, and the fact that I almost passed out when I saw the photos." How can I refuse that sort of demand?

Amy, who is currently hidden somewhere in Cheshire, wanted me to post something about the NHS. Unfortunately, she didn't give me the BBC link, so the post wouldn't make much sense. Instead, let me point you to this BBC report about a piece of modern art, in the shape of a chilled bottle of water, being destroyed by a thirsty tourist in the gallery. The poor man drank the water, which is dubiously valued at £42,000. Brilliant.

Click here for a depiction of the emotional torment behind the daily struggle to bring you intriguing, laugh-a-minute, earth-shattering Dayorama posts.

Happily, the forum at the music website I write for (DIY, for future reference) has received a shot in the arm with about twenty new members tonight. DIY operates the forums for the bands Kaiser Chiefs and Duels, and some form of technical fault has sent both those forums plummeting to earth tonight. So the DIY boards are suddenly taking in refugees by the dozen. Of course, any Dayorama readers feeling board are welcome to head on over to the link above and get talking!

Oh and for those who care, I am off to my Auntie Jacqui's for a few days. Internet access will be sporadic.

I haven't packed or really thought about going yet (don't want to go!) - I am in "de-Nile" . And unless you are my Mother or OJ, that will not be funny, but nevermind. (In fact, I doubt they find it funny now either)

I've decided that I'm going to have a go at learning chinese (title of this post). Not sure how I'll get on or how long I keep it up, but whatever I should emerge with a deeper understanding of the country and its culture. Afterall, it is set to be the next world super-power...

In this post, Mr Williams commented about the presence of an M&S Outlet at Paddington. Yesterday, I drove with my family to Yorkshire. It turned out to be a nightmare drive: we left home at 8.00 and arrived at our destination 7hrs later. The journey was only 220miles. From home to the Dartford Crossing on the M25 was fine. The M25 was fine... until there was an accident between Junction 26 and 25. We were between 27 and 26 at the time. And there we stayed. For just over 2hrs. We crawled along the 3 mile stretch, watching the minutes tick by. I got fed up of stop-start after a while, so Dad took over. Then, I returned to the wheel to complete the diversion around Junction 26 and 25 - which took a further hour - before we could rejoin at Junc 25. And as Sod and his laws will have it, just as we had cleared the diversion, they re-opened the motorway. Ho hum. Anyway, I took us to Toddington Services, the first on the M1 North. Expecting the usual greasy spoon, hetty the hen cafe (or whatever it is) and little chef, we were pleasantly surprised to find an M&S Food Outlet. Full of lovely, non-service station-inflated priced food and healthy to boot. We grabbed a sandwich and a drink, and then sat on a bench outside in the sunshine. Lovely. Clearly M&S are branching out into the world of service stations and train platforms. Good on them, I say. Luckily, the rest of the journey was univentful. Dad's leg to Nottingham was fine, as was mine into Rotherham. Then on the way back, it took 4hrs (1hr me, 1hr my Dad then 2hrs me) and no problems - and we were just in time to grab a quick G+T in the pub when we got home!

However, my Mother who spends her life in the back of the Clio (it's ok: she is only 5'1/2" and tiny) has now decided she would like a DVD player on the back seat - just in case we get stuck for 3hrs again. What is wrong with the newspaper and endless games of eye-spy and spotting Eddie lorries? You just can't get the children these days!

Here's a link to an edited tube map showing the tube lines available to myself and OJ on Thursday, when we were in central London following the failed tube attacks.

If only I'd had a copy of that at the time!

And I have spent the last hour or so playing with some Japanese spinning tops. They're fascinating. So simple, and yet so fun.

A van belonging to a scaffolding company, seen today in Stokenchurch:

I went on a bit about slogans earlier, but that takes the cake. Or maybe it takes Viagra.

I, too, cooked some chicken tonight, with considerably more success than OJ (see last post). But then I was decidedly unadventurous with my Birdseye chicken fillets and at no time tried to involve egg or coconut.

Eurgh.

Tonight I was meant to cook chicken curry with rice. Instead... well, read on dear reader.

The problem came with the chicken breasts, which turned out to be out of date. By 5 days. Not wanting to waste £3+ worth of food, I valiantly thought I could do something with them. And then I opened the packet. They went into the bin quickly afterwards, and had I not thrown them there, I'm sure they were quite capable of walking there themselves.

Perhaps the real mistake was made by starting the rice before I looked at the chicken. And being unable to judge the quantities, it turned out I had three man sized portions of brown rice cooking. And nothing to cook them with, because the fridge was bare.

Decision time. Could I salvage some form of kedgeree with tinned tuna? A possibility, but unlikely. With hindsight, I should have just stopped right then and cut my losses. Instead, I carried on determined to make something. And then inspiration! I still had curry sauce - perhaps I could make flavoured rice? In I tipped some korma sauce into a pan, to start cooking with it. But that was still not really a meal. I then decided to use the eggs I was saving for breakfast to make an Indian version of egg fried rice. Actually, I was going to make an omlette, but as I was rushing, I forgot to whisk the eggs and, well, I just cracked them straight into the frying pan. Fried eggs it is then.

I managed to see those three items through pretty well. I fluffed the rice, enough to feed a family six, and then mixed it with the korma sauce, which gave it a gentle orange glow. I then added the fried eggs (cooked easy over - I decided it was time to experiment) to the top. And I've just finished eating, gosh, about six mouthfuls. Anything that involved the egg, which at least I can cook. But the rest of it. Suffice to say my flatmate has just come back from Pizza Hut. I'm going to wash up the many pans I've used, and then head off out to find something with some nutrition that doesn't smell of eggy coconut.

Lesson of the day: always, always check the sell by the dates of your produce.

What with all the terrorist incidents of varying descriptions taking place around London, it's not been very far from my mind for some time. Yesterday was certainly the closest I've ever been to something like that, and I'm back in central London tomorrow.

In these circumstances, it's odd where my mind drifts. It occurred to me as I was doing my hair into its normal style this morning - the one where people feel compelled to crack jokes involving the phrase 'electric shock' - when on a whim I checked the ingredients of the products I use. Between them, the two products contain substances such as alcohol denat, petrolatum, paraffinum liquidum, propylene glycol, phenoxyethanol, and amino-methyl propanol.

I'm no chemist (dropped that subject at the first opportunity at school), but there's a lot of substances there that sound like they're either oil or alcohol based. The sort of thing that's highly flammable, in other words.

My concern is that if by some horrific chance I end up on something that gets bombed, my hair is going to go up like a bonfire in the immediate aftermath. It's practically a molotov cocktail waiting to happen! Admittedly this might not be my first concern in the circumstances, but it's probably not in anti-terrorism best practice to have intensely flammable hair about one's person.

Happily, there is now breaking news that someone has been arrested at Birmingham Snow Hill station in connection with yesterday's events. I still think the police and other emergency services are doing this country proud in the fight against terrorism, both in response to and in anticipation of incidents.

One of the topics of my lunch conversation with Ollie yesterday was Physics. What does it say now that I'm waiting for a pan of water to come to the boil, and in my head I'm shouting at the molecules to agitiate more quickly (although in stronger words, perhaps)?

Seen outside Greenford tube station yesterday:

Look very closely at the small writing in the black box. It says 'don't bother if you can't read Polish'.

This is a fantastic slogan to append to your newspaper's title. New York Times: 'All the news that's fit to print'. Sunday Times: 'The Sunday Times is the Sunday papers'. The Daily Telegraph: 'Read a bestseller every day'. Polska Gazeta: 'Don't bother if you can't read Polish'.

Of course it also begs the question of why this warning is necessary. Are gangs of miscreants going round trying to read Polish when they can't, scattering newspapers everywhere in frustration?

We love Dr Zoidberg.

We don't love him this much.

'I could do that' was at the forefront of my mind every time I met someone working at the BBC in White City today.

Producers, presenters, studio managers, you name it - they were all doing jobs that I recognise from student radio and that I enjoyed doing.

Sheila, producer of the Analysis programme, is responsible for shaping the programme, editing it to make sure it hits its allotted time exactly, gathering contacts and audio and timing the show as the presenter records it, among a host of other activities. I did something similar when I pieced together the audio interviews for the Oxide Election Special back in May.

Actually controlling the quality of the audio and getting it cued up is the responsibility of the studio manager, effectively a sound engineer, who prepares audio clips for broadcast. Drew was the sound manager this afternoon and was very enlightening, talking me comprehensively through the software he uses, which has features recognisable from the basic freeware I used to do the same thing, but which is of course infinitely more powerful. All the time he was talking, I was staring at the equipment laid out in front of us and inwardly pining to be set free on it all afternoon.

The presenter in the studio simply reads the script - I say simply, but that's just the culmination of devising, researching and compiling the entire programme in the case of presenters of the Analysis half hour. This programme had taken a few months to come to fruition from the initial concept, which started off with a trip to India (trips to India seem to be in vogue with people I know). Even minor vocal errors can't be tolerated, so delivery of the script needs to be perfect. This afternoon things like the pronunciation of 'when' and what to call the World Trade Centre (New York Trade Centre was abandoned in favour of the former) were both causing problems.

Just sitting there taking all this in was fantastic. As the presenter read the script, the studio manager played audio clips on cue, so you do feel like you're listening to the show on the radio if you tear your eyes off the script for a few moments.

I also learnt the trick behind trailers for programmes. I had always wondered how it was that a trailer for a programme a week away could be "tune in on Thursday at 9:30" early in that week, then "tomorrow at 9:30" the day beforehand, then "tonight at 9:30" that same day, etc. It's simple: the presenter just records one after the other, like so:

"That's the Analysis programme, Thursday at 9:30pm. Tomorrow at 9:30pm. Tonight at 9:30pm. On Sunday at 9:30pm. On Wednesday at 8:30pm."

The studio manager simply leaves the desired date in and then chops the others out of the trailer as he or she sees fit. Which was probably self-evident, but listening to a presenter delivering the trailer and then tacking six or seven dates onto the end in succession is mildly surreal.

Plenty of security at the BBC as you might expect. One gentleman tried to leave a video cassette at reception, but they were having none of it. Nor would reception allow us through the security gates before the producer had come to collect us - the presenter could have picked her bag up 'off the street' and could therefore be a security risk. No chances being taken here, especially with coverage of today's explosions causing me to feel a tad shaken as I sat down to wait in reception.

BBC White City also has its own Starbucks among many other conveniences, and generally seems like a very nice place to be able to work. I can assure you I'll be doing my level best to make that a possibility, and the people I met today were prepared to go out of their way to help me - even if one of them had been on the panel that turned me down for sponsorship from the BBC earlier that year. The producer, who had been responsible for shortlisting candidates for sponsorship, started to sell the idea of the sponsorship programme to me and asked if I had heard of it. Yes, I replied, I had sent in an application but been turned down. I received a look of awkward horror followed by some hasty compliments, an expression of surprise and the insistence that it was 'very competitive'.

To be fair, it was a far less uncomfortable moment than you might expect, and I'm not kidding when I say people were going out of their way to improve my potential future with the BBC. The same producer spent a good half an hour talking me through ways of getting work experience in BBC Current Affairs programming, recommending people to email and offering to email others on my behalf. In fact I don't think I've ever met anyone chirpier or who smiled more than this lady, who reminded me a little of my aunt and did not stop being pleasant and amusing all afternoon. If those qualities are replicated throughout the Current Affairs unit, then this is the place for me.

Finally, I accidentally forgot to return my BBC Visitors' Pass. This means two things. One, staff are probably combing White City looking for me; and two, I've got something really good to stick on my wall.

As Ollie said below, we had the novel experience of being in London today. Funniyl enough, when we were setting up a time to meet for lunch this morning, we both commented on how we were going to have interesting days. Boy, did we get that right.

I was in London to have two meetings, both in Middle Temple. This was exciting becuase I'd never been to the Inns of Court before; my reaction is that it's a bit like an Oxbridge College for grown ups. The atmosphere, in a sunny day, was most congenial. The same could be said for the lunch with Ollie, despite the poor service.

I had waved Mr Williams goodbye as he descended into Oxford Circus to make his way out to White City. Then, with three hours to kill, I made my way to the Apple Store on Regent's Street, which as well as being very cool and very expensive, has free internet access as long as you can work out how to use a Mac. It was while checking my email that I first saw the BBC ticker mention incidents on the Tube (although Ollie had mentioned something about White City being shut much earlier). I noted it, then headed to Starbucks to read the rest of the papers and get a coffee. Then the calls started - Ollie, Amy, parents. I finished up my coffee, then returned to the Apple Store to catch up with the latest news, which suggested nail bomb attacks at three stations. Well that was that - cabs for me. And since I still had time to kill, I went back to Starbucks, which was pretty safe, and has some water. I phoned work to check in, and then decided to get to my 4.30 appointment with plenty of time, so I left at 3.15.

It took me 50 minutes to get a cab. I must have seen over two hundred go by, all full. I walked around Mayfair, and ended up getting one by Hyde Park. By this time I was sweating like made, frustrated, and late. I rang ahead to say I would be late, and sat back in the taxi. What should have been a ten minute ride tops took half an hour. I arrived late for my appointment, though only just, and it was eventually a very productive meeting. Just as I was leaving to get a cab to Victoria, a member of staff said she had just been evacuated from her building. I walked up Middle Temple Lane to Fleet Street, but when I got to the door I came in by, all I saw were people climbing over walls to my left, and someone waving their hands, who told me to turn around as there had just been a security alert called in. And then I got to Embankment, which is not the best place in the world to catch a taxi. And so, having consulted with Amy, I walked to Victoria, which took about 45 minutes in a very warm rush hour. Thankfully I had bought a mini A-Z earlier in the day, having gotten myself lost in Holborn. (Some of it looked familiar - then I remembered that the last time I had been there was 4 years ago when I took a look at LSE.) And thus I made to Victoria, and onto the Oxford Tube, where I promptly, and much to my surprise, had a very quick ride home with no traffic. Odd how those things happen.

And so here I am at home in Oxford, and as Ollie mentioned to me, normality is returning - England are going to lose the Ashes, despite a fantastic first session of bowling. Still, I have to return to London at least twice more, once next week. For the moment, I think I'll stick to taxis...

It's been a very long day.

I was up at 6:30am to start with to get into London, and then I had a nice relaxing morning. At about 1:45pm I was on the tube to White City, going through Shepherd's Bush. When I got off at White City and walked into the BBC's White City centre, the radio in reception told me there'd just been a terror incident at Shepherd's Bush. That's pretty damn close compared to last time.

The main problem for me was getting home, but thanks to Liz, my dad's very kind friend and colleague, I was able to use the one tube line still running at full strength (Central Line) to get out to where she lived and then home. At 5:30pm, stood in the middle of Tottenham Court Road with people roaming the cordoned-off road in their hordes, I had the novel experience of not having a single idea how to get home. It was quite scary.

Still, the rest of the day was great. A very nice lunch with OJ was followed with a fantastic afternoon at the BBC, observing everything that was going on during the recording of a programme for Radio 4. I also got to meet some very friendly people who might be able to help me with things like work experience, so I'll be following all of that up.

This post is really just a summary of the day's events - I'm too tired to go into much detail and I've still got a lot to do tonight. I'm sure OJ will add some other things though he's probably equally shattered. Stress all round but some bright points that made today worth the hassle.

I don’t suppose it is really appropriate for me to talk about sheep massacring, but there you go. I’ve just spoken to OJ (who is London, along with Ollie), and at the last count they were both ok.

So back to these sheep. Earlier today I had a dire case of road rage. I was driving from the gym into work this morning (in Maidstone). As you get closer and closer into town, there are several sets of traffic lights (about nine actually) and for each one I followed a female driver in a Vauxhall Corsa. In the back of her window, facing outwards, was a sheep. Shaun the Sheep from the Wallace and Grommit sketches. All the time it stared at me with its sheepish grin (no pun intended) and bobbed its little head along. Up and down, up and down, up and down. As you all know, I am a patient and tolerant person (ha!), but this silly sheep really got my goat. Bob, bob, bob. Why do people have these things? Do they think it will cheer up other road users? No. I think they incite road-rage. If there had been a catapult handy, this sheep would have been my target, no questions asked.

And in other news, I went to a Teddy Bear’s Picnic today: my Mother retired from full time teaching!

I'll be spending tomorrow afternoon at Radio 4 in White City.

The rector at my old Oxford college (I've only been gone a month but it's my 'old' college now) is going in to be interviewed for Radio 4's Analysis programme. I have no idea what about - chances are it won't be 'The Theology Of Terror', being broadcast tomorrow night, unless she's been hiding a dog collar behind her economic credentials. It might be for the next week's programme or even further into the distance. Either way it will be nice to have a miniscule amount of involvement (i.e. sitting and watching things getting done) at what has been a flagship radio programme for over thirty years.

Got my doctor's appointment (see earlier post) sorted and went to it this afternoon. You'll all be delighted to know my blood pressure is 'boringly normal', which is not what the other doctor had said but is in my humble opinion a far more accurate assessment of the situation. Panic duly averted.

Remember this? Well the bill arrived yesterday with "Sairsild" not "Fairfield" road. Grrr!!!

Unlike Amy, and my mum, I don't have an eBay habit, although I do use the site. However, whereas they tend only to buy through it, I have only ever sold through the site. The last time I sold an item through it - my old laptop - was about a year ago. Since then, eBay has grown as a company, buying and integrating PayPal. This seems to be reflected in the website itself. What was once a very easy click and point process has now become a form filling nightmare. Every step seems to have five verification steps. It's combined to make my current attempt to raise cash infuriating. Wither the dotcom ethos?

I know I'm probably about the last person to notice this, but bless Google, they try so hard. Today, you can get a Google Map of the moon showing off the Apollo landings. Lovely stuff.

In other news, if you know anything about football, please do go to Guardian Fantasy Chairman, http://guardian.fantasyleague.com, and register. It costs £6 but email me afterwards and I can add you to the big friends' league we're trying to set up. Dayorama FC is raring to go for the new season...

For some reason I have ended up watching Al Jazeera, which for those who might not know is the Arabic equivalent of CNN. In times of conflict in the Middle East - i.e. all the time - Al Jazeera gets newspaper inches in the West for frequently appearing biased in its coverage, depicting prisoners of war on television etc. CNN, the BBC et al are no doubt similarly suspect in the eyes of the Arabic world.

This is not my complaint with Al Jazeera. My initial complain with Al Jazeera is that I can't understand a word of what is being said. That is not their fault.

My second complaint is that there are adverts very, very frequently. And I can't understand them either.

The third complaint is that the noise I can't comprehend coming out of the TV is constant and extremely heated. According to the Sky TV guide, I am watching 'Opposite Direction', a show it says 'frequently becomes a heated debate', and it really isn't kidding. There's fists slamming on tables, raised voices practically all the time and faces red with rage wherever the camera looks.

It does make very good background noise for getting things done though. My mind has blanked out to everything around me except what I'm doing, with just the distant hum of distressed people arguing in the distance. And it's not even the neighbours for once!

In other news, I forgot amongst all the festivals, whisky and beach volleyball to mention that my tutors have put me forward for a college prize at uni. The thesis was good enough to earn me a share of an award along with Dan and Michelle, two other historians who also got 75s with their dissertations. A small cash prize is promised. Hurrah.

So here we have my results:

Administrative Law 60
Company Law 66
Contract 60
EC Social etc Law 65
Jurisprudence 61
Land Law 60
Principles of Commercial Law 60
Tort 63
Trusts 66

An average of 62.3. Not great, but certainly a consistent 2:1. I needed at least five marks of 2:1 or above, so with nine 2:1's, I was certainly in there! I may not have beaten either OJ or Ollie's average, but at least I didn't slip as low as a 2:2 :p

I would have liked Admin to be higher (but I know I messed one question up badly) and also Juris. Trust is a shock - it was in trusts where we had the stream of 55's, "micro and macro" and "your knowledge of the law in this Collection is skin deep". Good-ho! I am pleased with Company, and all the rest are pretty much as I expected. It is comforting to know that even if the four 60s would have been 59, I would still have had a 2:1. It's all over now.

In other news, I received my first Council Tax bill today. Excellent.

Hello. Remember me? I used to post here, then I started working, and it turns out that work takes up lots of time. That, and I've had very little of interest to write about recently. I too was in London last weekend, and went through King's Cross on Saturday, and was struck by the memorial by the station. I should also note that when I came back up to Oxford on Sunday evening, Oxford Street appeared to be closed up by Marble Arch, although nothing was mentioned on the news, so I expect it was just an alert.

The weekend was spent with Amy in sunny Kent again, and for most of it we managed to stay in something that looked like countryside. It also gave me the opportunity to read the latest Harry Potter, the Half Blood Prince. (I have no doubt that Ollie must be intimately acquainted with it by now if he's in Stokenchurch.) It was actually pretty good, being the penultimate in the series. No major spoilers here, but suffice to say it does set up events nicely for the final book. That said, the plot could have been more integrated. The first half of the book was very different to the second. Usually I would scream loudly at this, but both plots were very good, and there was some integration. But... it just didn't flow as it could have done. And the ending, while not altogether shocking and unexpected, is enough of a curveball to just make you sit back and think how much of a departure it suggests the structure of the final book will be from the current six. Still, a good quick read, and worth the very cheap price that every store has discounted it to.

Seen outside a pub in Stokenchurch:

Outside a pub in Stokenchurch. In Buckinghamshire. The hub, it would seem, of passion for gaelic sports.

Actually I love hurling and I'd really like to go, I'll make a point of it sooner or later if I get the chance.

I'm getting bored with trying to book an appointment with a doctor here in Stokenchurch.

The last time I needed an appointment here was about a year and a half ago. I rang up and was told I couldn't be seen until eight days from then, but that was fine so I confirmed it and all went well from there.

So this time round, I thought I'd call whilst still in Somerset and then chances are I'd get my appointment a week later as before. I rang up last week and asked to make an appointment, and was told to my surprise that I could have one the next morning. Alas I was in Somerset and had to explain that I hadn't been expecting to be seen so promptly - could I make it for next week instead? Sorry, said the lady, they couldn't book that far in advance - ring back on Monday.

I couldn't call yesterday because I was too busy either getting home from London or sorting things out at home, but I just tried to call now. The lady said she was sorry, there were no appointments free for the rest of today. That's fine, I said, I wasn't expecting one until tomorrow at the earliest. Sorry, she said, she couldn't book anything for tomorrow even though she was sure I could get an appointment. I'd have to ring back tomorrow morning to do that.

What? I'm surprised enough that suddenly my local surgery has bags of free time going when eighteen months ago it took me over a week to be seen, but I'm staggered that I can't book an appointment for a certain day until that day has actually arrived! That is nonsense.

Is this what the lady who grilled Tony Blair during the election campaign was complaining about? It certainly sounds like it. A survey reported here says that only 1.6 per cent of practices 'restrict bookings to two days ahead' - so what percentage restrict it to the same day?! Bizarre.

When we were all doing our exams, one thing that Ollie noted was how much he enjoyed my “Be An Oxford Student” posts. Finally he had found out what I had been doing for the past three years of the degree! Tonight, I went to the Maidstone Citizens Advice Bureau Annual General Meeting/Annual Public Meeting. I don’t usually discuss what I do at the CAB: for confidentiality reasons, I am unable to. However, I was rather enthused and motivated following the meeting, and therefore I think it is about time I wrote a little bit about it.

To start with, I’ll tell you a little about my day in the Bureau. I arrived about 9.25am after going to the gym for an hour or so. I read a few “Bureau Updates”, collected my notepad and folder, and then went downstairs and waited for the door to open. In our telephone we all have a good chat, and people asked me about my degree results (yes, they had remembered that I was finding out last Wednesday). Then the bell went, and I took the first client: a gentlemen of about 50yrs old, with over £40k of debt. he was near to tears. That took over an hour to sort through, photocopy documents, arrange follow-up appointments, and on he went. I wrote up the case-sheet (record of enquiry, facts, options available to client, advice give and then client action) and then went to take my next client. I also type my case sheets, as we are gradually moving over to a fully-electronic case-recording system. My second client was quite straightforward, but my third client (enquiry involving immigration) demanded over two hours of my time in total, and four pages of case-notes. I then moved up to the telephone (we divide our day between face-to-face and telephone: it’s a bit much to stay face-to-face all day) and my first call was from a gentleman who had lost his wife a week ago, and I seemed to be the first person he had spoken t o about it (he actually needed information about probate). he was almost in tears, and given the nature of the questions I had to ask, it was quite a hard telephone call. On arriving home this evening, I was drained and emotionally shattered.

However, the delights of the AGM lay ahead. After a brief report from our Chairman (the Mayor of Maidstone), the main Trustee and our Bureau Manager, or guest-speaker, the Chief Executive of the CAB, gave a short (25min) speech. This gentleman had been in our Bureau through the afternoon and had spoken to all the volunteers about or work, or problems, our likes and our concerns. For a Chief Exec he was down to earth and seemed to know what was going on in “the real world” of the Advice Bureaus. The speech he gave was probably well-used, but it didn’t lose any impact. He mentioned some staggering statistics: over 2,750,000 last year used the CAB; over 96% of the population know the CAB exists, and over 75% of the population (MORI) say that they “trust” the CAB (I doubt Blair would get such a high figure). The Chief Exec them mentioned some of the key values in the CAB: we are all volunteers, and impartial from the government/government services e.g. the Council; we give “generalist” advice – this doesn’t mean the advice is superficial, but simply hat we accept that if someone has one problem, this probably means that they have two or three, and we can advise on all; we restore ordinary values in people; we can be trusted; and we monitor social policy issues (we released a report re. the Working Family Tax Credit problems, for example). The volunteers at each bureau count. We mean something. We do help people’s lives and peace of mind. I may had had a relatively unsuccessful day, but no doubt I did help people.

When I volunteer for the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award, the results are evident: the young people’s faces on achieving their Awards are all I need to keep going. But, with the CAB I don’t see those rewards. It takes a speech like this evening’s to restore my faith in the fact what I am doing is worthwhile. I do enjoy it, and I will do even more so after this evening.

In addition, after the meeting about 15 volunteers/paid staff went out for a drink. The age range was 21-66 yrs. And yet we all got on. We may have been rich or poor, or from the north or south, but we all work towards the same cause, and we can all have a laugh together and respect each other. It’s a wonderful environment and I do feel privileged to be accepted and part of it.

What a strange weekend.

Friday night was lovely, playing volleyball on Dunster Beach back in Somerset with my mum's friends from her workplace. They were all very nice people and it was great fun. I even got to try barbecued veggie fingers, which are a treat indeed.

Saturday was spent at the Ashton Court Festival in Bristol, which is a small festival that still attracts thousands of people despite a relative absence of known acts. Super Furry Animals were headlining, but my friend Becky and I concentrated on the acoustic tent, which had the likes of Gravenhurst, a small band we've both liked for ages.

We also saw Mr Bennett, who is essentially Bruce Springsteen Lite. His ability to rhyme was second to none and he has the same kind of gravelly, world-weary voice as The Boss. I dubbed him The Deputy Sales Assistant.

You can download 'Bad Life Day' by Mr Bennett, one of the tracks he performed at Ashton Court, from his website for as long as he keeps the link there. Right-click the download link below and select 'Save Target As':

'Bad Life Day' by Mr Bennett
[mp3 | 3m 30s | download]

Saturday was lovely. Sunday was crazy. I got dropped off at Newbury by Becky's family and made my way into London, where I got to King's Cross and recorded an audio post (or 'moblog' for mobile phone weblog, thus 'Dayoramoblog' for such posts on here).

I then met up with Lindsey, Karis and Becks - the first two work for the same music website that I do (they're both editors, I'm just your average staff writer for now!), Becks had come along for the ride from the Kaiser Chiefs' message board, since DIY and the Chiefs have a fairly intimate relationship.

We got to the hotel room Lindsey had sorted out, and I was offered a choice between normal Coke or Diet Coke. That's an easy one then, Diet Coke. What I did not immediately appreciate was that the choice related to which beverage to water down my Famous Grouse with. I was thus presented with a mug of whisky and Diet Coke. We soon ran out of Diet Coke since I had been frantically diluting the whisky in an attempt to stay sober, at which point everyone else progressed to neat whisky, and I, having drunk enough to have forgotten how to say 'no', did likewise.

So at 3pm on a Sunday afternoon in central London, we started out towards the venue for the club night that our music website had organised. I had very little clue what was going on. I remember buying a ticket at King's Cross Thameslink station only to discover that access to the underground line we wanted had been cordoned off. So we wandered over to King's Cross itself and I somehow drunkenly talked my way through a series of barriers at various stations across the capital with an entirely invalid ticket.

We ended up near Tottenham Court Road in Frith Street, where Karis, equally as drunk as me if not more so, met up with an ex-boyfriend of hers. The other three of us who'd come with her as 'support' for this occasion got bored and went in search of food - surprise surprise, when we returned, she was gone. So we waited for fifteen minutes and got her back (she'd wandered into another club), then made our way to Islington for the club night.

It was great fun in there. I got to meet lots of people who I've worked with online for ages but who I hadn't properly seen until now, including the site owners, who are very nice. There was quite a lot of tension in the room between certain members of staff, but I'm not going to go into that here - it didn't really affect me, I was too busy enjoying being at a club that plays my kind of music instead of the usual dance rubbish, and meeting all the lovely people there. The night ended at midnight, which was about the right time for me, and I felt really happy.

I then walked all the way home with a good looking, 5'10" woman on my arm, which also made me quite happy. I'm not entirely sure how that came about, but it wasn't unwelcome. Whilst we were walking back, some gentleman shouted out after us 'that's the finest pair of legs I've ever seen!'. I thanked him. I've been working on them a lot recently.

Edited: 12:32pm, Monday July 18, 2005

At last, an audio post that works and that doesn't involve me sounding like a schoolgirl.

On Sunday I went to King's Cross station en route to meeting friends (of which more in a post I'm about to write). I left a little audio report, which you can find at the bottom of this post, describing what it felt like to be on the tube for the first time since the bombings earlier this month.

Whilst I was there I also saw a choir singing in front of the railway station near to the flowers, 'We Are Not Afraid' banners and books of condolence:

I came to my senses a bit and stopped worrying so much about the tube later on Sunday (alcohol helped with this!), but I found myself back on a tube platform at King's Cross at precisely 8:50am this morning, the time that the bombs were detonated. I wasn't so nervous about this, it was just odd, and it really was extraordinarily quiet wherever you went on the underground.

Use the audio toolbar to play the clip:

OJ is coming to Kent again this weekend. He was planning to have lunch in London today with a friend, and then travel to me to arrive about 3-4. He sent me a text at 12ish to say he had arrived, and then I heard nothing. At 3.40 I began to get a bit twitchy. Why was his phone on answer phone? Why hadn't he sent a text? Was he ok? I then tentatively checked BBC Online to check that anything horrific hadn’t occurred in London again.

I wouldn’t usually be concerned to the same extent: OJ and I are both good at keeping in touch and he would have called or sent a text when he thought that it was necessary (there’s no point over doing things: my phone bill is bad enough as it is!). But today I was worried. I thought about the consequences much more than I would have done in the past. I don’t want to begin texting my every move, because I feel this is a bad thing for the times when we do forget, or when circumstances are such that we can’t let somebody know where we are.

As it happens OJ had to trek from Farringdon to the Barbican and then onto St Paul’s, because the former two tube stations were still closed, on his attempt to get back to Victoria. His phone was off because he was underground and he didn’t send a text earlier because he was intent on reaching Victoria first. All common sense, but how the imagination can wander…

I was waiting for the bus from Taunton to Minehead when I spotted the following intriguing item of luggage amongst the hordes waiting for the Butlins coach:

That looks very much to me like a shepherd's crook, with noose the size of a sheep's head, etc. I could be wrong - if you know better, let me know. It would certainly suggest that methods of controlling unruly kids at Butlins have evolved (or even devolved?) to a new level.

What had previously stood here was an audio post from myself about the sheer delight of getting a free Lemon & Lime juice from the same M&S store whose presence I had been so thrilled about the other day. I should be worried that small food outlets cause me such unbridled joy.

I've removed the link to the audio post because most of it was a garbled pile of nonsense:
a) the technology I'd set up to allow me to make audio posts using my phone was actually working, so enthusiasm overcame me; and
b) I really was delighted with my free Lemon & Lime juice and couldn't quite contain that excitement.

If anyone heard the audio post in the few hours that it spent online, they'll understand what I mean. It has now departed into the aether, but fear not - now that I know the technology works, there will be more where that came from. And in future I shall try to speak properly when recording them!

I'd imagine the first one will come from the Ashton Court Festival in Bristol tomorrow, since it'll be my only means of posting (I'm still without laptop and using my mum's PC to edit this!).

I'll be without my laptop for the next three days. It will be like losing a limb. I'm not sure how I'll cope yet, but if anyone sees a withdrawn, disoriented young man wandering the hills and dales of the westcountry, fingers hacking at an invisible keyboard, eyes absorbing the radiation of an invisible screen, chances are it's me.

I'll attempt to devise improbable methods of posting to Dayorama during my absence. I wonder if that M&S in Reading (see yesterday's post) has a net cafe attached to it...

Following on from my last post and its cricket theme, Manchester City have offered a trial to a midfielder from Qatar named Yasser Hussein.

I reckon Stuart Pearce had a rubbish signal on his mobile at the time, and decided to take him on trial because he'd seen the boy playing for England and he had a decent turn of pace on him between the wickets. Plus all that commentary he did on Sky shows he's got a brain upstairs as well.

If we sign Southend United's Mark Gower, my suspicions will be confirmed.

I bought a copy of 'Cricket 2005' from HMV today. It's a PC game and successor, would you believe, to 'Cricket 2004', which has been a trusty companion just about everywhere I go.

Quick thoughts on the game in case any cricket-minded people are reading: it's okay. Somehow EA seem to take one step forward in a lot of areas but one step back in the rest, so the game doesn't really move forward that much.

Pros:
- graphics are very good indeed, if a bit shaky here and there (fielders move quite large distances with minimal effort/leg movement sometimes);
- bowling is finally fun, never something I could say of earlier cricket games. I've just bowled an entire innings, a first for me;
- scoring rate is realistic, certainly when bowling - I kept Lancashire down to 149 all out.

Cons:
- batting is suddenly bloody hard! This isn't really a con, it's a pro, it just feels like a con right now because I'm annoyed! I was bloomin' good on Cricket 2004 and now I can barely get past 20 again;
- the replay function in Cricket 2004 was fantastic - loads of angles, good slo-mo buttons, custom cameras, stumpcam, the works. The replay function in Cricket 2005 is abysmal - no control over camera angle whatsoever. Very disappointed with that (I do like my replays as anyone who has ever played a sports console game against me will tell you).
- something just doesn't feel quite right when the ball gets hit/moves across the field. And it doesn't skip delicately over the boundary rope any more, which was a lovely touch in Cricket 2004. This will sound stupid but it doesn't feel like leather on willow when you hit the ball any more, it's a dull thud rather than a proper 'thock!'. I'm turning into a proper thock for going on like this. Enough.

My point, before I got distracted with all that pro and con nonsense, was that I'd love to see Sunday Cricket 2005. Take control of your custom-made pub or village side and lead them to glory against the rest of the West Somerset Sunday League Division Four. Can you take on the dodgy-action spin of Doug 'Ten Bellies' Brown of Dog & Duck (West Monkton) 3rd XI? Can you survive the itchy trigger finger of partially-sighted Jack Sheppard, ridiculously biased 'resident' umpire at the Rose & Crown? Can you last an innings on the infamous sloping wicket at Nynehead without taking a severe blow to the particulars?

That'd be a fantastic game, all the frustrations of village cricket recreated. Slam your fist down on your keyboard with rage as the umpire once again denies a cut-and-dried LBW decision because he's the number three batsman for the opposing side and you had him caught behind an hour ago. Once you've got your eye in, see if you can hit any of the cars parked by the boundary when you go for a maximum, but try to avoid your best mate's - it's game over if you hit that because you need a lift home off him. Attempt to cajole your reserve reserve last-resort 'spin' (for which read 'sitting duck') bowler into delivering a good line and length after he's topped up with three pints during the tea interval.

Just so long as they sorted out the action replay function though. It'd be no fun without being to rewind and go super-slo-mo with footage of the dog from number 32 'accidentally' being let loose onto the pitch and tripping up the opening batsman in mid-run, resulting in another tidy run-out for the home side.

Whatever your politics, this might be of interest. And again, I should probably culture myself by listening to some Gilbert and Sullivan.

One of the interesting things about Oxford is that it's almost as busy in the summer as during term time. Instead of students, tourists are everywhere. It meant that my shopping trip after work took much longer than I thought. I survived, though, and have restocked my food supplies, finally got myself a decent kitchen knife that means I no longer have to cut meat with a bread knife and vegetables with a blunt table knife, and some shoelaces for a pair of natty blue trainers that my wardrboe threw up earlier this month. (I'm sure when Amy sees them - blue and gold Nike Airs, circa Michael Johnson and 1996 - she will agree that they were vomited up.) And I also pre-ordered my copy of Harry Potter, which finally means I can get rid of the £5 Waterstones voucher I've been carrying faithfully since Christmas. So that's it, really. It's funny; they never tell you how work is actually quite tedious after a while, but the last week has gone very quickly, and I'm nearly a fifth through! With still not a lot to say!

I think we need a new category: what with our numerous bus and train sagas, and strong opinons on modes of travel in general, we definitely need a "transport" option.

During what wasn't a particularly large period of time between the last time I was at Reading station and today, M&S has managed to construct an entire 'Simply Food' store on the concourse.

That wasn't there the last time I looked. I only noticed it when I came out of the station toilet and went to sit on a bench to pass a bit of time before my bus arrived, only to discover that the bench had been superseded by an entire miniature supermarket. An air conditioned one at that. In future I think I'll have to feign interest in the food in there (well okay, maybe not feign interest) just to cool down.

Earlier I posted about the presence of a police officer on my train to Reading. After I'd written that post, a lady sat down opposite me. She provided some light entertainment by first struggling to open a sachet of sauce for her sushi, then struggling even to open a bag of crisps (she eventually used the chopsticks from the sushi to poke a hole in the bag). Then she got up and went somewhere.

After twenty minutes of her absence, I was becoming convinced that the bag she'd left behind was probably ticking. Only when she eventually wandered back did my mind rest entirely at ease, despite her advancing years, ridiculous attire (she was a power grandma, walkman and all) and the fact she'd left her bottle of water and book on the table. So perhaps that police officer didn't entirely cure the paranoia.

The next few days are going to involve a lot of travelling. I'm going from Minehead to Stokenchurch, then back to Minehead the next day, then Bristol on Saturday, London on Sunday and Stokenchurch again on Monday.

The first leg of the journey is the Minehead to Stokenchurch trip, which is becoming fairly routine. I'm on the normal train back and doing my usual trick of posting on Dayorama to pass the time.

The only difference is that I was greeted, as I got onto my train, by a member of the British Transport Police. That has never happened before - I can't remember the last time I saw an officer on a train. But this time round, a middle-aged gent in full force regalia was stood by the entrance to coach B.

There can only be one reason why he's here, and I'd imagine he's in full police garb - including silly helmet - to reassure passengers. Not that it had even crossed my mind that trains into London are as much targets as transport systems within London itself.

Still, I'll admit to actually feeling quite comfortable with the idea that a police officer is on board specifically to make sure no one gets blown up. Who knows how effective a lone police officer on a rather large train is, my brain says, but the rest of me is pleased to know there's one on here anyway. It's probably a token gesture in the fight against terrorism but it's working for me.

As OJ has said, I got a 2:1, and I'm thrilled. It was just what I wanted (who wants to be in the 1st club anyway?). I will never forget hearing from OJ, whilst shepherding a bunch of 5yr olds in a barn full of sheep and cows!

In the last week, my emotions have been up and down (that rollercoaster again): with History, English, Engineering and PPE all throwing up some unexpected results, either better or worse than predicted, I began to worry and doubt what would happen to mine. It was very unnerving. Obviously I haven't had my breakdown yet, but will be interested to know how I did on each paper.

I promised OJ I would reveal something if I got a 2.1: During the law degree we are expected to read case judgements. Just as Ollie has never requested a book from Oxford's stack request, I have never read a case in full. Instead, I just relied on the head note (brief dresciption of the facts and main judgement). So, whilst other people were ploughing through judgements, getting various judical opinions etc, I just read the case note in brief. Perhaps this resulted in my essays being wrong on a "micro and a macro" scale, and my knowledge of the law being "skin deep", but it seems to have paid off!

And now for my Oscars bit: Thank you to everyone who supported me through my degree (the list is too long... parents, people who sorted keyboard tis-was moments, shrinks, other family, friends, tutors etc), but most of all, special hugs of thanks to Anthony (Meatloaf, Calypso music and Jane Jones have a lot to answer for), Ollie (having long MSNs and getting me absolutely drunk two nights before my final exam obviously didn't affect me!), and OJ (the most hugs for everything!) who really did keep me sane.

I know that Florida has just been hit by a hurricane, but Britain has just experienced a gale force wind following the exhalation of the biggest collective breath that I can ever remember. Amy's results are out and....

she got a 2.1!

Hurrah! 2.1s all round then. Amy can't be with us right now, unfortunately, because she's on a school trip to farming world. But when we spoke to her earlier for her reaction, we got a lot of unrepeatable words, and a very large smile down the phone. Not so much wrong on a micro and macro scale after all.

We're all very proud of her. :)

It just gets odder and odder. Following on from Ollie, my own results:

Coursework:

Thesis (Franklin in London): 72
Special Subject Essay (Francia): 62
Princeton Essays (De Tocqueville and American West): 63

Exams:

Disciplines: 58
Further Subject (American Revolution): 68
General III (Bulgaria etc.): 65
Special Subject Gobbets (Francia): 61

A smaller spread, from 58 to 72, but pretty odd all around. Both the Francia papers are the odd ones out; they're much lower than I thought they would be. Really have no idea how I got a 61 on a gobbets paper; that went down from my collection by 5 marks, and that had serious problems itself. And the essay - well, I thought it deserved slightly more. So it was Gregory that did me in. The rest of them are all OK, but on the lower edge of where I thought they would be. 63 for the Princeton essays, which were written 18 months ago, sounds about right. 65 for General III is spot on. 68 for the Further Subject is disappointing; I thought that was my best paper (which it was, I suppose), but better than a 68. The thesis mark is the only pleasing thing. From talking with my tutor, it seems as though everyone has come a cropper to Disciplines. I wouldn't say that we were taught badly - it was the first time the paper was set, and the seem to have marked it harshly.

So that's my undergraduate life over, not with a bang but with a whimper. My chances of funding, mentioned below, are now very low indeed, but then they weren't great to start with. And again, I'm lucky that I still get to carry on to next year; I've just seen another friend come unstuck by getting a 2.1 when his offer for his masters was a first. So I'm lucky. And at least I can draw a line under the whole episode now, and look to the future, because Amy has got her results...

I'll try to squeeze this in before Amy gets her results to clear a path for them - I've just been given the individual breakdown of my degree results.

The marks (out of 85, I think) for each paper were as follows, in the order I sat them. There are links from each paper to a Dayorama post from one of us which mentions it.

Completed earlier in the year:
Special Subject (Francia) Essay: 70
Thesis (Anglo-Saxon stuff!): 75

Exams this summer:
Disciplines of History: 55
British History 1, 300-1000: 76
Further Subject, Anglo-Saxon Archaeology: 53
General History XII, 1856-1914: 68
Special Subject (Francia) Gobbets: 68

To work out an average (which my tutor hasn't given me), I averaged the two Special Subject results out to 69, then added the six full paper results together and naturally divided by six to leave myself: 66 exactly.

Obviously the first point to make is my results are all over the shop. In the first two days of exams I went 55, 76, 53, which is ridiculous.

The 53 should have been a 63 but I got docked ten marks for failing to read the instructions properly, as I have mentioned on here time and again. 63 would not have been covering myself in glory either for that paper.

The 55 in Disciplines was very poor but only two people in my college got into the 60s, suggesting that either the paper was stupidly hard or we were taught badly. OJ's result in this paper will tell me more about that.

The 75 and 76 are, to put it mildly, thrilling. The 76 was the top mark for anyone sitting British History 1 apparently, and the 75 for the thesis makes it one of the top ten out of 255 candidates. I'll stop blowing my own trumpet now (well, in a minute) but I never expected that and I am, in the vernacular, well chuffed.

Finally, I'm told I came top out of the historians in my college, which is another big surprise. For a start it means no one in my college got a first whereas they almost all did last year, so OJ can take a bit of heart that it seems a lot harder to get one this year than it was last time round.

Well that's it for the results saga from me - hopefully Amy did well and I'm sure OJ will throw his results breakdown on here as and when he gets it. 53 to 76. Blimey.

We've heard some disappointment and some happiness in this weblog when it comes to exam results, and Amy's are due tomorrow so that's one more day of reckoning on the horizon.

There've been one or two surprises, both more negative than positive, so now time for some frankly amazing good news.

Chris, a friend from back at school, went off to do an engineering degree at Loughborough. He failed his first year. He sat it again the next year, and failed it again. This was his third attempt at being a first year. And yes! He's passed. My congrats to him because it's a definite case of persevering until the end. Finally he gets the honour of being a second year, just after I finish my degree!

This is good news not only for Chris but for the Student Loan Company. Chris told them when he failed the first time round and they were fine with it, but he didn't bother mentioning it the second time. Now they think he's going into his third year. It remains to be seen how that one will pan out...

The BBC News website is carrying a log of events released by London Underground concerning the events of last Thursday.

It conveys the confusion and enormity of scale facing those in charge of dealing with major incidents at the Network Control Centre (the title of this post comes from the title of individuals assuming control of the response to such incidents, according to the article - it's better than 'Cobra Committee' at any rate, even if it is a bit Thunderbirdsy).

09:01: The Metropolitan line reported that a person may be under a train at Liverpool Street. This was the third issue that the Network Control Centre was now dealing with within a space of eleven minutes.

Once you reach that stage in the log - eleven minutes after the log extracts begin - it's quite difficult not to feel overwhelmed by the regularity with which catastrophic events are being reported. The tension and pressure on the day for those in charge must have been unbearable.

Today is a momentous occasion.

Over the past three or four years, I've used Outlook to check and store all my email. In that time I've accrued 35,561 emails in my Outlook archive (largely thanks to the fantasy football league I ran, which accounts for nearly 20,000 of those - at one point I was receiving 100 emails a day related to it).

But the times they are a-changin'. I've had a GMail account for about half a year, and now it's going to bear the brunt of all the email I get. I've set all the email accounts I have (about ten!) to forward to it, so you can still get me on all the old accounts, but you'll get a reply from the new one.

This is all pretty boring, but it's AOL's fault. For a while I've had trouble sending email at home (be it at my mum's or my dad's - they both use AOL). When I click 'send', sometimes AOL will decide that I have sent 'unsolicited bulk mail'. I know I talk tripe in my emails generally, but I think that's a bit harsh on me. Strangely, if I delete the 'original message' that's always quoted in my replies, it'll let the email through often enough. But it's very strange behaviour.

Now Yahoo! and Hotmail recipients have started complaining about bulk mail as well when I send emails from an AOL network using Outlook, and it's got to the point where I can't stand it any more. A few pretty important emails about work experience and radio got lost to it last week without me finding out until much later, so I had to re-send them this week with many apologies for the delay.

This is just another reason to dislike AOL, which I now hate with a passion bordering on venomous. Luckily this shouldn't affect GMail at all, and it meant I could put off proper work for ages whilst I played around with settings - now all my email is available in one place online. So it's all in the name of progress, eh?

I don't wish to appear discriminatory, but I have a simple question: why do Barclays employ people for whom English is not their first language to answer queries on their helpline under the option "change the address your bank statements are sent to". I have just had a very painful five minute conversation with someone who was very pleasant but found it very difficult to understand what I was saying, and I pride myself on having a clear telephone voice, let along my new address. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: Hello
Operator: Hello
Me: I'd like to change the address my bills are sent to, please.
Operator: What would you like to change?
Me: My address
Operator: Oh, your address
Me: Yes
Operator: What is your postcode
Me: Which postcode? The new or the old
Operator: The old. *pause* No, actually I mean your password
Me: My password? *give password*
Operator: Could I have your new address, please
Me: Yes: ** **** ****
Operator: **** What?
Me: ****
Operator: OK
Me: *** *******
Operator: What
Me: *Spell it out*
Operator: OK.
Me: Give road name
Operator: F... what?
Me: Repeat
Operator: Could you spell that
Me: Spell Out
Operator: Can I check that? *Operator gets it wrong, then spells it incorrectly*
Me: No. *I repeat word*
Operator: OK.

...and so it continued. It was embarrassing for both of us. When I called Orange, the process took about 30secs. Much easier.

An interesting little link to an animated movie of what looks like a hippo and some kind of dog - a poor man's Timon and Pumba, if you will - performing a version of the timeless classic 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight'.

Opens in Windows Media Player (and presumably anything else that can cope with .wmv files).

OJ might remember Tropiquaria. It's a tourist spot between Minehead and Taunton housing all manner of wee tropical beasties, and it was a regular destination for school outings when we both went to Taunton School. It certainly put OJ's fear of snakes to the test (he can't even watch snakes in movies) since we all had to have a snake wrapped around our shoulders at some point as I recall.

Well Tropiquaria is housed in a very funny looking building, and it's taken me until just now to get around to finding out what it was. The big radio pylons around it were probably a big clue to those people with more common sense than me (that'll be everyone then), and so it transpires that it's an old BBC Radio transmission building dating back to the early 1930s.

There's some good photos and some very geeky information about the transmission side of things (which carries on despite the mildly unusual activities inside the building) over on this website. The BBC logo (as it was in 1933) and its motto, 'Nation Shall Speak Peace Unto Nation', are engraved above the main doors.

Perhaps those early visits to Tropiquaria planted a love of broadcasting in my subconscious! And there I was thinking it was a career path I'd only settled on in the last year or two...

Little more to add.

Further to Ollie's post, I'd like to announce that Anthony got a 1st. Don's ask me how, just marvel in the fact that the guy who spent his three years at Oxford punting and having tea, must clearly be some kind of genius.

One of my engineer friends, who worked tirelessly for weeks before his final exams at Oxford to the extent that he was rarely seen in daylight, has just come out of it all with the abject disappointment of a 2:2.

He worked ridiculously hard - whilst I was messing around in the student radio studio that he introduced me to in the first place (see last post for one example!), he gave it all up. At the same time that I got appointed head of news for the station during my final term, he was resigning his post as technical manager to concentrate on his exams. And yet he still came out of it with an entirely undeserved 2:2 - he's someone else that was top degree quality in my mind. He missed the 2:1 grade boundary by half a mark apparently.

I'm also told by him that a friend of his who came top during history mods (or prelims as they're now called) only got a 2:1 out of his finals. So OJ is certainly not alone in feeling hard done by.

With OJ's help, I hosted the Election Special on Oxide 87.7, Oxford Uni's radio station, back in May. It ran from 10pm on election night til 4am the morning after.

I've just got hold of the audio logs of the show and am listening back to it for the first time. There's six hours to listen to so I won't be listening all at once, but I'll post anything of interest as I get round to listening to parts of it. I'm also working on a way of making it freely available to anyone who wants to hear it (I might compose a 'best of'... if there's anything worth hearing, that is).

So far:

- The audio quality of the recording is poor, but frankly I'm just glad there's any record of it at all.

- My mic level is low compared to everyone else, so each time OJ talks, his voice is like a sonic boom compared to my buzz of a passing wasp.

- Patrick Foster and Ellie Cumbo were very good value during their five minute slot, which will make no sense to anyone who wasn't reading OxfordGossip at the time. Patrick uses the phrase 'political gang bang' and doesn't get any closer to being outrageous, which is a miracle.

Marcus Watney, UKIP candidate, is now nattering away to Nat Ogborn, and we're 29 minutes into this 360-minute political gang bang. Lovely.

But is it actually a dragonfly? In this instance I would say that Ollie has probably been correct in identifying that his Nessie is a dragonfly. However, for this little creature there are so many things to be learnt: is it a dragonfly or a damselfly? What colour is it? If it is a dragonfly, is it a darter or a hawker? Darters, or sprawler nymphs have fatter and shorter bodies and they perch on reeds waiting for the prey to come past and then they dart out and catch them. The hawkers, or dragon nymphs are longer and thinner and they patrol up and down looking out for prey on which to swoop. Incredible. And then you could investigate what food they eat, what habitat they prefer, how they reproduce, whether they are endangered in any way etc etc. And with a name such as "nymph", and "dragon", who can stop themeselves thinking about faries and other mythical creatures?

Mother Nature really is a fascinating thing. Perhaps a I should have become a biologist. If Wednesday goes horribly wrong, there is hope out there in a swamp somewhere.

And finally, is this where Ollie found his inspiration?

If this were all the evidence in the world for the existence of dragonflies, they would be in the same category as bigfoot, nessie and the abominable snowman.

Still, I'm telling you it's a dragonfly even if you don't believe me. It's made two trips to our garden since I've been down here in Minehead, and on its second visit I got the above photo of it.

I'm now going to sit out here all week long trying to get a better shot. Sadly, dragonflies tend to move around a fair bit, so for people like me who just like the idea of taking photos but have all the expertise with cameras of a drunken leopard, it's not an easy task. I hope someone remembers to bring me food out here.

At Oxford University, you get used to tutors having plenty of problems with the content of your essays. Facts, assertions and my tutor's particular fascination with the term 'verbiage' were all highlighted and questioned on a regular basis.

What became less common, for me at any rate, was criticism of the actual style of writing. Spelling, grammar, punctuation and the like were almost always accepted and left intact - I'm sure I messed it up once or twice but it wasn't as though tutors read essays with a view to any of this. That kind of thing was a secondary concern compared to the knowledge you had committed to paper.

At the Taunton Times it was like being back in a GCSE English class again. Print journalism requires an entirely different style of writing to anything I did at Oxford, and whilst I like to think I already have a fair idea of what differs and how to adjust, the last week made it abundantly clear that I'm not quite there yet. Below are scans of four articles I wrote, accompanied by the red ink alterations the news editor made. Even though one million poppies were dropped over London today to mark the end of World War II, I still think there's more red on these pages:

Anyone who knows the heights of pedantry I reach concerning spelling and grammar will have enjoyed that, I'm sure.

Yes, that's me. I received the keys to the flat yesterday! OJ, my parents and I all trotted up to London to see it, and started to take measurements and decide what needed painting. All very exciting. The flat will also border on the 2012 main Olympic Stadium, so at least it isn't going to go down in price!

Police say the bus bomb exploded on the top deck. If so, how on earth did all those people survive? It's one of the most extraordinary photos I have ever seen.

I'm not entirely convinced the bomb did explode on the top deck - I'm sure I've seen testimony from an eyewitness elsewhere who reckoned it was on the bottom deck. Even so, it is a miracle that so many people on the bus would appear to not only have survived but stayed standing in the immediate aftermath.

A campaign being spearheaded by the East Anglian Ambulance Service wants people to enter the phone number for their next-of-kin into their mobile's address book.

The idea is to enter a new contact as 'ICE' - In Case of Emergency - and set against it the phone number of the person you would like to be contacted if you're involved in some kind of accident.

Ben Metcalfe pointed it out in his weblog. It seems like a great idea to me and I've done it, so I'm just doing my bit to pass it on.

The Bank of England, the Treasury and the Financial Services Authority used a secret internet chatroom on Thursday to assess damage and keep the financial markets ticking over, according to the BBC.

I wonder what the conversation in the chatroom was like.

BankOfEngland1694uk has entered the room.
xXxLloyds4evaxXx has entered the room.
BankOfEngland1694uk: hey every1
BankOfEngland1694uk: asl?
xXxLloyds4evaxXx: 138f uk u?
BankOfEngland1694uk: 311m uk
xXxLloyds4evaxXx: kewl
BankOfEngland1694uk: how r u
xXxLloyds4evaxXx: ok thx u?
BankOfEngland1694uk: im gd
xXxLloyds4evaxXx: yay :)
BankOfEngland1694uk: so whats down wit u
xXxLloyds4evaxXx: ftse, dow jones, nasdaq, everythin :(
BankOfEngland1694uk: awww babez
BankOfEngland1694uk: u wanna cyber?
xXxLloyds4evaxXx: um ok
xXxLloyds4evaxXx: u start
BankOfEngland1694uk: ok im holdin my interest rates
xXxLloyds4evaxXx: mmm where r u holdin em ;)
BankOfEngland1694uk: 4.75%
xXxLloyds4evaxXx: is ur rate cut or uncut
BankOfEngland1694uk: uncut
xXxLloyds4evaxXx: kewl. what u want me to do?
BankOfEngland1694uk: relax ur mortgage loan rules
xXxLloyds4evaxXx: k im doin it
BankOfEngland1694uk: think i felt the earth move babez
xXxLloyds4evaxXx: shit theres smoke outside
xXxLloyds4evaxXx: shudnt we be doin sumthin
BankOfEngland1694uk: um i dunno
xXxLloyds4evaxXx: wot if sum1 asks wot im doin in here
BankOfEngland1694uk: k say we were providing a central point of information about work on continuity planning that is relevant to the UK's financial sector
BankOfEngland1694uk: or sumthin
xXxLloyds4evaxXx: kewl

Perhaps not.

I was away last night, so I haven't been around to comment on the success of OJ and Ollie. I think Ollie's post sums up everything really and as Sue commented, it is a great testament to their friendship. (I would have cried if someone wrote that about me) They're both still wonderful and I'm very proud of them.

All we need to do now is wait for my results on Wednesday...

I've cancelled my second week of work experience at the Taunton Times, for a variety of reasons.

Firstly, whilst everyone there has been great towards me and helped me out, I'm learning nothing new. I'm removed from the 'front line' to a greater extent than at the Bucks Free, where I spent half the time manning phones and actually getting involved in stories.

At the BFP I was out and about in town centres getting stories or reporting from the courts. That meant I was the only person getting those stories - if you weren't with me in town or with me in court, you weren't getting the information I was, and that's the whole driving force behind being a journalist, finding and publishing information other people don't have.

Being confined to an office on temperamental Macs (I had no net access all day today) with no phone to answer is frustrating for the lack of that feel of first-hand journalism. The sport was fun, because I have a natural love of things like league tables, results, fixtures and match reports, or else I'd never have set up my fantasy football league etc. I also got to play at sub-editing and see the effect in print (page 61 of this week's Taunton Times is almost entirely mine in terms of both content and layout), which is something I love.

The problem came away from the sport. The paper is in fairly serious trouble from what I can make out - at an editorial meeting this morning, it was made clear that inspectors would be paying a visit in the coming week or two, that reporters would be shadowed, and that all the inner workings of the paper would be subject to the closest scrutiny. A news item on the intranet of the paper's parent group, Northcliffe, warns that staff cuts may be forthcoming across the group's titles. The Taunton Times staff are putting two and two together and are visibly concerned for both their jobs and potentially even the existence of the paper itself.

This is not a profitable environment in which to be doing work experience. Everyone was very kind and helpful, and threw me work when they could, but essentially everyone seemed to be working for their livelihoods. That doesn't inspire people to take the work experience kid out on trips, give them good stories or challenge them. That inspires people to work damn hard to keep their job - I know what I'd be doing in their place, and I'd be giving me even less to do than they did. This week, whenever I've been forcibly ejected from the sports desk, I've been on a diet of press releases to digest and regurgitate in slightly-different-but-basically-the-same form. The few times I did get stuff to do which involved first-hand journalism, calling people up for quotes, the swines I needed to talk to either didn't want to talk or weren't there at all.

Vox pops are a form of first-hand journalism, but I've made my dislike of that activity very clear. It's more like conducting a particularly annoying type of survey that requires personal details and a photo than actual journalism.

Essentially, the problem is that I don't get much inspiration from being an outsider, which is all you can ever be on work experience. If I had been in my first week of a permanent position at the Taunton Times, I'd have loved throwing myself into it, but I don't like interrupting people and hassling them for things to do when I'm only there for a ride. Hell, I even did the Su Doku on the back of The Times today for the first time ever. Two of them were 'difficult' and one was 'fiendish' - I arsed up the first 'difficult' one but cracked the other one and knocked the fiendish one off too, which gave me an absurd sense of pride. That occupied me all afternoon in the absence of anything worthwhile to do in the office.

So in summary, I wasn't learning anything new, was further from the action than before, was in a troubled environment and didn't have the security and responsibility of a full-time job that would actually have seen proper work sent my way. Which made it something of a pointless exercise, and I reckon I might knock my planned experience at the Gazette on the head now too. I've seen enough of print journalism to know that I could do it and could probably enjoy it - particularly sport - but I've also found my enthusiasm for broadcasting has gone up a notch at the same time. Work experience at a radio station will be the real test of my future ambitions.

At least my sports page subbing has trained my editor's eye. As predicted yesterday, today's Times was understandably a sober, bleary-eyed shadow of Wednesday's Olympic edition; a front page splash of cheering crowds in Trafalgar Square had been replaced by a photo of former firefighter Paul Dadge helping a bomb victim, a snapshot ubiquitous across today's papers. The paper, whose every word I read from cover to cover during the day's tedium, made for very good reading indeed, a mixture of studied reflection, British resilience and optimism in the face of despair.

This notwithstanding, page two was sub-edited atrociously, with mistakes everywhere - perhaps to be forgiven if they slapped it together in a rush, but surely they'd had since 8:51am to be writing it. At one point, two sentences in a row were found to be missing the object and verb of each sentence respectively.

The best mistake was a typo in a separate column on page two, discussing how security had been stepped up across the globe:

In Madrid, which suffered similar attacks last year, Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero, the Prime Minister, ordered the Interior Ministry "to activate all the systems of alert and prevention", and told the security services to co-ordinate the hunt for those responsible for the British authorities.

The Spanish security services won't have to look far - 'those responsible for the British authorities' are the British electorate who voted them into authority! I'm assuming they either meant the security services are co-ordinating the hunt on behalf of the British authorities or with the British authorities...

As OJ has told you, we both got our degree results today and both got a 2:1.

OJ left a voicemail on my mobile with my result on it, having checked the degree lists at exam schools back in Oxford. It was a bit like waiting for the Olympic city to be announced - he told me to delete the message if I didn't want to find out my result, then left a long pause, then gave me another warning to delete the message if I didn't want to know, and then finally revealed the answer. I half expected him to say 'London' instead of 'two one'.

I'm thrilled to have got a 2:1 despite my best efforts at messing up entire papers, and I'll be interested to see how I performed in various papers as and when someone tells me. I've emailed various important people in the last few days and none have replied, so I'm beginning to smell a rat as far as my email is concerned, but they may all simply be ignoring me, so I may or may not get a breakdown of my results soon.

As for OJ, his disappointment is as palpable in his post as it was in his tone of voice when he left me that message, and in the follow-up phone call afterwards. He really shouldn't be so downbeat. Whilst you and I know that he's more than good value for a first at any institution on the planet, it has to be remembered that exams are all swings and roundabouts, just as the interviews to get into Oxford in the first place were. It's a lottery in terms of the questions on the paper, how you feel on the day, how your examiner feels marking the papers, who the examiners are and all manner of other factors. A degree result is by no means a statement of fact about aptitude.

Of course that's not the immediate problem as far as OJ's concerned - he told me he's more worried about the impact on funding. Again, anyone who knows OJ knows that he has the capability to do pretty much anything he wants (intellectually at least - he can't bat or bowl for toffee). The odds may be against him to get the funding he wanted, but if I could put my money on anyone to get that funding, it would be him. If I could put my money on anyone to succeed and go on to great things with or without that funding, it would be him. I do not for one moment believe that the number attached to his degree will make the slightest long-term difference to him pursuing his dreams and ambitions, and I know that once the initial disappointment subsides, he'll recognise that he's more than capable of anything he wants to do. Amy, myself and everyone else around him have absolute faith in him, so there's no reason why he shouldn't.

And when the breakdown of the results comes through, he'll still have done better than me anyway, so frankly he can stop complaining! If it turns out I have actually outperformed him, then, and only then, will I allow him to be pissed.

It reminds me of when our GCSE results were announced back at school. OJ got nine A* grades; I got six A* grades and three As. I actually came home in tears with disappointment that day because I didn't match OJ's achievement. Almost anyone else in my situation would have given their right arm for the grades I got, but because I was setting the bar so stupidly high, I was disappointed, which was ridiculous. I don't think those three missing A* grades have had too much impact on my life since that day. I think the two in front of the one on OJ's degree certificate will make even less difference than that.

Remember when we told you all about exams? Well now we have the results. And, although I want to reveal them somehow dramatically, I shall just say that Ollie and I both got a II.1. I won't pull any punches; I'm bitterly disappointed that I didn't get a first, because I know I was capable of one, but I wouldn't have done any of my exams any different nor any of my revision. I'll be interested to see the breakdown of the marks, to see whether I just missed one or if I was off. Also, I hope I did well in the area I'm doing next year (Colonial America). I do not want to find that my best paper was on Gregory of Tours. But there are, of course, good things too. I'm now entitled to BA Hons (Oxon) after my name, although I'm sure that will wear thin rather quickly, and I have secured my place here for next year on the M.St, which unfortunately was not the case for a friend of mine in a similar situation in English. (My chances of funding, though, which were 40% to start with, have taken a hit.) And my job this summer, working in the Alumni Office, has shown me that degree classification has very little relevence with future careers, and as my tutor pointed out, there are members of the Oxford faculty with II.1s. So of course it's not the end of the world. I know that. But I'm still pissed. Sometimes you just have to suck it up.

George Galloway, in a statement released earlier today:

"The loss of innocent lives, whether in this country or Iraq, is precisely the result of a world that has become a less safe and peaceful place in recent years.

"We have worked without rest to remove the causes of such violence from our world.

"We argued, as did the security services in this country, that the attacks on Afghanistan and Iraq would increase the threat of terrorist attack in Britain.

"Tragically Londoners have now paid the price of the government ignoring such warnings."

Will this individual not go away? Was it expecting too much for a succession of terrorist attacks to occur in London without George Galloway attempting to make political capital from the situation?

I may not entirely disagree with his sentiments - though I by no means wholeheartedly agree with him either - but now was not the time to be laying blame at anybody's door. I can only hope he is ashamed, but I fear it's an emotion beyond the man.

There's plenty I could say about the atrocities in London today, but it can be, and has been, expressed far more eloquently elsewhere on the radio and online. Suffice to say that it doesn't for a moment deter me from living and working in London this coming year. The bus I came home in today stood far more chance of veering off the road and killing me than the number 30 stood of suffering a terrorist attack in Tavistock Place.

I don't think this country's inhabitants will ever allow themselves to live in fear of terrorism, and I was heartened that our emergency services appeared to deal with the tragedies so quickly and calmly. My heart goes out to anyone affected today, and I also feel for Tony Blair, who has run the gamut of human emotions in the last 24 hours and who sounded near to tears as he read a statement earlier today. Who could blame him?

Most of my day was spent listening to the radio and reading the news online in a state of shock, along with the rest of the Taunton Times staff. Having come in from vox pops duty at 10am to discover what had happened, it certainly put my gripes about daily life into perspective. I had a copy of The Times with me to provide relief during quieter moments of the day, and I thus had the unsettling experience of reading one of the happiest editions of a newspaper to have been produced in modern times, whilst listening to events that will darken every front page tomorrow.

The front cover of this morning's Times has an enormous photo of celebrations in London as it was announced as the host of the 2012 Olympic Games. Inside there is a special Olympics pull-out, and on page seven is a column entitled 'Pitfalls', listing damaging factors London now has to avoid. At the very top of that list is terrorism:

The threat of terrorism looms over every major global event ... London, however, has an excellent record on preventing terrorism.

Reading those words whilst listening to the ongoing coverage of today's events was both bewildering and disheartening. The entire newspaper is an outpouring of joy on behalf of the city - just one day later, the city's fortunes have swung to the grim polar opposite.

Elsewhere in the paper, there's a headline 'Prime Minister with the golden touch' referring to Tony Blair's recent exploits. How that has changed in one day.

It's interesting to note the first mention of LOCOG, the London Organising Committee for the Olympic Games. Expect to hear much more of this committee over the next seven years, be it mired in scandal, dealing with building delays or perhaps even celebrating progress. I'm so inspired that the Games are coming to London - regardless of today's awful events - that I'd even quite like to work on the Olympic project myself. I might keep an eye out for jobs, you never know.

I don't believe there is any justification for the acts of terrorism that took place in London today. In contrast to the news of yesterday and the promise of the G8 summit it seems unimaginable and my thoughts are with those who have been caught up, or who have loved ones who have been involved in the atrocity. We can all read the news for ourselves, but I would like to share the text of a matrix board on the M20/M26 as I was driving into West Kent this morning:

Avoid London
Area Closed

There’s something so definite and eerie about such a message. Horrible.

The single thing I detest the most about journalism of any sort is the phrase 'vox pops'.

It stands for all things that make me nervous, annoyed, frustrated, tired and depressed. The concept behind vox pops is that you go out into the town and interview unsuspecting strangers at random about a certain issue. Today, on behalf of the Taunton Times, there were two: the news that London had won the Olympic bid, and a survey being done by Somerset County Council about quality of life in the county.

What is needed is a quote, a full name, an age, an address and a photo with the digital camera I'd been given. Sounds easy. It's hellishly difficult and no fun in practice. Getting the quote is usually easy, although the moment you go up to someone and ask to borrow a moment of their time, plenty are more than prepared - as is their right - to simply say 'no'.

Getting a full name is where it gets tricky, as this is when it hits home with the interviewee that their quote might end up in print. Three or four people chickened out at this point today, which renders their quote useless since I need all the aspects listed above. If I'm missing one of them, we can't use the quote.

Age is usually okay if asked nicely, but address is another minefield. It is only when you ask where they live that you might discover they're not from the area at all, rendering their quote useless because it's supposed to be from someone local. Today, people who had given me very useful quotes turned out to be from places like Bristol, Exeter, Barnstaple and Yeovil, which is absolutely no use, so their quotes were scratched too.

If all those hurdles are crossed we still need a photo, and it's agonising if the deal breaks down at this point. With the quote in the bag and personal details safely committed to paper, it's a massive kick in the groin for the interviewee to decide that their photo in the paper is one step too far. That did for the quote I'd got from a young girl on her cigarette break outside a sports shop.

These are all frustrating hoops through which to jump that make vox pops tedious, but it's not just that which makes me hate the whole process. I feel fundamentally unclean by barging into people's lives to ask them about the bloody county council, as if anyone really gives a monkey's. The Olympics was easy, I had plenty of quotes stacked up for that in no time because everyone was buzzing about it and keen to talk. Mention the words 'county council' and you can practically watch the mind of the person in front of you run screaming into the distance, coaxing their body to follow suit. No one wants to know, and after two hours of pacing around Taunton I gave up. Battle will be rejoined tomorrow morning.

Thank God I got to see a Twenty20 cricket match to liven my mood later on. Somerset beat Gloucestershire in a thrilling encounter and booked themselves a place in the quarter finals of the competition, smashing the ball all over the place to reach 228 for the loss of five wickets from their 20 overs. Gloucestershire were 133 all out in reply. It was fantastic viewing with a great accompanying atmosphere, and it must mean a lot to the players to see a capacity crowd at Somerset's County Ground. Before the advent of Twenty20, I doubt that had been a regular occurrence for years if not decades - now it's almost commonplace. This is a snapshot of the full house basking in the evening sun:

It was certainly exciting enough for me to want to go again as soon as I can, and it's great to watch a sporting fixture without being overly concered who wins (although a certain Somerset bias did surface from time to time).

In other news, according to a circular passed around the office today, one Leon Lee is joining the Taunton Times advertising department to man the phones. Is this the same Leon Lee who went to Taunton School along with myself and OJ? Apparently this Leon Lee, whether he be 'my' Leon or not, is being trained in Clevedon at the moment so I can't find out, although I'll pop into advertising next week to find out. I could also swear I've seen Karen and Ed, two other old school friends who I think both left before A levels, but I've got no proof. Frankly, the amount of walking I've done for the sake of five or six sodding vox pops, I'm amazed I've not met more people I remember. It'd certainly make life easier: 'Hey, lovely to see you again! How are you? And what do you think about your quality of life in the county? Hold still whilst I take a photo...'.

Do you all remember the letter to the Thames Valley Police regarding the abuse of traffic restrictions on the High, Oxford? Well my response came today. Here are a few quality excerpts:

“First of all I am very pleased you have taken time to comment about the levels of polic officers on foot and mounted in the city….

“In acknowledging your main point about the abuse of traffic restrictions in the High, I have to say that I could not agree with you more. Whilst I do commit resources to policing the traffic restrictions, I do not have the numbers of officers to do this with any sense of continuity or as a priority…

“As part of my responsibilities I attend the Central and South West Area Committee meetings which are council lead and open to the public. The issues you have raised have been addressed at these meetings several times and are a concern. You might like to attend to raise these issues… [details provided]

“I believe that the police alone cannot solve the traffic issues in the High and a partnership approach needs to be taken.

A very satisfactory response. See, it is worth writing once in a while!

As if you hadn’t guessed, London has won the bid for the 2012 Olympics. Apparently, as the rain began to fall in Paris, the sun shone in London. I’m incredibly excited, and as I drove home with Classic FM blaring our Elgar’s pomp and circumstance, I felt amazingly patriotic. I also won £1 on a scratch card. Wonderful news (and the flat should now go up in value too!)

No Taunton Times update to speak of today - for a start I'm tired and not feeling very well, and secondly I'm running out of things to relate that haven't already happened either at the Times or the BFP.

The Taunton Times is a quieter environment, as I think I mentioned yesterday, and today was just a case of writing up interviews, proof-reading, editing and sorting a few more league tables out. Which is all stuff I like doing, don't get me wrong, the editing in particular. Getting to design most of a sports page today, coming up with the headlines, fitting stories into the space available and working around adverts, is the kind of thing that I always enjoy, and was one of the highlights of editing Taunton School's newspaper, The Orb, all those many moons ago. So it's not for a lack of enthusiasm that I can't find much to write, it's simply that designing pages of a newspaper doesn't provide me with much worth saying, other than that it was fun.

I used my lunch break today to nip to the studios of BBC Somerset Sound and beg them for work experience, which paid off. Simon, the man who appeared to be in charge when I stopped by, was very friendly and turned out to have gone to the London College of Communication (or London School of Printing, as was) himself, which is always useful when arranging work experience. It's looking like I'll be doing two weeks there after my stint at the Somerset County Gazette in mid-August. This means I'm now on for new fewer than six weeks of work experience this summer, which by my standards is ridiculous. I'm almost proud of myself. (And before she yells at me, thanks goes to my mother for working out where the Somerset Sound studios were, even if I did get lost finding them anyway).

Finally, take a look at this webpage. It's an application in development which tracks all the changes made to the BBC News front page during the day. Try counting the number of times the Olympics article on the front page changes from a 'Have Your Say' link to either 'Olympic Dreams', 'Mood In London' or '2012 State Of Play'. Either these pages were on rotation on the front page for increased exposure, or someone at BBC HQ really couldn't make their mind up! Perhaps the IOC delegates aren't the only ones with tough decisions to make...

Dayorama was spammed by approx 120 fake comments today. But can you tell? No. Because I have deleted them all with ease, before they even reached the public site. Fantastic.

I think perhaps it is about time that Dayorama started to support the current Olympic bid. By this time tomorrow we shall all know whether London will be host to the 2012 Olympics. Personally, I would love for London to win the bid; think of all that sport on our doorstep! Also, it would mean that France didn’t get the bid, which would be a good thing. Today, Blair and Beckham (!) were in Singapore, making the “final push” for support ahead of the decisive vote. It does seem to be quite a close race, with London, Paris, New York, Madrid and Moscow all with a fighting chance. There certainly seems to be a lot of support amongst British sports persnalities (unsurprisingly) and politicians, but whether the rest of the country is so keen, especially Londoners, has been a bone of contention. There are fears that the transport system would be seriously disrupted and that too much money would be ploughed into the Olympics, rather than being used for other causes. Having said that, hosting the Olympics would provide Britain with a lasting legacy (even if some credit would have to go to Blair). Think of the sports facilities, the improved transport links, the regeneration in the East of London (and hopefully my flat increasing in price) and the temporary jobs that would be created. Perhaps the Olympic bid is just what Britain needs to regain some solidarity, a sense of the wider Community, and of course to improve our sporting success. Back the bid, I say. And keep your fingers crossed tomorrow lunch time!

Hmm, what to do when you're not sure if Ollie is going to be able to post or not, yet you still want to make sure a post goes up. Well, while I'm waiting for my flatmate to get out of the kitchen, here's a list of random stuff:

I finished my second day of work, which means there are only another 48 to go. 4% done - that's not bad when you think about it. Today was spent mostly in the Rad Cam, researching and then writing a 1600 word article on the history of the Mitre and its cellars.

I need to go shopping again, as I've run out of salad and vegetables. Shopping when you work all day is quite tough, especially when you have to carry everything back. And I still don't have a good chopping knife.

I need a haircut. See above, minus chopping knife (until Amy reads this and runs at me screaming "get it cut").

And Dan has just left the kitchen, so I'll pass it over to Ollie whenever he posts...

I'm absolutely shattered. Today was the first day at my second newspaper out of three, the Taunton Times, a free weekly paper based in my old home town.

The offices are on the High Street near to Vivary Park, which means plenty of sightseeing and reminiscing for me (my old school friend Charlie still works in the O2 shop, which is nice - I might pop in and say hi some time over the next few days). The office itself has no air con, unlike the Bucks Free Press a few weeks ago, which became much more noticeable as the day went on, and it is of course far smaller. The sports desk at the BFP was a quarter of a very large room; here, it's literally one sports desk.

I'm sat next to another Charlie, the Taunton Times sports editor, who completed his MA in Modern History at Keble College, Oxford, before going on to write the sports news for BT's online portal, then taking a print journalism course and ending up as sports editor here. He's not the only Oxford graduate there either - they've got a trainee journalist in her first job post-journalism course who used to go to St Hilda's College. It's oddly comforting to know that for the next couple of weeks, three Oxford graduates will be at work producing a comparatively tiny local newspaper. It puts the raw, ugly ambition so many journalistically-minded people at Oxford show, by treating anything other than a major national newspaper with disdain, into perspective. Here is proof that no matter where you start in life, it is perfectly possible to enjoy yourself doing a job on a purely local level. That's not to say this is better than fulfilling your ambitions at a national, but in terms of job satisfaction, it's obviously a viable alternative.

Charlie is extremely nice and very much in the mould of Mr Chatterton, my old history teacher, in terms of his generally affable, laid-back, chatty nature. We spent plenty of time talking about cricket and Oxford, particularly the former - the news editor, who went to Taunton School before either OJ or I got there, plays on the same cricket team as Charlie and hobbled dramatically into the office, so the discussion centred around his injury. The theme of the day was cricket - I spent most of it updating cricket league tables, results and fixtures, along with similar updates for darts, skittles and bowls, all archetypal Somerset sports. Not forgetting a little research, trying to find out who Wellington Town face in the qualifying round of the FA Vase.

It was good fun, and a bit more homely in terms of atmosphere than the BFP, which was certainly more fast-paced than the Taunton Times. There's no phone at my desk for a start, which was a welcome break from the constant hassle of incoming calls at the BFP. At my disposal is one blank notepad and one archaic Apple Mac, forcing me to confront Macs properly for the first time ever. As it happened, their entire network went down in the morning, except my Mac, which somehow survived, so I was in the privileged position for two hours of being the only one in the office able to do any work. And I think I've now just about got the hang of how Macs work. So much for their fabled stability, though - I was encouraged to save my work as often as possible because the office Macs were renowned for failing on a regular basis. I'll be sticking to Windows-based machines, then.

Right, the three hours travelling time to get from Minehead to Taunton and back has taken it out of me, so bed calls. I'm glad OJ approved of the Independence Day themed banner, and he'll get his money soon enough I'm sure. Although six quid for a return bus ticket each day! Blimey. I hope everyone in the second division of the Landlords' Summer Darts championship appreciates my efforts and expense for their league table...

Ooh, I almost forgot why I named this post as I did. I got to use Quark today, which is the standard in terms of newspaper publishing software, and have had a hand in designing some pages and sub-editing, which is fantastic and very much something I enjoy doing. I had one story about a tennis match in which the defeat of Minehead's Gerry Hull by a Wellington competitor had been crucial. My headline for this was 'Minehead Suffer Hull Breach'. Charlie allowed it to stay. It's my finest moment in journalism thus far.

One of the things about living in Bear Lane, Lincoln's primary grad quad, where I am over the summer and in all probability, next year, is that I have a kitchen. With a fridge freezer, storage, a cooker, grill and counter top. It's not great, but it's not going to feature on Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares anytime soon. Finally I've been able to cook at university - something that I increasingly began to miss towards the end of the last academic year. Given that I've just finished dinner, and that I have basic cookery skills at best, I thought that I might update readers every now and again with my culinary feats.

Today: Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner.

Breakfast was an easy affair - some raisin wheat cereals, some Grove Fresh orange juice (because there is no better, and if I don't drink it all at once, perhaps I can justify the cost) and some fruit. I have no toaster, therefore no toast. I could grill it, but it's just too much hassle. And it'll be interesting to see how I cope without access to my usual bread reserves.

Lunch was good - two home made tuna sandwiches. This involves fresh tuna, mixed with mayo and some chopped baby spring onions, placed in wholemeal bread along with some salad and fresh tomato. Delicious.

I'm particularly proud of my dinner: Curry Pitta Surprise. Two chicken breasts are cooked off in a pan, with some korma sauce added to them. When cooked, served with warm pitta breads and salad. Then place the curried chicken and salad inside the pittas for some good times. What was the surprise I hear you ask? Well, some of the sauce was a tad congealed, because I didn't stir the chicken enough. But it was otherwise a success. And mercifully limited washing up, which is what I'm about to do now. I'm sure I'll be back in the future when I attempt to cook vegetables.

...Gmail!

OJ sent Ollie and I an email this morning with the title "Dayorama Costs". Gmail not only displays the subject of the email, but also the first line. Thus, when I read my emails quickly in the CAB and scanned the first line as "Morning, I've just renewed the domain and...", I just knew that OJ was asking for money (the title *could* have been ironic). Consequently, I ignored the email.

OJ has just called and asked me "did you read my email about the money you owe me due to Dayorama costs". Very sheepishly I had to tell him that I had seen it, but chosen to ignore it. I don't think OJ was impressed, but it made me smile. Just think, had it not been for gmail, I may have had a rotten afternoon. As it was, OJ hit me with the sum this evening, saving me having to read the figure. Small things please.

Hi. Remember me? I used to post on here too, until I went home for a fortnight and promptly forgot all about it.

I'm back in Oxford for my summer job, and about to start work. This is weird. It's work. I want to stay in bed and do nothing. That's much more fun. On the upside, at least I'm getting paid to do this.

Also, neat banner at the top :)

I'm no cynic about this - I really enjoyed today's shows from around the world, and was absolutely distraught not to have got to the Eden Project for their show. Maybe next time, if there ever is one. It looked fantastic down there.

It was especially good to see Pink Floyd reunited after almost a quarter of a century, which is something I never expected to see, and the finale was as good as expected. But what followed - footage of the Kaiser Chiefs appearing in Philadelphia as part of the US Live 8 show - was probably my highlight. It was great seeing them performing to an American crowd that seemed to lap them up as much as the Glastonbury crowd did a week ago.

This is my cue to remind everyone that you heard about the Kaiser Chiefs here first. They didn't break into the UK mainstream chart until the first couple of months of 2005, and since then their profile has risen astronomically, so that this week just gone they cemented their status as true A-list pop celebrities. But this time last year, they were absolute nobodies in the music industry. Observe the following Dayorama posts:

Oh My God I Can't Believe It - October 09, 2004
"I've never got quite such a bargain on Ebay (eBay? Does it matter?). Last week, my copy of the Kaiser Chiefs' debut single, Oh My God, arrived ... It's the Chiefs' debut single and I think it didn't get any higher than the mid-60s in the charts - depending on who you believe, there were only 500 or 1,500 imprints of the single made. I now own one.

Kaiser Chiefs: "Oh My God" Lyrics - November 08, 2004
"Lots of you crazy kids keep coming here looking for lyrics to the Kaiser Chiefs' kick-ass "Oh My God" track, ever since I mentioned them a while back."
I then reproduced the lyrics, which proved so popular with search engines until mainstream lyric sites caught on that someone even posted a correction to my interpretation of them.

In New Jingles We Trust - November 14, 2004
"Six Music was launched precisely to cater for the growing sector of the population which puts more faith in a broad range of ever so slightly underground, understated indie acts, ranging from Marjorie Fair to The Others, Kaiser Chiefs (yes, them again) to the Killers."

Even OJ observed, in January this year, that Dayorama had stolen a march on the BBC, who only then declared the Chiefs to be one of their picks for 2005. Later that month, I noted that three separate people had dealt with a simple enquiry I had about the band, suggesting that their fame was slowly developing. Finally, in February, I mentioned that the re-release of the same single I bought on eBay was coming out, completing the first stage in the growth of their popularity.

Well, since then their fame has increased exponentially, which can only be a good thing. For the very first time, I have been ahead of the bandwagon (unless Idiotchild are the next big thing, of course). And now I am done basking in my glory. Just remember to stay tuned for Dayorama for all the music knowledge you need, pop-pickers.

I thought the BBC were meant to be impartial, especially when it comes to sports commentary (with perhaps the exception where England are playing). The women’s singles final at Wimbledon today saw a terrific showdown by Williams v Davenport, with Williams regaining her Championship crown amidst tears and lots and lots of jumping around. I came into the game in the final set, and was shocked how pro-Davenport the commentators were. Granted, Davenport was playing well, and she had a back injury, but Williams was also playing damn well too. When Williams won a game the commentators didn’t praise her, instead they just sympathised with Davenport and tried to reduce her loss. Even when Williams won the match, they didn’t really jump for joy, say well done, praise her as a player. Instead, they praised Davenport. I agree there has to be a balance; it would have been wrong to solely praise Williams and neglect Davenport, but I really think the commentary needed to be fairer. Oh well, it didn’t affect the quality of the game. The longest, and probably one of the most exciting women’s singles finals in SW19’s history. The men’s final should also be a delight tomorrow.

Onto Live 8… what will that have in store I wonder? Did anyone catch the introductions earlier where Jonathan Ross was interviewing Geldof and Michael Berk in some transparent pod/capsule thing on the perimeter of Hyde Park? Ross was wearing a bright yellow suit and sitting on a bright pink chair. Lovely.

By the side of one of the entry roads into Lenham (the village where I live) is a pond. Last year the Parish Council put up "duck crossing" signs by the side of the road - triangular warning signs with a duck in the middle - to highlight to road users the fact that ducks regularly cross the road (apparently quite a few ducks had been run over). Tonight, I had to slow down, put my hazards on to warn the car behind me that I was suddenly going to stop, and then had to sit patiently as three ducks crossed the road in front of me. So cute!

And in other news, just one more reason why I like gmail:

"Gmail is temporarily unavailable. Cross your fingers and try again in a few minutes. We're sorry for the inconvenience."

That's a lovely way of putting it! Better than "engineering works!".

I'm on a train once again, whistling its way through the countryside of various counties that aren't in the top tier of English county cricket, making its way in the general direction of Reading.

Which is a blow, since I'm supposed to be going to Taunton.

Apparently, something fairly major involving a bridge has happened ahead. We stopped in the middle of a field for about ten minutes, then slowly eased our back in the direction we had just come. The plan, according to the conductor, is to go all the way back to Reading - where I boarded the train - and take a different route down to the westcountry from there. This will add at least two hours to our journey time.

If and when the very same conductor comes by to check tickets, I shall use this as part of my defence for occupying a first class seat without having paid for one. The train was reported full and standing at Reading, so I stood at the very end of the platform, awaiting coach A. Coach A is routinely ignored by passengers, the majority of whom, for reasons which are beyond me, always huddle in the centre of the platform as though any straying to the left or right might rule them out of the rush for a seat entirely. It is a standard class coach, with just one door (the other door, next to the leading engine, is the guard's door). If you can be the first one into the coach through that door, you stand a very good chance of claiming any remaining seats. This would save me having to stand for the entire trip, as the departure board threatened.

Alas, the train was running in reverse formation, a fact the departure board had neglected to mention, choosing to stress the inevitable horror that awaited passengers rather than relaying helpful information regarding which way the train was facing. Coach H duly presented itself at the front of the train instead of coach A. Coach H is the holy grail of all Great Western services, it being resolutely first class no matter what the circumstances. I have been in coach E before when it has been 'declassified' down from first to standard to cope with full and standing services. I have been in coach G and paid the Weekend First upgrade, which gets you first class travel at weekends for a £10 surcharge. Never, ever, will you get into coach H unless you've paid through the nose for your proper first class ticket.

So naturally I took a seat in it. I popped my headphones in, got a book out, and buried my head in it. I ignored everyone who walked past me in the hope that this would establish a precedent, and that when the conductor came by, he wouldn't trouble himself with the bloke minding his own business reading. This is, of course, a hopelessly futile trick employed by absolutely anyone hoping to avoid a conductor - it's one step away from hiding in a toilet for two hours - but it was all I had in the armoury at the time.

By the time we ended up at a standstill in a field, the conductor had made himself known over the public address system, but had failed to make an appearance. When he broke the fateful news that Reading was coming back for an encore, there was thus a little relief creeping in next to the immense frustration (there's an hour long bus trip to Minehead ahead once I eventually get as far as Taunton). If anyone asks for my ticket now, I can reasonably tell them that they might as well accept my 'young person's railcard saver first' ticket, because it'll save time when I get round to claiming my money back for the delay. If they doubt me for one moment, I'll set Amy on them. I have occasionally been known to ask for my money back, but that girl's lethal. They've been warned.