GAAAAAH!

EXTREMELY pissed off today. And why??

• My cough STILL has not gone away and is in fact getting worse, to the point that I'm bringing up acid when I cough now
• I had 3 hours sleep last night due to coughing
• I'm worn out and very tired due to lack of sleep
  
• I can't get any work done properly because I'm so tired
• I'm going to look like a tit in my supervision because I can't work properly
• Schofield's gonna be even more arsey with me because I'm going to look like a tit in the supervision
• Schofield will throw me out because he is more arsey with me

So by following this logic you can see that if I get chucked out of college it will be the cough's fault. Though this is a thought that somehow FAILS TO MAKE ME FEEL ANY BETTER.

I don't even understand the point of the pissing supervision in the first place. Embryology is a MINOR part of the big scary Anatomy exam. It makes up about 4 questions out of 40 on the multiple choice paper, and ONE essay question which I can choose not to do anyway. So I fail to see why I have to waste a huge chunk of my (NOW VERY PRECIOUS) revision time frantically trying to learn the fucking stuff to PhD standard just to please Schofield.

It wouldn't be so bad if embryology were even the slightest bit interesting. But NO!! all it is is a timeline of events you have to learn perfectly. And everything has completely random names that mean NOTHING. And worse still, EVERYTHING changes its name every few days during pregnancy just to keep you thoroughly confused.

Right. I have vented my anger, I have drawn out my poison. Now I think I'll hide under the duvet and FUCKING CRY.

Wig for sale

Have just trimmed my pubic hair and I think I may have been a little over-zealous.

Still, no-one ever sees it except Lucille, so it's no big deal.

Not sure what to do with the hair, tempted to just chuck it out the window...

Desire

Could I just say how much I am loving the new Geri Halliwell video?? You can see it here.

I am beyond excited at the prospect of Geri's new album, though unfortunately it is being released on the first day of my exams so I won't be able to get it straight away. Oh well, shit happens....

To keep you posted - I am still trying to get my Physiology book up-to-date, I'm currently stealing results from one of the other medics. (In fact, when I went to collect it from them there were distinct signs of hanky-panky having been in progress with a certain next-door neighbour of Nicci's.......)

XXXXXX

I. AM. EXTREMELY. BORED.

Just to let you know I am currently calculating how many frogs on bicycles it would take to power a lightbulb. That should give you some idea of why I'm so pissed off with the physiology department right about now.

If anyone is interested, or even awake, then I can reveal that a 40 watt light bulb requires 678 frogs on bikes to stay lit. My (admittedly somewhat flawed) calculations based on this indicate that the number of frogs that would be needed to power just one home would be well into five figures. Multiply that by the number of homes in the UK and you probably have a very large number of frogs - possibly, in fact, more frogs than there actually are in existence (can you tell I've given up caring by this point??)

Hence it would be highly unfeasible to try to replace the burning of fossil fuels with frog power as a means of providing electricity to the UK.

Fancy that.

I'm back!!

Hi everyone! I'm officially BACK!

You may be wondering where I've been the last few days (and if you haven't then you should've been cos I'm lovely) - have I been off having an adventure on some kind of hospital field trip?? Have I been abducted by aliens and subjected to horrific indignities by a holographic image of Leonardo di Caprio for their experiments?? Have I had too many Sambuca shots again and woken up in a field in Norfolk clad only in an Old Tart thong (don't ask)??

Sadly, no. (Particularly sadly, not the Leonardo scenario...) I have in fact been at home suffering with an inflamed windpipe (I know, I've never heard of it before either, I have this really cute inhaler for it that I'm gonna flog on eBay once I get better), coughing constantly and drinking endless cups of honey and lemon. And being driven mad by my sister. And arguing with the RUDEST doctor's receptionist (they have this prioritising system for emergency appointments and apparently the sense of power this gives her has gone to her head. Sample conversation: "There are three other people who want an appointment. Why do you think I should give you one?" She clearly equated me with some lazy teenager who wanted an excuse not to have to do sport at school) EVER to try and get an appointment.

We've also had a man round putting a fence round the front garden who is the BORINGEST person ever. Seriously, you can feel your eyelids drooping just from LOOKING at him. I should've taped my conversation with him to help get me to sleep after too much ProPlus! (SMALL sample from the conversation: "And could you 'ave a word with yer mum about whether she wants the ball 'eads on top o' the posts or the arrer'eads. I know she liked the fence o' that mixed-race man around't corner and 'e 'as the ball 'eads and I was worried that she might think they were compulsory but they're not. And I know she wanted 'em painted black with the 'eads in gold. I don't know whether to paint 'em first and then bring 'em 'ere to put 'em in't ground or to put 'em in't ground and then paint 'em - I'm compelled by't weather 'cos if it's windy and I paint'em while they're 'ere they're gonna get bits o' dust and what 'ave yer stuck to 'em. An' I've put 'olders in't ground first 'cos I know there's kids 'round 'ere and it only teks one smart arse to say I bet I can pull that post out o't'ground and another one to say I bet yer can't an' before you know it t'whole row's been pulled up...." By this time I was close to self-harm but thankfully he didn't go on for much longer.)

I've also spoken to my grandad on the phone a couple of times which is equally difficult because you have to shout into the phone for him to hear you and I can't shout at the moment because of my windpipe. Not that he understands what you're saying even if you do shout, he's a wee bit senile and you have to repeat things for him. (Sample conversation: "No grandad, I'm going back to Cambridge this evening." "Yer what?" "I'm going back this evening!!" "Going back?" "YES GRANDAD!!" "So are yer at 'ome then?")

ANYWAY, I'm back in Cambridge now, desperately trying to bring my Physiology practical book up to date to hand in tomorrow, coughing constantly (some things never change!) and, since I do not currently own a lemon, dissolving spoonfuls of honey in boiling water and attempting to drink it without retching (it's VILE!! Which incidentally is an anagram of EVIL which is another thing that it is.) And manically trying to revise. Twelve days to exams and I still don't feel like I have much grasp of ANYTHING I've done this year. But now I have an added incentive in that if I fail my exams and get kicked out I will be at home far more often and will probably be driven to suicide by my family.

Still, at least here there is a working internet connection. At home you have to cope with the fact that my sister has downloaded about eight extra toolbars (Google, Yahoo, etc etc) and buggered up the Start menu so that it takes up a quarter of the screen and so the actual usable part of the screen is only big enough to display five lines of text at once. Add to that the fact that every time you click on something two pop-up windows and about six "pop-under" (what the hell is a pop-under?? I'm SURE I've never heard of 'em before) windows spring out of nowhere AND the fact that if more than five windows are open at once the computer crashes AND the fact that MSN doesn't work (I've been having withdrawal symtoms) and you very soon feel like smashing your head into the monitor.

And now it's back to inventing results for the practicals on breathing. JOY!

Am I psychedelic or psychopathic??

I've decided I'm not too bothered about people not sticking to their colours. I'm not that much of a control freak, and as a committed rainbow warrior (so to speak!) I should not be limiting myself to just one shade.

I don't know why, but I got drunk tonight quite randomly. I also took paracetamol just beforehand - I thought it'd be OK, that I'd just get drunk faster but apparently it's aspirin that does that, paracetamol reacts with alcohol to create a poison that destroys liver tissue. Still, I'm sure drink hasn't done George Best too much damage, I should be fine...

Since I've got back in I've been:

• surfing the web
• sobering up
• taking yet more medication
• listening to lots and lots and lots of tacky pop.

And now I think it's time for bed.

XXXXXXX

Poetry Corner

Have found a trés amusant website that gives you an acronym of your name so I thought we'd 'ave a bit o' culture on 'ere for once and do some poems:

First off, I tried my name out:

Dreamy
Odd
Masculine
Innocent
Nerdy
Ideal
Confused

Which I'm sure you'll agree is spot on, especially the D and the M. Next I tried out Emma's name and it came up with:

Entertaining
Mysterious
Mushy
Arty

"Wow!" I thought to myself. "This website is spooky!" Here are the other four, all of which are dead accurate (or funny at least!)

Naughty
Insane
Cheesy
Casual
Important

Sensual
Talented
Unreal
Vain
Outrageous

Luscious
Unforgettable
Kinky (eww that word brings back bad memories!)
Elitist

Jolly
Intense
Mischievous
Mushy
Yummy

I bet you feel all intelligent and enlightened now, right??

Nervousness!

I'm a little tense at the moment - it's my first practical with Steve since "the incident" and although he said he didn't know who I was I have a feeling he meant he didn't recognise my name. So I'm gonna have to spend the afternoon avoiding him in a room of 60 people. How the hell am I gonna manage that?? I'll let you know.

Anyway, I need to make sure I look my best: d'you think 20 minutes is long enough to have a shower, do my hair, put my lenses in, get dressed, brush my teeth and run to my practical??? Actually I'd better not run, I don't want to arrive looking a mess. Oh dear I shouldn't be wasting time writing this. Byee!

Day 1, by Dom

Well, now that I've recovered from the excitement of the first post, I thought I should explain a bit more about my day. For ages now I've fancied this guy on my course, but I never did anything because he's about seven years older than me and much cleverer and more committed and so on. So I flirted with him a bit but never did anything more.

But I finally decided I should take my future in my own hands, blah blah blah, and actually get to know him properly, and since I had a practical with him today it seemed like a perfect opportunity. So...

I wander into the practical five minutes late, as usual, and OH MY GOD there he is and the seat next to him is free. Should I sit there, shouldn't I?? Well of course I decided that I should, I mean, wouldn't anyone?? So I walk over, and just as I get there he looks up at me and smiles, and I go completely jelloid and my brain turns to mush and instead of sitting down I carry on walking straight past him and then my friend Isobel waves to me and so I have to sit next to her. Bugger.

SO after the practical I go back to Emma's room to tell her what a prat I am and for her to tell me what a prat I am as well, and suddenly I have the idea of emailing him to ask him out. Emma writes the email (she's good at that kind of thing; she took 2 English A-levels you know) and we send it. And then we wait. And wait. And wait. You wouldn't think the refresh button could be so absorbing! After dinner, STILL with no reply, the excitement got a bit too much for me and I had to lie down and listen to some Enya. At 9 o'clock Emma hammers on the door to tell me he's replied!! Has he said yes, has he, has he, HAS HE?

Er... no. In fact he doesn't know who I am. He "assumes I'm one of the undergrads" (like that's such a terrible thing, the snob) and "can't offer me anything but friendship."

Bugger.

Pilot Episode

Hello!! Emma and Dominic here!

After discovering today that Emma's "friend" had a girlfriend of 8 years and a young child (stunning revelation etc etc), and Dom is infatuated with an older, sexy man who he can never have (forbidden love etc etc); we hit upon the discovery that our lives at uni somewhat resemble that of the characters in a soap opera, insofar as WAY too much happens that is unbelievable to each and every one of us!

Thus the idea of "Trumpington Street" was born. Kinda like a downmarket student equivalent to the upmarket northern Corrie (HEOWGE fan, loving your work Cilla). Even if no one ever reads this and comments on our sad little antics, we will have fun avoiding work (exams in three weeks!) and procrastinating by writing endless inane blogs, boring anyone unfortunate enough to stumble across this with tales from our "fun" filled lives.

At best this will become a seminal work dispelling the myths that shroud Cambridge in scary offputting intellectual clouds and in the process make us rich and famous, and therefore never in any need of the degrees that we're probably going to fail anyway...

At worst we will be exposed as the work shy losers that we really are.