Today, I saw a former lecturer naked.

I've started to go swimming at the University Sports Centre once a week, because I get it free as a member of Univ. Which is great because it's a really swank facility, with proper anti-wave lane ropes and turn flags, and the pool is pretty empty. I get some odd nostalgic feelings for the days when pools like that were pretty much my life. And it's quite cold. None of that keep the pool heated so old ladies can sit and chat at the end. This is a pool that demands you move. Good times. What was I talking about? Yeah, lecturer penis.

I don't understand changing rooms. It is completely normal to walk around a swimming changing room naked. Hop in the shower - naked. Go to your locker - naked. Have a conversation - both naked. This is all fine. No one feels odd at all.

But just try being like that anywhere else in the world, and I'm telling you, people will disaprove. Some will even look for a way to end the conversation or get out of your shower. The door to a swimming changing room is really a portal. A portal to a land where people realise that the comfort provided by material possessions is fake and manufactured by big corporations who aim to control us with a regime of clothes and shoes. Only through changing rooms can we realise our true selves and celebrate the miracle of human existence that we so often hide away.

I have seen, in reflection, a lot of penis in my time. I think I could name at least two people who read this weblog whose penis I have seen. It makes me proud.

I'm getting the hang of this being a Master's student job. There is basically a lot of sitting and listening, both of which I scored admirably in. There is two deadlines a week, which is really quite manageable. Amd providing I'm organised, I can also fit in a certain amount of actual life. There is more to life than economics. There is more to economics than life. Discuss.

Also, a haircut. A haircut has occured. A lot of hair was lost. I guess you could call it a short cut. Basically, I asked for a little off the top, and he must have assumed that meant quite a bit off the bottom as well. And John laughed at it. He has taken quite an interest in my appearance this term, making comments on my shoes, my tee-shirts and now my hair. I assume it is because he would like to plough (hand motion) me.

Tonight, if people are malleable, there is stand-up comedy at the Jericho. It a fortnightly nightly, happening on Wednesday nightlys, and some Imps and other members of Oxford's wonderful comedy scene will be there. There is sure to be crisps.

Love.

Stupid walk of shame. Nice suit and bad hair is not a good combination.

And now to entice some freshers.