I feel a need to record, permanently, the following two jokes.

1. I was asked how to distinguish between an ocean and a sea. I explained an ocean is a sea that has a cathedral.
2. My mum asked me where my dog was. I told her that my homework ate it.

Recorded.

Hey,

Finally made a start on my year book entry. It doesn't help that I have to keep deleting and rewritting things because I am aware that it will be read by a lot of people, and therefore I have to avoid controversy and really surreal comments. A bit like I avoid talking to homosexuals and their petting zoos.

I got another letter from the BMW garage reminding me that my car - my BMW 318T - is due a service. This came as a bit of a surprise because I could have swore it had gone in pretty recently but on second thoughts I realised it probably was that time of year again dear me doesn't time fly oh wait look I don't have a fucking BMW. I really want to know how this mistake has been made in the first place. I imagine the real owner of the car - registration N258 BNW - must be sitting at home going out of his mind wondering why his loyal trustworthy BMW garage is no longer reminding him that his car is due a service. Every time the phone rings he probably jumps up in the hope of hearing those magic words: "Our records indicate that your car will shortly be due its next routine check up". But, alas, all he gets is the usual: "Our records indicate that your windows will be shortly be due to be stolen. If you get the front and back windows replaced now, we'll do the top and bottom ones for free!".

So I decided to call up the garage and ask them what exactly they had done with my car. The work experience boy I spoke to first claimed that he hadn't got it, but when pushed did admit to having got my windows. The sales assistant said he remember seeing it earlier, that it was probably on his desk, which needed a good tidying. I eventually got through to the garage manager, who assured me it couldn't have gotten far. I was just starting to argue that if it didn't turn up by Wednesday I would need either a replacement or some gift voucher of the corresponding approximate value when he asked when I had brought my car in. When I told him I had never brought my car in, he seemed to be insisting that it's loss was no longer his fault. He also seemed very unexcited about the ideas of collective responsibility. He said that he lost his wife last year and he didn't expect everyone to help get her back. I said he could have her back if he wanted. This seemed to bring the conversation to a close.

I ended up sending him some vouchers of the corresponding approximate value.

Speak soon,

Craig

Hey,

This is going to be an interesting one.

I read this last week. I didn't realise, until I read this that there had been a stay, as the final motion are put through the court. In fact, I was pretty sure, when I came to check the news this morning that he was going to be dead.

I don't know where I stand on the death penalty. In many ways, for horrific crimes, I think there should be one, but, tragically, I don't seem to agree with any of the usual justifications: "eye for an eye" is a bit too religious nutter for me, I don't think it acts as a deterrent, I think the "closure" explanation is pretty brutal. I also worry about miscarriage of justices (which doesn't really apply so much in this case). The confusing part for me is that I can't think of a justification of why some of these people should be allowed to live anymore, as much as I can't think of one for why they should be executed.

And what really, really irks me is things like this editorial which quite rationally argues why this execution would be pointless, and even makes the bold point that justice should be above the emotions of the individual, before prescribing that the man should spend the rest of his life in the tiny cell he previously expressed concern over. This is a man who would rather be executed than spend any more time in prison. A man who has admitted to his crimes. How could you possibly justify, on any grounds, his imprisonment until death in forty years time over his imprisonment until death tomorrow morning? Surely you either punish or your try to reform? If the punishment of choice is a significantly more drawn out version of the one currently in use, how is that better?

Craig

Hey,

The last few days have zoomed by, and only now do I realised I haven't been heard from for almost a week. Not that I'm about to degenerate into: It was my birthday, I had a lovely time, I saw my girlfriend, we had some Chinese food, I went to watch the Imps, I went to watch Team America, I came home and was uninspiring and tedious. Instead, things. Things that prove the world is just wrong.

Number 1: A poster in the Cafe Bar pub in Hinckley: "January 29th, Speed Dating for the Victims of the Tsunami".

Number 2: An MSN Conversation:

Paul says: Stop being such a pendant all the time
Craig says: The word is pedant
Craig: It means someone who corrects unimportant mistakes.

Number 3: The language of Spaaa. Spa is a monotranscriptic language with only a handful of speakers. First, let us learn to alphabet of Spaaa. It starts with Spaa, which concludes our learning of the alphabet. Words are formed using this charachter.

e.g Spaa, spa ssspaaa spaaaaaaaa spaaaa Excuse me, I have lost my rodent.

Male nouns tend to end -a, where are female nouns end -aa. Confusingly, adjectives ending in -aa precede male nouns, while those ending -aaa precede female nouns. Fluent speakers tend to remove prepositions, conjuctions and pronouns from sentences, while especially fluent speakers replace all remained verbs nouns and adjectives with a single "Spaa". Questions are denoted by inflection at the end of the "P" but before the "aaa".

In some dialects, the "spaa" sound is prounouced "svaa". This is incorrect.

Speak soon,

Spaaaaaa

Hey,

I got in! I was pretty sure after last night's audition that it went OK, but that there were definetely people there who were just excellent, and that was probably as far as I was going to go. So, all in all, I was pretty surprised to get the email this morning.

This is all very exciting. I'm likely to spend a fair amount of time at rehearsals, then by the time I'm ready for the stage it'll be close to my Finals, so maybe, just maybe, I could get on stage in the last couple of weeks of Trinity. I just hope, moreso than ever now, that I get to stay for two more years. There was even a section on the audition form asking if I would be available to go to the Edinburgh Fringe. The Fringe! There are two answers to that particular question: "Yes please" and "No, sorry, my brain is made of Angel Delight". My brain is not a dessert.

And now for bacon and scrambled eggs.

Speak soon,

Craig

Hey,

OK, with a birthday imminent, I'm going home this weekend. I thought we'd do all do something tonight, so, for anyone that wants to come, we're going to the Turf for dinner and a drink or a couple or a couple of drinks before, during and after. I know some of you are going to Park End tonight, so maybe you can go from the pub to the club. If we met around 6.30pm at the lodge, hopefully that would be OK.

Everyone is invited. Don't let me be sitting in a pub on my own with a burger.

Speak soon,

Craig

Well I did it. I went and auditioned for the Imps.

It went, well, it went OK. I did not embarrass myself. I got some laughs. I didn't run out of ideas and I didn't make any hugely inappropriate comments. I wasn't the guy who was trying to be funny all the time, and I did get to be a little bit weird, because lets face it, I am.

It may not work out, but I did have a great evening. Everyone was friendly and welcoming and some people were vey funny. And there's nothing stopping me doing it again and again is there, except of course, basic human self respect, but who wants that these days. We all just want fast cars, reality television and buttons that make a nice clicky sound.

*click* *click click*

Heh heh heh.

Craig

Hey,

The saving of money proceeds well. I spent just £2.70 yesterday, on a beer. At first I got thirty pence change from a fiver, which I questioned. "I'm sorry", she said, "did you give me a fiver"? No, no, I actually own the worlds solitary three pound note. Unless you though that piece was paper was actually three coins, in which case I'm probably wasting in my time.

A professor has moved in next door. Needless to say, I will be testing his noise tolerance frequently with my loud music in the day, and late night radio shows at night. I would be more welcoming, but I'm pretty sure he's a spy. This morning, he walked past me in the corridor and said, "Hi". As I turned around, I distinctly noticed he was abseiling out of the window, talking into his watch. That's odd, I thought, he'll get a chill in that dressing gown.

I shall keep you all informed.

Speak soon,

Craig

Hey,

Yesterday, I started my drive to make £40 in my wallet last. I'm going to ignore the fact it is my birthday over the weekend. The challenge is to make it last fourteen days in Oxford. That means I have to stretch it out until Thursday of 3rd week.

So, what better way, I thought, to spend no money at all than to go to something that is free. Like maybe the Imps this evening? Is anyone else with me?

Speak soon,

Craig

Hey,

It's hard being a man. Actually, being a man is easy, its being a bloke that the problem, and causes me much discomfort.

Take for instance the words, "do you want a normal vindaloo, and or extra hot one like she is having it". Like she is having it? Are you kidding me? Bring it on baby! And, yes it is fine and tasty and though I don't neccessarily "win" at "Curry", I did come runner-up and thats just as good maybe better. Tragically, Time, in its wisdom decided there would be a morning. And in this morning there was a rumbling, to which I thought "odd, that low-flying aircraft sounds like its coming from my stomach". You can, of course, insert your own graphic and quite appalling mental image. Needless to say, I have remained standing a lot, today.

Then there is the problem of giving up. A bloke can't just give up when other blokes are still going. This applies to sport, as in, "so, does everyone want to carry on?" to which we all reply, through gritted teeth, "sure, I'm not tired at all". It happens on a bus or the Tube when two of your are standing and one seat becomes available. And a girl will go "there's a seat there, why doesn't one of you sit down". Oh, my girl, why do you not understand? I would look at the other guy and he would look back at me, both shifting uncomfortably: "I'm fine standing", I'll say, hopefully first to score an early lead. "I'm OK, too", says the other guy, casually. "I prefer to stand", he says, "it's good for my sinuses". Oh, you crafty bastard, the old sinus ploy. "Well, I'm enjoying the extra two foot of vision I get from standing", I say, staring out into the dark. "That seat looks a bit unstable for someone of my weight, but you should be fine", he counters, a veteran manouver. "I'm seem to be stuck to the pole I was leaning against", I try, doing the stuck to the pole mime.

Of course, by this point the girl has gotten off and there are now two seats free. We both sit down, mentally calling it a stalemate, as the bus pulls away from my stop.

Oh yeah, sure, childbirth is a pain. And then there's that whole menstrual cycle thing that gets a lot of bad press. But these thing are nothing compared to the enormous, complex and ultimately fatal problems of being a bloke.

Speak soon,

Craig

Hey,

I don't think I've ever had a first weekend just being all up in my face with its big and empty. I have no other collections, I have no deadlines until Thursday, so I guess I should just make the most of it. I'm hoping that maybe the most can make the me of it, thus saving me the effort, but with just as much fun and flavour.

I went to a cinema at half eleven this evening. This is exciting. What is better is we went to see I Heart Huckabees. I was pretty sure people didn't make films like this. The film is stuffed full of casual, throwaway absurdity (not the sort of absurdity that is the entire point of the exercise but the sort that happens while the rest of the scene unfolds) and clever, silly lines that make up an incredible fast-flowing dialogue where there is no punchline. I'm totally in love. And yes, it is about existentialism, but not in a way that says "here, this is what it is all about", but more in a way that says "hell, we don't know what its all about". I think that's the meaning: that there is no right way to think about anything, and that others can't give you some easy answers. I think that's the meaning. And if its not, well, its still funny as hell.

Speak soon,

Craig

Hey,

Ok, this is intended to be a quick post. The current time is 23.58pm, Wednesday, 0th week. We shall see.

So I did that whole thing where I went to France, saw my girlfriend, celebrated her 21st birthday, and came home again. You know, that thing. At speaking the language, I, as the French would say, suck le coq. I mean, the French are bastards are making you speak French even if they know some English, but with me, they last three words before they join in to help. "Ahhh, zis is a special child, zis is not ze good French zat we want our children to hear" they zay, err, say. Of course, not everyone is au fait with this arrangement, so sometimes, I make small mistakes, which I later work out, by which point it may be too late.

----------------------------------
Taxi Driver: So, you live here in France?

Me: No.

Taxi Driver: You have come to visit?

Me: Yes.

Taxi Driver: You like the weather?

Me: Yes, its very good.

Taxi Driver: You British are used to driving on the other side of the road? *French laughter*

Me: Yes, yes *poorly imitated French laughter*

Taxi Driver: This flight is useful and great for getting to France.

Me: Yes, certainly.

Taxi Driver (into intercom): On my way to the airport. I shall come back soon

Me: The taxi company?

Taxi Driver: Yes, the French Imperialistic Taxi Company

Entire French population: *French laughter*

---------------------------------------

Au resevoir,

Craig

Hey,

Things to do:

Christmas...done
New Year...done
Cath...'s birthday present shopping...done.

My Christmas really began at Cath's house where I was asked to decorate the tree with a theme. I was planning on going for The Uncertainty and Fragility of Human Existence, using the baubles to demonstrate the many obstacles we face, the ornament on top to suggest a higher being overseeing all of us and tinsel to illustrate the idea that we never know what is around the corner but after some consideration I went for Red and Gold.

Cath went out and had a drink with all her brothers and sisters (naturally she was surprised because she used to think she had just the one brother). The question, "what are your partners strong and weak points" came up, and when she told me, I tried to work out what my answer would have been. I decided that Cath's best point is that as a person I think she understands me better than anyone else, she is happy to listen and knows when I want to talk, and can comprehend those things that I value as important. On the downside, she persistently flushes the toilet when I'm in the shower. Sometimes she comes back and does it two or three times even when there was nothing to flush. Either that or she finds a tap to run, a sink to fill or a washing machine to turn on. On one memorable occasion, she started her own canal system in the back garden. Either way, I end up with third degree burns and hypothermia and the shower goes nuts and oscillates with a range of 200 degree centigrade, and a mean of five below zero.

There is nothing pleasant about having to wear five sweaters to get your body temperature back to normal while the flesh is peeling off your back.

While we are on the subject, does anyone know the secrets of the central heating system? There is something quite magical about the way my parents say "its a bit cold in here", disappear behind the door for three seconds, and upon their return, I'm sitting in my underpants and fanning myself with the latest copy of Sky magazine. In all fairness, the only change is the picking up of the latest copy of Sky magazine.

I did have a good New Years Eve in Cardiff. The key to a great New Year's party is low expectations, which I had plenty of when Cath's eldest sister brought her three children. The twins, both of who were ten weeks old, made terrible drinks waiters. There was dancing, you know, a bit of romancing, some giving it all tonight, but then, we were in that sort of mood. Come midnight, there was the suggestion that we go outside into the cold and the next thing I knew I was crossing arms and singing with my nipples very much on display, but in all fairness, the only thing that had changed was that we went outside and we started crossing arms and singing.

And then yesterday, Cath went back to France. I have this small memory that she asked everyone to go visit her when we called Party Central, St. Ives. We had some interesting conversations. John did his best Matt Lucas impression for "I'm the only sober one in this village". Dave was all "Hi guys, sorry, Meg's had just a little bit too much" and Meg was all "vomits", and Dave was all "It's in my eye!", and Shani was all "Revenge! Sweet Revenge!". I phoned Ad and couldn't hear a single thing because I think I called his megaphone instead of his mobile phone and everything sounded like a train crash. We talked for twenty four minutes. Anyway, we packed up the car and said goodbye to the canal system and that was the end of the holiday, and coincidentally, the end of this post.

Happy 2005,

Craig