It was much as I said, although I did get out of bed every day, and I did get quite a lot done. But last night was a mad rush of Great Gatsby essay all the same. Who's heard the clip of Sarah Palin being prank-called by a Canadian radio presenter pretending to be Nicolas Sarkozy, btw? Lols! [This blog post started yesterday, the 3rd. Today's news is all about staying up all night for election results!]

Much of what happened up until Tuesday involved being at work, freezing my bum off and being fed doughnuts and croissants by my boss as compensation. On Wednesday it was my milestone birthday - yay! - and I received, in no particular order:
- Mint-chocolate flavoured chewing gum
- Strawberry-flavoured chewing gum
- Audioslave CD
- purple angel candle (lasted appx. 3 hrs.)
- Brideshead Revisited 1981 TV series on DVD
- red plastic spork
- laptop
- brass wall sign reading 'National Sarcasm Society' (and in smaller type, 'Like We Need Your Support')
- tickets to Bill Bailey's Tinselworm in December
- coffee chocolates
- journal with lovely illustrated quotes by literary women
- box of Lush goodies
- Eeyore toy holding a plastic horse-shoe reading 'Good Luck'
- address book and 2009 diary, both with puppy on front
I might have missed out a couple of things.


Wednesday night Abbi, Joshua and I went to Self-Sacrifice on Oxford Street and I got to lie half-naked under the skilled and gentle hands of Maio the tattoo artist for about half an hour while he made me beautiful with my two lines of Dylan. It's perfect, absolutely perfect, but I've shown it to hardly anyone because it's still a bit blotchy (mostly a reaction to the masking tape, actually - the tattoo itself is healing speedily and painlessly) and I want it to be in its full splendour when I start getting my belly out for all and sundry. So you'll forgive me for not posting photos for a short while yet. It was a thoroughly good night, with a drink at a weird hidden pub full of delectable boys and then food at the Italian place I never remember the name of. I left my library book there; I must remember to call them up and see if they've still got it.
And it hailed, spectacularly and unexpectedly, and I got as cold as I have ever been in my life.


On Thursday I did a lovely day trip to Cambridge to visit Dominic. (That was strange. I typed 'Demonic'.) I missed the first train so we had to rush slightly to a FAB lecture on medieval political thought at the dismayingly modern but significantly stylish Sidgwick site, and the lecturer looked like a rockstar, complete with pointy black boots. Afterwards, we sight-saw a little, (the Caius library blew my mind, it was like a cathedral) had waffles in a cute, slow-waitressed place, and then sight-saw some more. I couldn't help but think as we strode along the cobbled streets that I will die if I don't get in. We ended up in his room drinking tea and I was induced into the world of Peggle. I also met Oliver and Abi, and they both set a high standard for good looks and congeniality.

Friday morning was spent being mauled by yet another skilled professional, my sexy dentist Mr. Campbell. In the evening, Saoirse and I went to the launch of Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book, and we were by far the best dressed there. I was a conglomeration of ideas, mostly from Neverwhere, and S was - what was it she said? - a figurative bird nest and also a suffragette. I in black velvet and cheap crumbly make-up and she in a wonderful ensemble of dartboard ring, string, feather(s?) (I only saw one), tin foil, cutlery, a great turquoise satiny floor-length skirt, and much more besides. We queued and messed around with an apple, eventually barged to good seats and enjoyed a lengthy dose of Gaiman-in-his-leather-jacket. He cracked a lot of good jokes, read Chapter 5 of TGB (interrupted once by a mobile phone, to which he responded gently, and again by him telling the photographer very sternly stop taking photographs) and then answered audience questions, with more good jokes. He is strangely sexy and refreshingly unpretentious about writing.
We got mildly lost on the way back to the Tube station and got to enjoy a long, unhurried walk down a broad, sparkling and quiet West End street. It got rather silly, as I remember, but we did also broach more serious subjects such as medication and politics and things. I love her company; there is a total absence of a need for defensiveness. Something I can't put my finger on makes her an exceptionally relatable companion. Looking forward to meeting the boy we can't decide how to refer to this Saturday night. Yuy!

Gosh, what else have I done recently? Fallen in love with Rufus Wainwright. Here is a video nicely showing his sex appeal, and the song is ok, though not one of my faves.