OK, OK, so Kath and I are nattering away last night (we managed to gossip from roughly 8.30
'til about 1.30 - a new (and quite sad) record for both of us, especially considering I'm sure I was planning
to have an early night) when Marielle, my translation tutor, rings at 10.30. Quite why we have each others numbers
I can't be arsed to explain properly but I assure you it's nothing dodgy. So she says to me that the German Dept are
putting on a cabaret in, oh let's say, a week's time, and could I be the props manager for it? After reasoning out my initial
inclination (ie putting down the phone) I reluctantly agreed and asked for a props list. 'I'll give you it once I've found the sketches
we're doing,' she says. 'Found?' 'I've lost them.' So let me summarise the situation. I am now the props manager for a Cabaret production
which is a week tonight (being performed in German.) The scripts are missing, rehearsals have not started, and I will probably get the props list on Tuesday.
There are no posters up anywhere. Sound like a good omen to you? Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. The last time I got myself involved in this sort of thing - in the German Dept again,
funnily enough - I had a week to find such things as fake, diseased breasts, a dead hand, a shower curtain and all kinds of other shit. Do you
really blame me for being slightly worried about this whole idea?
This aside, today was a blissfully lazy day, spent in Gordon Square - mainly reading my trashy novel and chatting to Max about...lots of things. More of the same tomorrow. I love
being a student.
31.5.01
Of course, when I wrote that last paragraph yesterday, I meant to say: 'More of the same tomorrow, on the condition that the British Summer hasn't ended.'
It's about to chuck it down.
1.6.01
Quietly recovering from last night: an alcholic picnic in Hyde Park. Was fantastic fun getting wasted with the sun going down, disco music playing (bought a stereo)
and lots of food going down everyone's gullets. I remember feeling very emotional before my trashy sentiments were interrupted by Mike and Jane who decided
that it would be a good idea to go for a swim in the Serpentine at about 10.30. In the end, they just paddled, but watching them and laughing was just as good.
Going out yet again tonight - this time to 'Phase,' which is apparently the worst and cheesiest club in London. Suits me down to the ground. :-)
2.6.01
If I could do an evil(ish) and satisfied-sounding laugh without looking and sounding like I had had a fencepost inserted rectally, I probably would be giving it serious conisderation now.
I was complaining (me? never!) earlier in the week about having to do this cabaret thing. Well somehow things have managed to fall together in such a way that I don't have to any more.
Marielle has decided that because I can't actually be there on the night and all the props are reasonably simple to find, she can take on my role. Needless to say, I am feeling much happier,
bearing in mind I'm not sure she's even worked out which sketches they are doing yet. Oh yeah, and they're now doing it outside. Just the thought is enough to make me smile, and then embarrass
myself considerably by laughing out loud while in public.
3.6.01
Spending day quietly with slight hangover from last night: Vicky's 50s-style birthday party. And before I forget, I must mention my friend Sass, who makes the gods tremble, and therefore
deserves a mention because I met her yesterday and she's mad and fantastic. Have you ever wondered, on a completely different and therefore random note, why there are so
many pigeons with one leg? Just another one of my less-inspired (and rare) moments of cranial activity...
4.6.01
Yeah, on laughing out loud in public. Can I just say here that I blame Michelle and her excellent weblog
entirely for making me stifle my loud laughing in the computer room, and therefore making me emit a nasal snort which would make a Krakatoa-scaled eruption sound like a lullaby? Thank you.
Anyway, aside from that, and now I have stopped blushing, I am inevitably slipping towards Thursday morning (at 9.37 in the morning, if you must know,): my bloody
second driving test. Oh how I HATE sitting in a speeding ton of metal with lots of inflammable liquid sloshing around near me with loads of other, similar, often bigger
metallic, tank-style vehicles belting along, often headed in my direction. Apart from, perhaps, having a sponsored lobotomy, I cannot think of much worse.
5.6.01
Apparently, according to various people who know me and read my site, my description page is, to quote
one of them, 'a pile of shite.' I have therefore had orders from various different people to write something accurate and interesting on it instead of the crap currently
sitting there. Watch this space.
Have just got my photos back from the UCL summer ball. Despite the fact that my dinner suit is far too big for me
and would probably snugly fit the dome of St. Paul's, I look pissed and... sagging in every photo. This is not good news: methinks a gruelling fitness regime this week would do me good.
Of course, whether it is going to happen is another question.