blog in sixty seconds

So much to say, so little time.

I'm in the computer centre on campus with Est, checking emails in sweltering heat and trying not to sweat on the chair too much.

It's a public chair; it's a matter of respect.

I'll tell you about my house. There's no bed in my room, what used to be the dining room, so I pulled a mattress downstairs and I sleep on that instead. I feel so bohemian that yesterday I placed a request with the landlord to not buy me a bed after all, just a mattress to sleep on. He pointed out that there was already a spare mattress in the shed and, if beds weren't important, couldn't I just sleep on that?

Just so everyone knows where I stand on this - beds aren't important, but not sleeping on something you found in the back garden is DAMN important.

I can sit on the windowsill (one leg in, one leg out) to smoke, listening to the Pixies and reading pretentious books and ain't nobody to tell me off except maybe the delicious next door neighbours, foreign as a lawnmower to my new back garden, and fit as the pizza we ordered for breakfast this morning.

Fucking bohemia. The other wonderful thing about my house is that it's mine. Currently Est's as well but she's only paying rent in love and cigarettes - this house is mine, baby, and I'll stub my fags out on the rusty stepladder you left in my yard if I want to.

White trash doesn't even cover it.

This has run well over sixty seconds but I don't care so I'll tell you the rest of the good news.

Est and I get to see Philippa and her lovely chum Charlotte tonight. Philippa and Charlotte bear the dubious pleasure of being two of the few people to see just what a mess I was at the Reading festival. Charlotte and Est bear the even more dubious pleasure of being the only two people I know ever to challenge each other to a 'Jew-off' - if you've never seen yamulkahs drawn at dawn then you shouldn't ask.

The even more exciting news is that, despite missing so many lectures and seminars that I technically failed this year, I've actually passed this year, and better than I expected to. My relief is tangible. Come closer. You can stroke it.

I must adieu, to a house full of fag-smoke, Irn Bru bottles and, due to my recent friendship with a girl who used to work in a sexual health clinic, several packs of condoms and a sachet of Liquid Silk. Again, if you don't know, it's best not to ask.

Who says doing nothing is boring?