living for the weekend...

I have a headache this morning. I blame gin.

According to Yvette Cooper, the astronomical cuts of our times will hit women twice as hard as they will hit men, which is a travesty considering that on the whole, we already earn much less. Childcare will no longer be an option, and women will be forced back into the home. Can't you just taste the regression?

Saturdays at university are somehow infinitely better than Sundays, even though the basic concept is the same. Nobody is really up yet (I think I got off easy last night), so I'm just sitting in my room, tidying sporadically and drinking tea whilst listening to Aqualung and writing this. What more could a girl want?

Because the Civil Service pension people made a killing from the premature death of my father, I get a bit of money every month. This is the reason I was able to quit the deathjob and go on my European adventure. They've stopped it now, though and will only start it again once I've proven that I am a genuine student. This means a trip to University House which is on the other side of campus, and my bed is so warm.

Warwick Labour is full of lovely people. I think I'll be going back.

I need to do some washing.

I'm not sure whether it's time for breakfast or lunch. I have an excellent (although I say it myself) chickpea curry in the fridge, but it doesn't really feel like savoury time yet. Then again, Weetos taste no good with skimmed milk. Nutella is usually the answer...

I saw Chiddy Bang in the union last night. I think the less said about this, the better.

Sunday morning...

Well, it's been over a week, and for this I can only apologise. Happy Sunday, everyone! For lapsed Christians like me, Sundays are a particularly special day. I try not to find myself awake around ten o'clock because this is when I feel I should probably be in church, not eating biscuits for breakfast. So when I eventually rise around midday, I make some tea and invariably go on Facebook for a bit, before wallowing about in self pity. Sometimes I make porridge.

Thing is, even when you're a good-for-nothing layabout like me, and the days merge so utterly, Sundays never stop being depressing, do they? You can never shake that back to school feeling, even if you know your Monday will be just as empty as the day before. A while ago, my friends and I decided that to combat this Sunday feeling, we would mark the end of the weekend in celebration rather than mourning by going out and keeping ourselves occupied (getting drunk). Unfortunately, these outings only lasted a couple of weeks, so I wouldn't exactly call them a success.

Tonight, however, there will be a certain legitimacy to my Sunday night blues. That's right, I have a job. This week, I will be working in the deli in the village alongside my lovely sister who I'm sure will criticise me 'til the cows come home about my waitressing technique. I'm probably a bit rusty, to be honest, but as it's only three days, it's not like I have to really make a lasting impression on those in charge. Unfortunately, even I like to be liked sometimes, so I probably will try really quite hard, and I'm sure I will be exhausted next time I write here (which will not be another week. I'm a bit ashamed.)

Oh! Yeah, I went to Wales. It was very Welsh. I got to see my great uncle Danny who is now 93 and probably more active than me. Of course, this isn't saying much, but he is pretty damn old. Then we went to deepest, darkest Gower and stayed on my auntie's farm with the chickens and geese and sheep (oh my!). It was nice, but also nice to come back to civilisation (and by this, I mean my dvd player).

Bye then!

P.S. I love Jonathan Creek. Why is it always the fictional ones?