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Wednesday 12.11.03 | HAHAHAHAHAHA feck. Made up a list of essay-deadlines for this year last night, and sat there giggling at it, not knowing quite what to do; panic, cry or just laugh. In the end, I had a bath. Thought it might just go away in the meantime. So I have roughly one essay a month for the next six months to hand in; this is on top of all my regular work (translations, bits of grammar, muchos reading) plus, erm, oh yeah, a play to organise and direct. Now, this isn't something I can't do; I know that. I am confident enough to blag what I can't actually do anyway. Is just going to take major amounts of organisation and work, two things which don't come naturally... Friday 14.11.03 HIGH drama in Notting Hill last night, or rather, to be more precise, at 5am this morning. Charlie walked -quite calmly- into my room and told me that she could hear a fire-alarm ringing, smell smoke and hear lots of glass breaking and people clomping about in panic in the flats around us. Got up and checked the stairwell for smoke and flames, but there were none, so walked into the kitchen, which already stank of burning. Heard a massive smash from up above me, and shakily phoned 999. Fire brigage were first class. A fire-engine pulled into my road -literally- about 30 seconds after I had put the phone down, long before I'd been able to pull some clothes on. Charlie, in the meantime, went to wake Anna and Rob, and we all got out of the building as fast as possible. Transpired that the flat above us in the next building along was on fire, and quite seriously - it's burnt out this morning. So we all stood, along with lots of our neighbours, on the street for about half an hour, waiting for the fire-service to put the blaze out and watching smoke billow out of the windows of the flat. Thank God nobody was in there. Anyway, we were all eventually allowed back inside and went back to sleep. But it was quite worrying, thinking how easily that couuld have been our building, our flat, our lives. So that was that. Really quite exciting, but has somehow this has provided me with an excuse to do bugger-all work today, which is not good. Oh well. Sunday 16.11.03 SPENDING day studiously ignoring work, might try and do a little more on the play tonight, nothing more. Got the video of The Remains of the Day out last night which is a brilliant film, but it doesn't match up to the book. Nowhere near. Other thing to report today is that the UCL quad smells of vom, and has done for several days now. It's not as though it's fresher's week or anything, and yet the stink of throw is being particularly tenacious. Curious. Monday 17.11.03 TALKING to Anna and Charlie just now brought back horrible memories of GCSE Maths. Detested all the stupefying questions like If the bathtub can take v amount of water, and the tap, which has a diameter of h centimetres, is running and z amount of water is flowing into the bath at q kilometers per hour, how long will it take the bath to fill, given that the plug, which measure d centimetres in circumference, is fitted into the plughole, but unfortunately, because its chain is only t bilimetres long, it covers u percent of the available space in the plughole, and therefore, r cubic metres of water are flowing down the plughole (which, incidentally, needs some Mr. Muscle pouring down, as it's a bit blocked, which you'll have to take into account) per hour? I was always tempted to write a philosophical question in response, namely Who actually gives a flying fuck? | |||||||||
