Day 11 - An Of Course in Trivia

Happy Repunit, everybody!

I managed to wake up at the earlier time of 9am this morning. I'm going to bed after I've written this as well; I'm waking up at 5am tomorrow, so I can give Julia a lift to her new Post Office employment by 6. I'm either mad, bad, or dangerous to know. I'm just not sure which.

Haven't accomplished much in these twelve hours; I did some reading, some gluing, watched a bit of TV, and went to my grandparents for three hours. It was my grandfather's 83rd birthday, so me, my father, and my little brother went over there. He was a terror (in a cute way, obviously), but he was easily distracted by lego that I remember playing with when I was his age.

In a further blast from the past, we had tea (i.e. sandwiches, cake and tea) on the same little table and the same tablecloth that I remembered as a wee lad. We used to have tea like that every Sunday afternoon. Aah, halcyon days of childhood.

I'm impressed with myself, I have to say. I've done 9 out of the 11 days so far. And, as everyone knows, \inline \small \lim{n\rightarrow\infty}(\frac{n-2}{n})=1

Happy 57 months Julia :)

Day 10 - Double Trouble

Here's more of this Blogging Malarkey. Me and Julia just finished watching The Truman Show - a film that I love, especially Jim Carey's performance. Julia was less impressed; she gets too emotionally involved with her films.

The film was on my laptop, so we couldn't watch it on the TV. I bravely offered to rig up the showing with the large external monitor, for Greater Viewing Enjoyment. This proved to be a major technical undertaking. The desk had to be moved, speakers unplugged, laptop moved, monitor found, and everything set up in a different location. Then I fiddled around with my laptop, while the external monitor flashed ever more worrying shades of green. Nothing should be that green, especially nothing electronic.

Fortunately, it was all fixed, and Our Viewing Enjoyment was Enhanced. Another catastrophe this evening; we'd gone out to a local restaurant, but after the meal, I discovered that my wallet was missing my bank card. I screamed, I shouted, I tore out the hair of both myself and nearby diners, but to no avail. My card had been forgotten back at my house, which was not in the same location as the restaurant.

So, I walked back through whistling blizzards and humming hurricanes, found my card (which was looking annoying smug) and drove back to the restaurant. Julia had been sipping a gin and tonic and laughing with the bartender, no doubt. I paid, and we drove home. Another hilarious episode in the Tom Show.

Day 9 - 9 8 8

My titles have just become injokes with myself now. They're not even very funny injokes, to make matters worse. I know, I know. I missed Day 8. My shame is incalculable. No excuses, let's press onwards.

Imagine my dismay to come back to my laptop to find the following message from a 'friend' on identi.ca: "You are failing at this blog malarkey. Sorry."
I'm not sure which I should be more insulted at. The insulting second person pronoun? The one word apology? Or the shocking use of 'malarkey' to refer to this noble pasttime? How the heck do you spell pasttime? Pastime? Past-time? Tricky.

I went to my Dad's last night, to babysit my little brother. Me and Julia watched the Matrix. Now there's a film with symbolism. It had symbolism literally coming out of its ears. I was struggling to watch the film properly, worried that I had missed some wayward sigh that was an esoteric reference to the struggle of the Cathars in Languedoc.

Darn, I was going to post about analytic number theory in this paragraph. I can't figure out how to put nicely laid out mathematics in a blog, however. This seems like a problem that must have been overcome. I've seen good mathematics blogs; I've read them! It must be some sort of Mathematical Mafia, trying to lock me out. Harsh.

Cat urine removal continues. Vinegar is a powerful tool, but not powerful enough, it seems. Perhaps if I persuade a bigger cat to urinate on it, it will cancel it out. I should have listened in GCSE Biology. I'm sure this came up at some point.

Day 7 - Another Close Shave

11:58pm! I made it! Also note that I'm counting these times from the start of the writing, rather than the end. Just returned home from Julia's house, where we were watching Ratatouille - an excellent film, especially due to one particular scene. Fantastic.

I was also present for the decoration of Julia's christmas tree. Being generally incompetent at tasks involving small delicate objects, I gave myself a battlefield promotion to official Documentor, with responsibility for photography and a minute by minute log. Hopefully Julia will blog that soon, to save me the trouble.

She has also suffered a feline urinary catastrophe (pun not intended, though subsequently noticed and left unchanged). I need to find a way to remove the lingering smell of cat pee from a small box. Any ideas, Internet Readers? Open book, now.

My reading on Problems in Analytic Number Theory continues. I really need to become good at maths. I mean...I'm good at what I do, but I don't really understand it properly. It feels like everything I'm doing is trivial manipulation - sometimes very difficult or impossible trivial manipulation, but still. I need insight, I need understanding. A fresh view of things. Playing with pebbles on the beach, when I want to be windsurfing.

Such things will be resolved, after sleep.

Day 6 - An Assortment of Dishwater

Another lonely day at home, just me and the dog. Julia was gallavanting in Leicester, and the rest of my family was out at work, leaving my itinerant student self to roam the echoing halls like an industrious ghost.

Industrious, indeed! I did some housework, played with the dog, tidied the kitchen, read some of Rudin's analysis, and watched SIX episodes of Frasier. My stamina astounds me. I also watched the Dark Knight whilst attempting to construct the rest of my Ork Horde.

Unfortunately, the glue is either too weak, too old, or inproperly applied, so most of my good work so far probably won't last too long. Such is a summary of the day's events, but that's not what you came for, is it? You want me to dish the dirt, the skinny, the low-down, the real Red Mary on measure theory.

You sly dog, you. Wassamatter, Riemann integral not good enough for you anymore? Integrating continuous functions over compact intervals just doesn't get your jazz flowing? Don't worry, you crafty mathematical artiste. Lebesgue integration can sort out your troubles.

Even more so, the definition can be extended to work out an integral for ANY measurable function on ANY measure space, not just the same boring old real numbers.
In fact, by defining different measures on the same space, lots of different facts from different areas turn out to be special cases of quite broad theorems in measure theory.
For example, an infinite sum is 'really' just a normal integral with counting measure rather than Lebesgue measure.
Don't understand what I'm talking about? Check Wikipedia for now. When I figure out how to put nice Latex into blog posts, I might start doing some nice exposition.

Well, I've just received an interesting proposition: Blood Bowl against an old opponent. He mocks me with his "\o/" smiley. So you can raise your arms above your head, eh? He's just trying to make me jealous. I've had the nickname "Acute armpit" since Year 4. Sickening.

Today's trivia: "Do not accept a bribe, for a bribe blinds those who see and twists the words of the righteous." Thanks, Exodus 23:8!

Day 5 - No, really

This counts, OK? I won't let my days be bound by some dictatorial clock. This is still part of my working day, and so this counts as a post on Day 5. I blame Paramount Comedy for stealing away my evening. Let this be a lesson to me: never too early to blog.

So, today, I started gluing my Ork models onto their bases. So far: 8 models done. Now just the arms, heads, undercoats, and paints. Apply to many other models, and an army is formed, ready to hack and slash their way to a fictional victory.
Perhaps I could create a new Grey Clan of Orks, so I don't have to paint them? They'd still stare accusingly at me with their plastic eyes. "Grant us life!" they cry, but I must be strong. Through weakness lies madness, and then it's hard to hold down a steady job.

Also today, me and Julia drove to the Royal Mail Parcel Depot on Papyrus Road {{Emergency announcement: The Playbus TV theme just started playing on my laptop. Beautiful.}} to collect parcels for her, my mother and my stepfather. None for me, sadly (donations always welcome).

Julia would here expect some embellished tale of our journey to the Parcel Depot, full of trials, dragons and other hilariously dangerous elements. I simply refuse to indulge her, however. The truth will stand, however dragon-free it may be.

We drove there, uneventfully. There was a good CD in the car, and the roads were reasonably busy, but not inconveniently so. The sky was such an unmemorable shade I don't even remember it, and no scrapes or shindigs were suffered by anyone. A moderately convenient parking space was found, and after a brief but manageable queue, we collected the parcels, hassle free. We drove back to Julia's, again uneventfully, and had tea there.
And throughout, the dragon had slept quietly in my back seat, alright? I will not make stuff up simply to jazz things up. My life is full of jazz already; it's a constant midnight show.

Today's reading: Problems in Analytic Number Theory, again. I've started working through them properly now, mostly while watching the mentioned Paramount Comedy. No big problems so far (though some of my reasoning is a little sketchy, I admit). I also haven't used one of the conditions in the statement of a theorem within my proof of it, which is always a bad sign. Maybe something will occur to me later.

Today's trivia: Poseidon made Pasiphae, wife of Minos, fall in love with a bull. She got an architect to build her a wooden model of one, so she could copulate with it. The result: the Minotaur.
That's the disgusting part of the legend.

Day 4 - And then he turned on the death ray

Bwa ha ha ha ha ha. That's four (minus one) days in a row, oh you naysayers. The scale of my triumph grows like bamboo, and the giant panda of disappointment is nowhere in sight.

In the hoped for side effect, the more I am blogging, the easier it becomes each time. Hopefully, by day 31, it will become an ingrained habit that I can't kick. I'll start blogging every day, every hour, and eventually every minute. My life will grind to a standstill as I blog about blogging. My fingers will start to bleed, my feet will turn to rock, and my eyes will become square. Oh, the grandmothers' adage is oh so true.

Today, I had two roast dinners. The first was beef, at my father's home, and the second chicken, at my mother's. In the interest of parental harmony, I won't compare the quality of the meals here; I loved them both. After the lunchtime dinner, I watched Wall-E with my family and Julia.

I was slightly distracted by my younger brother clambering over me. He made fart noises on my elbow, and then proudly announced that I had a "bottom on my arm." Unexpectedly, he didn't descend into his usual fit of giggles after this use of the word bottom. He clearly appreciated the severe medical consequences of having your rectum entwined with your biceps.

He should be a doctor. Sadly, however, his dreams of lumberjacking are still strong. When we left, he was helping my stepmother/his mother assemble an artificial tree, that will "never come down". May Christmas last forever.

Reading today: An Introduction to Hilbert Spaces. I only managed the first two pages, whilst on the toilet. I must try to concentrate on more than a couple of pages of these books.

Trivia for today: Charles Darwin was on the Galapagos islands for five weeks.

Day 3 - A Non Orientable Post

I did it! Only 16 minutes to go before the day ends, but I remembered. The seal has been cast, the die has been broken. Let the good times roll.

I'm back in Peterborough now, much to the chagrin of the nomadic tribe of bird-men that had taken up residence in my room in my absence. I explained to them (politely, of course) that my day to day life and the international smuggling of Grade A corn just wouldn't be compatible. I must have ruffled some feathers, however, and they left, threatening "We'll be beak!"

They were South African, of course.

Tonight, I went to see Julia's sister in her school's production of Fame! (the exclamation mark is obligatory). A sterling performance, and she soloed in easily the best song of the night. Very talented.
Amusement was also afforded by a few technical glitches and rogue hats, but mar they could not such a night. Awkward sentence structure there, but a true artist must never revise his work.

Reading for this evening was "Problems in Analytic Number Theory" by M. Ram Mury. I should try and actually work through them this vacation, instead of just reading the solutions at the back. It's a soul/knowledge building exercise.

And your parting trivia:

Marian Anderson was the first black soloist to sing at the Metropolitan Opera House, New York City, in 1955.

Learn it, use it, love it, live it.

Day 2 - There is no number one

Oh dear, oh dear. I let myself down on the first day. That is truly shameful. I'll have to stop referring to the blogging process like this, lest it become too self-referential and end up in some dreadful logical paradox (a blog that denounces itself as constantly wrong...)

This morning I had a class in Godel's Theorems; the last class of the term, and we've moved onto provability logic. It's either a topic that appears very simple but is actually very complicated, or vice versa. It's hard to tell, really.

Also, tomorrow I return home, back to Peterborough, city of sunshine and smiles. My packing has not been started, and there are many books I need to get out for my vacation reading (finals only 24 weeks away, y'know?). More pressing that these concerns, however, is my stomach.

About two hours ago, I felt the first pangs. I knew what was coming; "No breakfast?!? You fool!". I cursed myself inwardly as my innards were cursing. I thought I could pull through. I had a large supper the night before! Midnight cake! Yet it was all for nothing, and hunger consumed my mind.

I can think of little else. The only reason I'm writing this now is that I've dangled an eclair above the monitor, and accidentally hit the keyboard with my flailing limbs as I lunge desparately towards it. The hunger consumes me, and drives me to consume in turn.

My focus is fading. Sight grows dim, and The Who is singing about Teenage Cakeland. I must go; blogging is important, but so is a good hot lunch. Farewell.

Day 0 - Or How I learned to start blogging and love the moolb

Aah, it's been a long time. In fact, the last time I blogged was almost 18 months ago; I had just finished my first year of university, and was generally much less mature and rounded.
I read my previous posts and scornfully mock myself and my writing. Now, fortunately, I return to my dusty fan base with writing that has immeasurably improved and much wisdom to share with you all.

Following sterling example, this month (from today onwards, at least) I shall blog at least once every day. They may not all be great, or original, or even that spectacular, but they will all be written.

I'll begin with some musing that I got done whilst soaking in the bathtub this morning. What do I want to do in my life? That is, really want to do? I devised a test which I humbly label Tom's Deathbed Test (patent pending):

If I were an old man, lying on my deathbed, thinking on my life, what would the absence of cause regret?

Take that test, rewrite it, change the meaning and style, and you've got something pretty neat. (Does anyone even say neat anymore?) Applying the TDT to myself, I came up with the following list, in alphabetical order:
Mathematics. Writing. (Languages. Musical instrument.)

The brackets are ones I'm not sure about. Of course, this list overlooks such things as having children, a loving wife, beautiful home, and all that jazz. That is larger than the list; it would be more than regret. So let's stick with this level of stuff - purely personal activities.

There are many things that I want to do, that I'm sure I'd enjoy, and hope I do get to do: magic, juggling, travelling, drawing, philosophy, and many other things as well, I'm sure. Heck, most things probably.
Applying the TDT quite strictly at the moment, however, and it results in the limited list above. It may change, but this seems a good way to focus my activities and bear larger goals in mind. Right, this blog has run its course, and now it's time for some sort of treat to reward myself.

If you read this blogpost your life will be better

See? How much better do you feel now? Not very much? No? Well, to end this string of vacuous questions, I'll make a statement: the song which this post pays homage to was a great song. You should go and listen to it again, as soon as possible. Then, indeed, your life will be better.

For your education, here are some news stories, arranged by mood, for what you feel like reading:

Interesting, but ominous
Depressing
Light-hearted news
The actual headline should say it all: EXCLUSIVE Britain invaded by furry one-inch monsters that can KILL a human

The water hates me

Today, Julia's sister was visiting. To fully immerse her (and ourselves) in the Oxford experience, we decided to go punting. This is how it should have gone:

An idyllic punt down the river, gently floating past the green banks and twittering wildlife. Laughing merrily, and generally messing about on the river. In some moments, it was like this; a lovely experience harking back to better times, when people hadn't evolved legs and had to punt to get around the place. Unfortunately, a lot of it (especially the first part) is better represented by this photo:


Note the subtle distinctions with the previous photo. Both Julia and I have annoyed looks on our faces, as we both try to silently blame the other for losing her sister in the river. I stare hopelessly across to the other bank, where a pack of wild ducks scamper back to their burrows with young Louise as their hostage. Julia is peeved that she had the sandwiches on her when she was taken.

The previous paragraphs contains a (very) few factual inaccuracies. What is true, however, is the actual mechanics of punting did not go as well as I would have hoped. It reminds me of a time (the first time, I hasten to add) when me and Julia decided to go out on a rowing boat around the lake. It says all that needs to be said when I say that we rowed for the first 10 minutes backwards with great difficulty, watched with amusement by the men in the boathouse.
Needless to say, rather than correcting us immediately, they simply smirked on our return an hour later.

Forteanute times

Today we do indeed live in forteanute times, with so many strange and wonderful things going on around us. Like this story here. Medication gone wrong, or a Vulcan in disguise? You decide.

Many things have been going on in my life, of course, being the socialite daredevil that I am. Today, for example, me and Julia went on a trip to Oxford's Botanical Gardens, which were lovely. I have many photos, but uploading them all onto here would take too long. Email me if you would like to see some.

After that we went to the Queen's Lane Coffee House for some lunch. I had a club sandwich, and Julia had some lasagne. Feeling very mellow and relaxed in the warm weather, I ambled up to the counter to pay, ambling like only a man who has just eaten a club sandwich can.
The waitress was clearly overwhelmed by my ambling skills, so gaped open-mouthed at for a few seconds before getting the bill. My harmony was soon to be shattered, as I discovered that they did not accept cards. I was in half a mind to escape that barbaric place on the nearest gyrocopter, but soon remembered that I was not in Victorian Britain any more. Cursing my misfortune, I had to walk ten miles to a cash machine. Julia had a nap.
Eventually I returned, and paid. We returned home, and I am now writing this blog.

Just another day in the life of me.

Area 51

This is my 51st post - to celebrate, I am accepting donations of any multiple of £51. Please send them to the usual address.

I did have a great idea for a blog post, but it's proved more difficult than I had thought. I enjoy writing (well, in a way), and intend to to do more of it. Then I thought of the old expression: "A picture is worth a thousand words". Surely, then, a thousand words is worth a picture? I was working from one of Ryan's pictures.

Just a brief aside to promote Ryan and his amazing photography: http://www.flickr.com/photos/rjlothian/

It is difficult to write a thousand words - more so than I had thought. Even more difficult when you're confined to just one picture. The expression has clearly exaggerated a picture's word-worth - a picture's worth 300 words at most (well, most pictures).

I am tempted by a computer offer. That weird glistening sound you just heard was my beloved Julia rolling her eyes with enough force to shake continents. I am tempted by this offer. You can add a 17" TFT monitor for £111.61. A total of £551.60 for an amazing package. 300GB hard drive would mean I could partition it properly, and have both XP (for games and stuff) and Ubuntu for...well, everything that isn't gripped in the stranglehold of commercial copyright.

Soo tempting...I could sell my laptop (probably for around £200...£300 if I'm being optimistic). That's just £350.

Pros: Well, just look at it.

Cons: I'd have no laptop - hence couldn't work in the library, or take it roaming around the house to play Blood Bowl in front of Paramount comedy. Also, it's £350, and considering I need £400 (ish) for Nepal as well, that would mean I would save much less. However, if this Forex thing goes well...

This is mostly for Julia's opinion. Aah, I know what it'll be. But a man can dream...

As promised

A second post. All I really have to say is:

Kebab vans are so bad for you, but they're still so good. What's with that?

Gone mad with loneliness

Julia's been gone a day, and I am now officially insane due to loneliness. My mind has become so fractured, that I have written myself a list to make sure I do all the things today which I should do today. One of them is 'Blog' - written twice for some reason. I can't clearly recall writing it, as I was very tired at the time.
As it is down on the list twice, today I will blog twice.

It is already 9:20. I think I need to trim down my morning routine, as I woke up at 8:00, and only just finished it. I wake up, go downstairs, and make myself some tea with a big bowl of cereal (today's cereal, for your notebooks, was Frosted Shreddies). In search of something to watch while I enjoy my delicious breakfast treat, I flick through Sky, and end up getting sucked into some cartoon on Boomerang or Nicktoons. After half an hour has passed, I realise I should be moving on, and spring upstairs for my morning bath.

Some people enjoy showers. Some like the stimulating variety of just not knowing how they will wash in the mornings. Some, naming no names, believe that washing removes part of the soul, so refuse to do it on religious grounds.
For me, however, only the bath will do. Sinking into the warm water, and letting the world go on without me as I lose myself in a good book. The two advantages the bath has over the shower are:
1) Lying down beats standing up.
2) You can't read a book in the shower.
I feel these two more than make up for the whole stewing-in-your-own-filth thing. Unfortunately, having no clocks in our bathroom, I usually lose track of time, and emerge and hour later, wrinkled and pink (but damn clean!)
This morning I read Lonely Planet's guide to Nepal, in preparation for my trip in August of this year - 6 weeks of volunteering in the remote mountain kingdom. Any donations to fund the rest of the trip would be much appreciated. Minimum donation amount £100, please (for tax reasons).

See. Loneliness has driven me completely insane.

*uses his psychic powers to draw Julia back*

Battle in the Underhive

I have a confession to make. Some of you, who don't know me, and are merely attracted to this blog by the sparkling wit and insight, would be shocked to learn that I have nerdish tendencies.
To prevent against things like this becoming a surprise in the future, I have put a picture of some books which speak volumes (see! see how it sparkles!) about things I like. Amongst them are Warhammer and GURPS. If you know what GURPS stands for, you're too far gone already.
I did have a point to this, anyway. Today, Nick came over, and we continued our epic campaign (begun on Wednesday) of Necromunda! We played three games, and I took a couple of pictures in the last game to show you all:


The ruined structures of the Underhive under construction before our battle. Amazing what can be done with plastic and cardboard.

Unfortunately, this is not terrain. This is Nick, looking insanely happy. I would like to point out that, contrary to his suspicions at the time, the focus is not on his crotch.

The ruins are complete! We decided it was the structure suspended over my gang's Chem pit, which his sneaky Ash Nomads were ambushing to loot.

Some of the models in position, ready to spring the ambush. Being lazy and poor, we have no actual Necromunda models, so have to make do with an assorted mishmash of others, and our imagination.

It was a tough battle, where only my heavy with his Heavy Bolter did any real damage, taking his leader and a nomad out of action in a deadly hail of exploding lead. The rest of my gang were pinned down by the judicious application of frag grenades on his part. Both sides emerged more or less intact, however, and my gang's territory was defended.

Lincoln's tear in Spacetime

Another blog, another day - but now things are different! I can see you are all on the edge of your seats to hear about what's changed in my life, so I'll present it in convenient bullet point form, so you don't have to pay attention for too long in this busy age of quick information:
- I have returned from Oxford, and am now back at home.
- I've visited Lincoln for the first time.
- I have tidied my desk area, so it feels very snug and comfortable (I was going to do a photo tour of my room, but my sister's stolen my camera for the day).
- My hair is slightly longer.

I think that's about it. Well, not really -- in this ever changing maelstrom of flux and change that we call our lives, we rarely realise the true extent of the change that is always happening around us. We limit our perceptions to a tiny angle of a tiny proportion of the whole vast universe, and somehow manage to convince ourselves that what we see is reality.

Today, I shall blog about the Oxbridge conference I went to Friday. I'd volunteered for it at the beginning of the term, in response to increasingly desperate emails from the university's admin department, and then completely forgot that I had until the beginning of 8th week. Hastily rearranging my plans so that my Dad could pick me up on the Thursday evening, everything turned out alright in the end. My Dad arrived an hour early, and sat in my room watching me pack with a smug look on his face.

I got the train from Peterborough to Lincoln in the morning, arriving there at 9. I had written down the mobile of the woman from Oxford who had contacted me, in case of emergencies. Unfortunately, when I tried to text her to say I was on my way, I found out that I had written it down one number short, leaving without any means of contact of anyone who was actually there.

I was prepared, however! I had printed off a map, which helpfully labelled where both the train station and the conference centre was. Guesstimating the distance with my fingers, and thinking that it would be a quick 5 minute stroll, I set off merrily.

10 minutes later, I stopped to get my bearings, checked on the map, and discovered I was not even a third of the way there. I hoped that, for some bizarre reason, the map makers had made different parts of their map to different scales, and in fact the rest of the way would only take 5 minutes.

After another 10 minutes, realising with a small sense of triumph that I had reached the halfway point, I took off my jacket, tightened my backpack, and set off with grim resolve. Half an hour after leaving the station, I arrived at two huge gas storage tanks, with a charming little conference centre/school hidden underneath.

I went in, had a cup of tea, talked to fellow undergraduates who had volunteered to encourage the Bright Young Minds of Tomorrow to apply to Oxbridge. I was down to give several talks, mostly on "Being a Student at Oxford and Cambridge", with a few other undergraduates. We went in having no idea what to talk about, but went with the Q&A style of talk, which went very well.

I was also giving a talk on "Doing Maths and Philosophy at Oxford" -- by myself. Fortunately, only three students and a teacher turned up. After talking briefly about the course and such things, I started teaching them some analysis and algebra, so they could get a flavour of the type of the maths they'd be doing. I got quite caught up, and was extremely disappointed when I was time for lunch.

Another uneventful train journey back, and then home. I'm sure Lincoln is a lovely place, but I will forever associate it with that never ending road. Bloody physics.

The Library Critic

Some of you may know this already...others may not, however, so I'll say it anyway.

I love libraries. I love books as well, but there's more to the love of the libraries than just a love of books. It's the noise (not true silence, but the most peaceful silence there can be). It's the smell, the look, the feel, of all those books, the tables, the chairs, the sheer concentrated knowledge...

I have realised that while all books are reviewed comprehensively and critically, we are sadly lacking in a similar appraisal for libraries. To remedy this, I will begin The Library Critic project: a critical account of the various libraries of the University of Oxford, with photos, anecdotes, and so on. I'm sure I will develop some sort of rating system on various aspects, but these things come with time.

Most of the libraries are (currently) out of bounds for me -- other colleges, departments, etc., but I will not let barriers or regulations slow me in my quest for library perfection!

Coming up next: Merton college's OWL Library!

A Very Drunk S

Last night, we celebrated S's party in her own unique style; with, firstly, an elegant adult meal at Ask, and then a surprise children's party.

We all went out to Ask at about 7 (after Andrea had spent an hour and a half curling S's flowing locks, for a Rapunzel effect). I had stopped off on the way to vote for Krishna and Mark at the Oxford Union (both have been successful), so arrived late to the restaurant.

I had a moment's panic, looking round and noticing the conspicuous lack of a group of 20 students - hard to miss, for a start. Fortunately, I noticed stairs leading down to the basement, where I found them all, and was greeted by cheers and jam. Well, they looked like they recognised me, which is something.



The meal was enjoyable, delicious, and surprisingly quick. S successfully mingled by dashing from one of the table to the other, but everyone else was content to stay in their places.




The happy lawyers.

After the meal, we dashed back to Merton through the pouring rain, and some of us waited with S while things completely unrelated to surprise birthday parties went on upstairs. Some of us, unfortunately, had had too much sugar at the meal and just couldn't stay still while we waited:



Eventually we went upstairs, and the party begun. We all watched S open her many presents (ranging from a giant pen to a designer beaver...don't ask. Please, just don't). After that, the party went wild. There was pass the parcel, lots of alcohol, a cake, and (pretty soon) a very drunk S.

Oh, and some spinning: