can't believe how strange it is to be anything at all...

I am too tired to get up and make tea.



Very, very tired.



Unfortunately, I am unable to prioritise. Instead of cracking on with all the essay work I have to do for the morning, I am doing this.



Slowly.



I am wearing four jumpers and life is sweet. I have to go home again this weekend, which is a bit unfortunate. It is prizegiving, which is also a bit unfortunate. It'll be odd going back to Haybridge but on the upside, I do get to see all of my wonderfully brilliant friends once more. My guess is that I will spend much more time in various Stourbridge establishments than I will at home, and this is fine by me.

This is pretty...



As is this...



And now it really is time to go and make a cuppa before retreating to bed with my 'Ecrire pour convaincre' textbook and walter (I'm not sure if normal people use this term or whether it's a Morgan thing. A 'Walter' is a hot water bottle. Just thought I should clarify. I'm not sure where it originated from...).