"What's wrong, Captain Picard?"

"What's wrong? I'm a Shakespearean actor and I'm talking to the fucking ambassador of the WORM PEOPLE!"

After a week of Torchwood which we can all agre is SRS BZNZ, I have spent tonight catching up on the week's telly that I've missed. I've just sat and watched Top Gear and Mock and Week which had an unexpected Star Trek segment, and now I'm going to watch Michael Macintyre. Even better, I've just cracked open a bottle of red wine.

Good times, I think you will agree! I may even watch more Deep Space Nine later, even though I am finindg Vedek Bareil increasingly creepy and awful and much preferring Vedek Winn, to be brutally honest with you. Am sure this isn't meant to be the case. I do appreciate that Bareil has facilitated Naked Kira Kerys, which is all good.

(Yes, I am caring about the internal debates of the priesthood of a fictional planet first shown on telly more than ten years ago. Your point?)

( Torchwood spoilers )

Hair remains cut off. Still not entirely sure I like it, to be honest, although I like it a lot better now that I have got rid of a stupid dangly bit of hair that the hairdresser seemed to have forgotten to remove. I still think I'll end up growing it out. It's quite nice tucked behind my ears, though. A lot easier to look after, too, which is a bonus. We'll see, I suppose.

OH YES BEFORE I FORGET. I may have beaten the credit crunch. Well, sort of. You see, I had more or less decided that I would rather be on the dole than working in the nursing home, but NO! I have finally managed to get a transfer to the Liverpool Fat Face! No idea how many hours, etc, but apparently there is a chance for a promotion. This means I am an employed graduate! Okay, I'm still working in retail but WHO CARES AT THIS POINT.

And now I need to go and get changed out of my sweaty work uniform and into something for people coming around for Torchwood tonight. Rock and roll.

So, instead of going out I got on the phone and got Stuff What I Need To Do all sorted. Collectormania is booked; car is going in to the garage tomorrow. I also needed to get my hair cut quite desperately, so I phoned up the hairdresser, who informed me they had some free time this afternoon.

I thought about it. The drilling started again. I said yes.

So, I popped in. I wanted a restyle, something shorter, I wasn't sure what. She cut off what feels like most of my hair, which is all well and good. In fact, I really like the length. Unfortunately, however she styled it makes me look as though I'm about to take off. I'm going to go and have a shower and have a play with it for a bit; I am almost sure I can make it look less eighties. There will be pictures when I come back, and also of the mess that the council has made of the path in front of my door. It will hopefully distract from what is currently potentially a disaster atop my head. I'm sure it won't be; hairdressers have a very different sense of what is good for your hair than I do, and this tends to include styling it.

It's days like these I could really do with living with stupidore again; she would sort this out for me. Unfortunately she is too busy having a fabulous time in America at the moment. Ah well.

There are workmen outside my house.

They first rocked up on Monday morning, drilled out a bunch of the paving slabs dirctly outside of the gate to my front garden (luckily we have a side escape on my little house on the corner), set up some temporary traffic lights, and left. This morning - my first lie-in for just about forever - they turned up again. I assumed, not unreasonably, they would perhaps do something crazy like fill in all the empty pavement and enable me to leave my house through the front gate.

Instead, they have drilled up more pavement and are now presumably on a lunch break, as there are a pile of tools and mini JCB diggers outside of my house.

The thing is, today is bin day. What with Katie and Susie having both moved out since the bin was last collected, the wheelie bin is completely full and I need it emptied. I had nowhere to put my wheelie bin without lugging it over the road or a signifitant distance down the road, so it's sort of in a odd angle near my house. I hope it's been collected. Otherwise I'll have to complain to the council about the fact that I have been essentially blocked into my house with absolutely no warning and because of this my bin hasn't been collected. As I don't actually pay council tax I feel a bit bad about having to do this.

Seriously, though, I do wish they'd just fix the road. And allow me to have a proper lie-in, for once. The worst part is, the drilling is so loud and near to my house that it makes the house shake, so I need to leave it today. The car is still being a pile of fail, however, so despite the fact I really want to go into Dundee, I don't think it's safe to drive it in as it keeps on doing the stalling thing at a frankly alarming rate. The obvious answer is to put my car into the garage and take the bus, but that feels like just a little bit too much effort. That said, I know I'll go mad if I spend the entire day in the house.

It is, basically, a bit of a conundrum.

As people may or may not remember, I went to Cardiff to see the Doctor Who/Torchwood/SJA sets in November. At the time, we were shown a set - well, a setpiece - of Children of Earth. We had a little context, no actors, and some music.

I have been unable to talk about it for fear that the BBC will come around and break my legs. Russell T Davies is a really tall man and to be honest I suspect he would if I spoiled it.

( I can talk about it now. )

So that's my thoughts on that.

I am not dead despite the best attempts of my increasingly peeling back and Fat Face. It's all good.

Today I had to have an entry in the accident book at work. I sort of wish it was something more exciting. I did offer to fling myself down the stairs to the basement, just so it was worth filling it in. I know that health and safety at work is a good thing indeed, but oh dear.

Basically, I managed to gash my thumb open. I have no idea how. I picked up a top, felt something sore, didn't think about it, realised I was bleeding. Oops, I said, and had to confess to my manager on the basis that I felt bleeding on the stock was something I should admit to. I feel very daft, mind you.

This is about how exciting my life gets, at the moment. Louise and Emma are coming around for tea tonight, which should be fun, although I should probably get on with doing the cooking. I had every intention of showering and cleaning before people turned up, ah well.

In other news, with all deference to those who like tennis, in particular aramley, I couldn't give a monkeycrap about Wimbledon, or about Andy Murray. Sorry. At a push I will watch international football, but that's really it on a sporting basis until my darling tiddlywinks is finally entered into the Olympics.

Right, cooking!

Yesterday it was ridiculously sunny. I was hot and bothered and not in the good wat, and decided on a whim to go to the beach. Well, it's three minutes away. So I was a good girl, and covered my head, and took suncream with me, and lots of water, and all that jazz, and after half an hours paddling in the deliciously cool North Sea I sat down and did some reading.

I sort of forgot to re-apply suncream, meaning that even as I speak, a day later, my back is so hot and red that you might well be able to fry an egg on it. OH YAY. I hope the worst of it goes down tomorrow, I've used up my one work top that covers it up.

Exhausted and frazzled, I wanted to go to bed early like you wouldn't believe. Unfortunately, I was on Hamster Watch last night, so I half watched Superman Returns (crap) and half watched the kitchen for a small moving orange thing. He emerged, but I made the mistake of moving too quickly, so he darted back into the bolthole. I staged an elaborate trap, involving having something ready to block the bolthole, his ball right near by, and a pile of food far enough away from the bolthole so that he would go and investigate and I could block his entrances. After a distressingly long chase (he is a hamster that cannot even use the wheel; I am a member of the dominant species on this planet, WHY CAN IS HE OUTSMARTING ME) I bundled him back into his cage, where he stuffed his face silly and glared at me resentfully a lot. I think it will be a long few weeks in our relationship. I need to let him out for a run tonight, BUT I WILL BE FOLLOWING HIM.

( Deep Space Nine thinkies, transgenderism, etc )

Buggary fuck, the hamster has escaped again. He got out of the ball in the minute between me putting the kettle on, wandering in the living room to pick up my cup (hamster was rolling around the kitchen at this point) and coming back into the kitchen to pour the cup of tea. The kitchen has a massive great bolthole, so I'm assuming he's in there. I put out some lettuce to see if he would eat it on the basis I felt better knowing he was alive, and it's gone, so I'm assuming he took that.

Last time he sort of wandered back in looking sheepish, or so I'm told, so it looks like a night in for me while I wait for him to get hungry. Super. Really hope I haven't lost him permanently, Katie will kill me. *wibbles* I did warn her she might come back and he'd be a different colour, size, and possibly gender... no, I'm sure he'll come back. He likes his food too much.

In other news, I went to the physiotherapist this morning, so back is predictably screaming blue murder at me. I will spend today slathered in suncream and enjoying the back garden, I think. And waiting for the hamster to turn up.

Yesterday was my first day back at work. I am desperately working all the hours in the world, an unemployment is looming. I am torn between a desperate sense that I would rather be on the dole, sell a kidney, gnaw my own leg off than work in the nursing home again, and the knowledge that living in my parents house as well as being unemployed might actually kill all my self-worth and at least if I'm working full time in the nursing home I will be too tired to be aware of the death of my self-worth.

Anyway. That is basically why I am working all the hours going at the moment. I decided to drive into work yesterday, rather than lug in all my crap and have my lunchtime yoghurt explode all over my library books. It w svery, very foggy, so I hd my lights on. They stayed on throughout my time in work, as I forgot to turn them off. When I went back to my car, I was torn between crying and laughing, and phoned Dad to check if I needed to phone the RAC. He laughed at me for about ten minutes, and advised me to wander around the car park so I could do a push start, or someone with jump cables. I did not do this. I instead went to the taxi rank, and made my lip wobble a bit. It actually worked! They called someone out and everything and did a jump cable start rather than me have to phone up friends and ask them to push my car around and hope it works!

I am an idiot. I know.

Anyway. Car fixed, I headed out to see Transformers 2, which was bloody awful but did include the line 'robots in disguise' so I was happy.

Today, it is very foggy. Heatwave? HA! I have also recieved the first rejection letter (normally I get e-mails) and my compensation cheque through the post. So although I am still unemployed I don't have to feel guilty about stuff like eating. I have cleaning to do today, but I don't think I can be bothered. I have a day off work today and since there is no one in the house for three weeks or so (Susie has left, Katie has gone on holiday) I am going to sit in the living room with my laptop and watch Deep Space Nine. It's the little things, really.

This is going to be an epic post, because it's been an epic few days. Consider yourselves fully warned.

Wednesday morning dawned bright and disgustingly early. Okay, not actually bright, as the haar had rolled in overnight, but it dawned nevertheless. I managed to pull myself out of bed and be prepared to get to the dentist in good time, and battled the thick fog on the winding country lanes to arrive for my final visit to the good people of the Kirkcaldy Dental Access Clinic, and proceeded to have an argument with the receptionist. I feel a bit bad about this. You see, I am no longer a poor student, I am now officially classed as an adult living under the poverty line. (That's a nice feeling, let me tell you.) Nevertheless, I still have to pay for NHS dentistry, which I obviously can't afford to do, but I absolutely can't afford to go private, either. The students looking me over meant it was free because I was pretty much doing them a favour in return for dental care, but due to them fucking up I was being seen by a Real Dentist. The receptionist felt I should pay. I didn't, on the basis that it should have been done months ago. Luckily, the dentist in question came down on my side of the argument. Thank god.

So, yes. She did what she needed to do to me, expressed concern at my vile gingivitus around the tooth area (I haven't been able to brush there for nearly four months, so, um, I am bleedy) and wished me luck at graduation. I smiled a hideous bleedy smile and headed home before going back to bed. I then woke up and ate toast. TOAST! Very exciting.

The haar cleared up and I spent an afternoon in the garden, reading Vanity Fair and sunbathing. My parents eventually rocked up in the evening, and I went out to meet them in the evening outside of their B+B. I had booked a table at the Grill House, and swore down blind to my parents that they'd like it. Fortunately, I was right. It was also exciting times as I could eat properly, so I had a mushroom and stilton starter, fajitas, and a cheesecake. I was very, very full, and had also gone a wee bit mad on the frozen margaritas. I didn't like them as much as my mum, though!

I woke up in a blind panic at 9am the next day and shot out of bed. For once this was not due to frozen margaritas, but all to do with a part of my body that basically just shrieked 'FUCK ME I'M GRADUATING TODAY.' Whilst I was looking forward to all the foofarrah around graduation itself, I wasn't looking forward to the actual ceremony.

Allow me to explain. Many people on my flist will have graduating, but very few of you will be able to beat St Andrews for sheer absurdity. Firstly, we don't have hats; when the Senate officially declared that women could be entered for a degree, all the men threw their hats off the pier in protest. Now no one wears hat. Instead, we have black gowns and a hood depending on degree. The ceremony goes as following: walk across the stage, kneel in front of the Chancellor/Vice-Chancellor, get bopped on the head with a piece of material that may or may not have been part of John Knox's trousers, have the hood put over you, stand up, step back, bow, walk off. TOO MUCH STUFF TO DO IN FRONT OF PEOPLE.

Hence, you see, the blind panic.

As there was no chance I was going to get to sleep again, I wandered into town to pick up my gown, before coming back home again. It was a beautiful day, so I enjoyed the sun for a bit before going for a shower and trying to make myself look as presentable as possible. My parents turned up and got changed at my house ("Your room smells of damp," Mum informed me solemnly; "Yes, that would be the damp," I replied) before I slipped into my academic dress of black skirt, white shirt, and 'nude hoisery.' I wasn't sure if I looked more like a waitress or a schoolgirl, to be honest, but by this point the taxi had come and we ended up at Younger Hall.

I wasn't sure if I was going to be sick, or just flail. I bumped into a few people I knew, and abandoned my parents and went in through the graduands entrance. To my absolute horror, I was on the front row, which meant I couldn't watch anyone else graduate. I listened to all the Latin and bits and bobs, and eventually went out to my introduction, which was my name. I walked out, I knelt, I got my 'et supra te' ('and unto you'), bopped over the head, stood up, and tried to walk down the wrong stairs. Fuck me, only I could buggar up that part of it.

Still, it was over, and I could enjoy seeing friends graduate, and it was all over surprisingly quickly. I came out to see Mum crying, before wandering over to get my photos taken by the official people in the Library. Man, I hate that building. Next stop was the garden party, which was much more my cup of tea; I drank gallons of fizzy wine and lots of tiny fudge doughnuts and strawberry tarts, and enjoyed the atmosphere and everyone around me. Unfortunately, I had to give my gown back at the end of the day - I was quite attached to it, in the end - and headed off to the medieval history garden party, which was boozier and more fun.

And that was sort of the day over, really; some of us met up in the pub afterwards, and saw the Michael Jackson was dead. At least I'll have a good 'where were you?' story!

I was horribly hungover the next day, but still couldn't sleep. I had insisted on dragging my parents around town so they could actually see the places I'd been studying in, before going for lunch. I also jumped up and down the PH. For those that don't understand the joy in this, the initials of the first Scottish Protestant martyr Patrick Hamilton are on the street just outside of Sallies Quad. You can't stand on them, otherwise you won't graduate. He can't hurt me now!

After a refreshing nap, I found myself bumbling around without much to do. This was a mistake, as it meant I got all my timings wrong for the ball. I straightened my hair for about two hours, and was barely ready by the time I left the house. We were at the ball pretty early on the basis that a champage reception means freebies (we were right) and it was this point the heavens opened. Bye bye, straight hair. Typical!

The ball itself was really lovely. It was in Sallies Quad, but under a marquee, which was beautifully decorated. There were also St Andrews badges, chocolates and di, which I stole quite a few of. The music was a bit hit and miss, but the company was so good - I think I saw nearly everyone I know as well as getting to catch up with Ann - that it honestly didn't matter. I drank lots of Pimms for some demented reason - I don't actually like Pimms - and just had a wonderful time. I also went to my first ever ceilidh, which I think I did reasonably well in, given that I was wearing three inch heels and was a complete novice at.

Saturday heralded no hangover at all. I was just as amazed as everyone else around me.

Now it is Sunday. It's all over, and worryingly I just got a phone call from the nursing home asking when I was coming back. Oh dear. My housemates will have both gone by the end of tonight, and I am working a ridiculously large amount of days this summer, so it's back to the real world. It was a wonderful, wonderful three days though.

Would you like to see some photos from the week? Go for it!

SNAGGLETOOTH IS FIXED.

WOOT.

Okay, it is currently still minging due to the fact that I haven't been able to clean that area probably since March so I am currently the bleeding gum queen but that will settle down. Most importantly, it is the right colour and the right shape and it is permanently in my mouth.

Now I am going to eat lunch, before venturing out to sort out a few last minute things for graduation. I AM GOING TO EAT TOAST WITHOUT CUTTING IT INTO SOLDIERS!

Okay, so, basically I am in love with Deep Space Nine. I'm not sure how this happened. I mean, my love for Star Trek is a slow burning one that is always going on the background, but Deep Space Nine was the boring cousin that didn't do very much. Okay, when it was first on I was about nine and liked Voyager a bit better, and liked the colours in the Original Series, and as I got older I fell in love with The Next Generation and all that jazz but I never noticed Deep Space Nine. I remembered a really epic space battle (my Dad likes space battles, I watched them a lot as a child) and that was about it.

I am someone that likes Enterprise, and I still ignored DS9, except for the Tribble episode. I mean, I knew who everyone was in it, but no details.

Now I am basically howling "I LOVE YOU LET ME JOIN YOUR SPACE STATION SISKO!" I am aware that apparently I will like the political shenanigans that come later, but I'm really enjoying the idea of a brand new crew, with lots of tensions, and a slightly crappy old space station. Um. I don't like Sisko, and Jadzia Dax is currently dull. I am wildly in love with Major Kira because she is desperately attractive and a bit kickass, although I can see it getting repetitive. Obviously I fancy Julian Bashir but everyone and their dog fancies Julian Bashir. Anyway, I think I've found my obsession for this summer, and need to run through DVDs before Louise, who is basically my crack supplier, goes home for the summer.

Today I cleaned the house within an inch of its existence, skirting boards and everything. Tomorrow, it all goes a bit wild. I am excited, and a bit nervous, but I think mostly excited. I will feel better when I've got through tomorrow's early morning dentistry. I'm looking forward to the dentist asking what I've done since I was last in. "Oh, well, not much; I sat my final exams, got my degree classification, I'm graduating tomorrow, and my wisdom teeth have started coming in. You?"

Finally, a meme: Name a fandom, and I'll give you the scoop on at least three of my unpopular opinions related to that fandom. I have loads of fandoms, and if I don't know what you're talking about I will make it up based entirely on fandom_secrets and LJ icons.

There is no way Michael Schumaker is the Stig. What happened, right, is basically the Ferrari people said that he was the only person allowed to borrow that car, so the Stig killed Schumaker and is wearing his face like a hat. This is clearly the only logical explanation.

Yes.

Today I went to the physiotherapist, who did some sort of test thing on my witha machine and told me to tell her when it hurts. I howled "GET IT OFF GET IT OFF GET IT OFF" when it hit a certain point in my back, which I think may have given her a clue. Hey ho. Bad back, I has one. It hurts a lot now. I am assured this will go away soon. I bloody well hope so.

On the way back from Glenrothes, I freaked out and decided to go to Dundee to see if I could find a dress. I found... well, quite a few I liked in Debenhams but the best one was in Monsoon, but at £70 I decided against it. Luckily, Katie is now home so I have been able to root through her wardrobe, and fortunately I still (just about) fit in the dress I borrowed for the graduation ball last year. This is good news indeed, and means I will be saving quite a bit of money indeed. It also means I have one less thing to panic about this week. Please to be noting my schedule:

TUESDAY: Clean the house as though my life depends on it. My life probably doesn't depend on it, but my mum has never seen how I live and I would like her to think that I am the domesic goddess I aspire to be. Also need to print out graduation details, so I hope the library still lets me print stuff off. It worse comes to worse I am a member of the town library so can pay for it there.

WEDNESDAY: Wake up at stupid o'clock, drive to Kirkcaldy, have snaggletooth fixed, hopefully rejoice. Come home. Sleep, as I need to fast to make the tooth stick in. Wake up. Possibly go for a drink with Sarah, then greet the parents and go out for a meal at the Grill House. Celebrate the wonder of EATING NORMALLY LIKE A NORMAL PERSON YAY.

THURSDAY: Wake up. Panic. Have a cup of tea. Panic. Pick up gown. Panic some more. Greet parents with sandwiches as part of domestic goddess fiction, or more likely throw my blouse and skirt at my mum and gibber at her until she irons them, whilst Dad roots through my fridge and declares I have no edible food in and then lectures me on why I should just give in and eat meat like normal people. Either way, really. Then graduate, attend two garden parties, and drink free wine and eat strawberry tarts. Plan to be drunk after that.

FRIDAY: Deal with hangover possibly through hair of the dog and attend graduation ball.

SATURDAY: Wish self was dead.

YOU SEE IT IS A BUSY WEEK. That said, I shall be spending tonight marathoning Robin Hood, which will be far more fun. Obviously. Um, but if I disappear for a bit you know why.

I was enjoying a really vivid dream last night. Well, more accurately this morning. It was about this point my phone rang, with a desperate sounding Kayley on the other end, begging me to come in. I sighed. I rolled out of bed. I showered. I ate. I puttered into work and then proceeded to work for four hours.

PEOPLE - we can't help that we have no chip and pin device. We are working remarkably smoothly and quickly right now, and we're sorry we can't take your gift cards or tackle refunds. Yes, we do need to phone through large orders. No, really, we do. And it's not declined because 'of our messing about' and you will need to phone through your bank by yourself. Yes, it would have happened if we'd used the machine. Which we can't. We wish it had been fixed too, but there is probably something massively wrong with the entire system given all of the countries Fat Faces are basically fucked right now so therefore WE ARE SORRY. We're not doing this for the good of our health, honestly.

Four hours later, I staggered to Tesco and bought half a bottle of wine for Top Gear tonight, and some Maltesers, which I passed to the remaining two girls in work who were responsible for closing up. Having done that last night, I know they will need the chocolate.

I have an insanely bad headache right now. I am aware wine will not help it, which is irritating, so I hope the headache eases off tonight. There is some ridiculously loud music somewhere outside, I think, which isn't helping matters.

Tomorrow I am going to the physio and therefore cannot work, and then I'm on holiday and according to company policy they can't phone me. Worst part is I actually fel guilty about that, as I feel I should be helping out!

This is a fairly random assortment of stuff, being mostly crapped out of my brain as I go, so apologies if it makes no sense.

FIRSTLY: I went to Aberdeen for the last two days. This was lovely indeed. It wasn't grey, which was a vast change from the last time I went to Aberdeen.

(The last time I went to Aberdeen, I was seventeen. I had just got my AS-Level results and realised that I wasn't as thick as I was afraid of, and could go to university in Scotland like I wanted. I had only had three driving lessons ever by this point and was afraid of it, mostly. Dad drove me up, and we spent three days arsing around in Scotland. I was really gutted to find that they didn't have deep-fried Mars Bars. Dad taught me Why Tennants Is Evil, and I had my first ever curry. I loved the uni, and actually would have gone, if I hadn't got into St Andrews.)

I took the train, and watched the sea in between trying to read War and Peace, as I feel this is something I should do in my life and it can't be worse than Crime and Punishment. We didn't do much - although by sheer coincidence we found the place I had my first ever curry with Dad ("it's purple, with tigers" was my memory, luckily they hadn't redecorated). It was lovely, also as a chance to get out of St Andrews.

SECONDLY: We also went to see Star Trek. This was not my suggestion - I wanted to see Terminator - but I wasn't going to argue with it. ( Minor spoiler )

Also, loneraven writes beautiful fic. You probably know this. I don't recommend her enough, but I insist that you all go out RIGHT NOW and read In Service. There's Scotty, McCoy, impermeable membranes, boxes, a lot of alcohol. And Vulcans. It's wonderful. There aren't any Hibs supporters, though.

THIRDLY: I am, er, putting on weight. Sort of. All my clothes continue to fit me as before, except in one area, as my bust is Mysteriously Bigger. This in itself is not a particular problem, but I have just discovered that it has fucked up all my plans for the graduation ball. My beautiful, beautiful dress that is a size too small for my anyway is no way going to fit around me even if I don't eat anything whatsoever for a week and possibly also go mad on laxatives. Also that is somewhat insane. I generally accept my body shape - I know I need to exercise more, but hell, who doesn't want bigger boobs when they turn up free? However, I REALLY LOVE THIS DRESS. Also, my other options are Goth Princess, which is a dress I love but feel a little too old for now, and the one I've worn to two other occasions this year. I know it sounds vain, but it's my last ball and I really wanted to wear that dress; it always makes me feel sort of special and stuff. There is nowhere in town I can buy/afford a new ballgown. Katie is not currently in, so I can't raid her wardrobe, although hopefully she'll be about over the weekend so I can go and beg. Failing that, I'm going to go and putter around charity shops this weekend and hope like hell.

FOURTHLY: My compensation thingy has been settled. The cheque is on its way; as a part of the deal, I'm being offered free physiotherapy in Glenrothes which starts on Monday. Does mean I have to take The Devil Car out again (buggar, that'll be two long journeys in a week) but hell, I'm not going to argue. Also means I can replace The Devil Car. Thank fuck for that.

FIFTHLY: I am graduating next week. Fuckadoodle. Luckily I fit into my graduating clothes, if not the ballgown. I will be wearing, for those interested, a black skirt, a white blouse, and 'nude hoiserie' which sounds kinkier than it is. I have to wear this, I hasten to point out. It feels a lot like my old school uniform, but less religious. Also it means my tattoo will be on show, though, which is a buggar. Never mind.

And now I am going to watch Deep Space Nine. It is a bit pants but I am quite loving it to. Is it me or is Gul Dukat currently the most interesting thing to be happening after The Loveliness Of Bashier (which frankly I picked up on aged ten)? I'll admit I'm all of three episodes into the first season, though...

I have just done four days at work. Four days. And only four hours on each of these days. I am still bloody knackered, for some reason that might be labelled 'because I'm lazy.'

Anyway. Tomorrow is a day off, thank god, so I will sit on my backside and read silly books that I've got out of the library, and I will watch the Deep Space Nine that Louise has kindly lent me. I'm in the mood for space stations, I think.

No, that's a lie. I'm in the mood for a holiday. I had a dream last night about going on a cruise and it was the best thing in the world. I wasn't even sea sick. This is how I knew it was a dream, you see. *sighs*

I have a dentist's appointment! This is very exciting, as I am still waiting on Blue Snaggletooth to be replaced with a new, shiny, permanent tooth. I want to eat again like you wouldn't believe. Excitingly, it's being fixed the day before graduation, which means I'll have decent photos even if I'll be in pain.

Less excitingly, my car has broken in a weird way. The driver's door is refusing to open from the outside, although a kicking from the inside will do it.

Anyway, I am in the process of trying to organise Collectormania Glasgow, so if you want to share hotel rooms with the increasingly large group of nutters who attend this thing, then please do let me know. I'm always the one who has to organise these things, but there we go. I think it's just a tendency I seem to have developed. ALSO. I want to dress up as Romana from City of Death. This is clearly an awesome episode and my costume isn't actually bad, in particular my hat that sits perpindicular to the ground, albeit with an awful lot of elastic. But does anyone want to be my Tom Baker?

(oh dear, does that sound slightly filthy?)

Last night I did, in fact, go out drinking. And I did so sensibly. A group of people who I knew via degree/DocSoc all apparently knew each other to through work/halls of residence/other tentative things so we all found ourselves drinking, at first in the Rule, talking about results and so on and so forth. Later on we moved to the Union, and discussed mad plans for the summer, cackling like lunatics and doing the kind of talk that only emerges after some vodka and 11pm at night.

We ended up going for chips and pizza at Empire, where we were harassed by a woman who wanted to inform us that it was her son's fourteenth birthday, and also the birthday of Alcoholic Anonymous. This was mildly odd, and sobered us all us rapidly. Eventually we decided it was possibly The Ghost Of Colleen's Future, a fact that might be worryingly true; wandering around the streets, clearly wasted and quoting dates at people. Erk. Note to self: acquire job sharpish.

Today I am going to do my weekly scrub of the house, as well as watch some daytime TV. I can't really afford to live on the limited hours work is giving me, but I'll find a way to cope. Being able to chill out a bit is quite good fun.

Well, four years, a lot of liver damage, occasional academic prowess and a newfound ability to cook and clean has given me a 2.1 overall, unless they massively change the grade boundaries between now and Saturday, when the official degree classifications are given out.

Phew!

So, I have survived this weekend. In fact, I even enjoyed it somewhat. This amazes me and possibly everyone who knows me.

( Cut because, well, it's long etc. )

So, now I am in St Andrews. I have absolutely nothing to do today. I'm not going to bother cleaning, or applying for jobs today. I think I'm just going to watch telly, and maybe a Star Trek film, and enjoy a day off. I haven't had a day like that for months and months and months, so it's about time. Now, Doctors and soup. Yummy.