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Excuse me while I whinge.

Yesterday, I missed my singing lesson in a fit of not knowing what time it was.

Today I had a totally pointless tute. Had failed to write essay, despite having done all the reading - I just couldn't come up with an essay title I could actually answer. Made the mistake of looking over past papers to try and find an essay title. Can't answer any of the questions on them. Don't see how I ever will. Got two years to work it out in, I guess.

Tutor was feeling as dopey as I was anyway, so we got absolutely nothing done. Might as well have stayed in bed. And it's raining. And I nearly got run over by a bike on the way home through my own damn stupidity.

I'm not actually as down as I probably sound now. That's the weird thing. I'm cold and wet and tired and faintly fed up, but ... optimistic? Mebbe it's just cos I got to the point of not handing in an essay and the world didn't end. Just like I knew it wouldn't, although I think I'm gonna keep pretending it will cos it's that or not do the work at all... And it's now the end of sixth week. Two more weeks today and I'll have handed in my last work of term. 12 essays down, four to go. Or more accurately, 9 essays down, three up the toilet, and four to go. Sigh.

On a more cheerful note: People in Oxford, I will be in G and Ds next Tuesday night for birthday ice-cream - the one near Christ Church NOT the one on Little Clarendon Street. Probably from nine o clock, unless I let you know a different time or something goes horribly wrong with rehearsals...