A thing happened today. A while ago, I signed a petition or something about a particular advert which essentially amounted to a lie and a fairly disturbing bit of fear-mongering, by the 'No to AV' Campaign. I'm someone who will vote Yes in May. If the country rejects AV in May, fine. But it would be nice to know it happened because of reasoned choices.

Anyway, at the time, I listed my profession as 'Academic'. I don't really ever know what to put. I'm a Research Fellow, officially, but the word 'Fellow' always sounds ridiculous when I go to say it and I balk, often simply calling myself a Research Fff. Something vague like 'I'm in research' or 'I do research' sometimes works in conversation, but in form-filling might be taken as a learning disability. (Name: My name is Craig. Age: My age is 27. Address: I live in a flat with a blue door. I keep all my secret things there. Ssshhh.). Basically, it's all linked to a guilt that I don't do a proper job with stone and grime and lathes, and no matter how much I want to call myself a 'fact welder' or a 'hypothesis foreman', there's no escaping this. 'Academic' sounds flouncy and pretentious, but I went with it on this occassion.

Which brings us to today, when I received an email asking whether, as an academic, I would add my name to a open letter type thing, urging people to vote Yes. This troubled me. Yes, I'm kind of an academic broadly, but I'm an economist more specifically. I have absolutely no academic credentials which should give me a voice of authority here. It would be like me signing a letter, as an academic, in support of stem cell research or tougher regulation on carbon emissions or the legal case for war. In all those cases, I have an opinion which I could argue for. But it's really just me (Craig, 27, yachtsman).

But tell me this, kind reader: am I being overly precious? Or is this kind of thing just as manipulative as a bad advert?

I haven't had such a long gap in blogging for a while. I have no idea how the past two months have gone by (chronologically, I would imagine), but here we are, December 15th, and as far as anyone knows, I could be dead.

But I am not! (Of course, I would say this). I have been simply been drowning in a sea of thesis writing, teaching, working, holidays, films, meals, sleep, watching live comedy, performing in live comedy (not dead) and swimming pools. All of which is pretty standard fare, particular for those of us who write theses, teach, work, holiday, watch film, eat, sleep, watch live comedy, perform live comedy (not dead), recycle jokes and swim. So here's a brief snippet of each.

1. My thesis nears completion. It looks and sounds very much like a thesis - earthy and well researched.

2. My teaching has been fun. I hope one day to be good at it.

3. My work has proceeded. I have research papers and journal submissions and I think I'm due a minion.

4. I went to Egypt! I walked like an Egyptian - that is to say, near some pyramids and sand. This was a very good time.

5. I have watched many films. I'm unlikely to reach 100, as I've lulled for much of the year, but I've got through a lot in the past month. Donnie Brasco is absolutely my new favourite film. I like Johnny Depp playing lunatics and the weird, but Johnny Depp playing hardman undercover agent is far better, and Al Pacino's performance? Forgedduhboutit.

6. I have ate and slept. Not dead, you see.

7. I saw Mark Watson - here's a comedian who you should go and see if you want five hours of comedy delivered in under two hours. I failed to see Josie Long.

8. I have done the Imps, and that. There were new Imps who are a delight to be around and old Imps who get better and better, and a director-assistant director team who are doing a lovely job. A student of mine saw a show, which I imagine was strange for her. But that's me, shattering preconceptions about lecturers and their non-participation in improvised comedy shows. In some ways, this carries over into tutorials (no preparation, polite applause, rock music between each section).

9. I continue to Twitter. Follow me on Twitter. This is where you get everything you might expect from this blog - mystery, intrigue, preconception shatterings (bring you own!), jokes about the News and what we should do about it - but shorter (less than 140 characters) and more regular (more than 0 characters in two months).

10. I have continued with swimming. I am svelte. I am doing an exercise class on Saturday mornings. My abs glean in the midday sun. I am getting faster in the pool. My biceps bulge. I take my hands and place them on your hips, pulling you close.

Swimming update. I've been going three times a week since June. I've gone from managing 2km to well beyond two miles (3.2km) in a session. The coach has worked out a programme for me for the next year, and he's timed a couple of swims to get a bench mark of where I'm at. This is the cool bit (for me). I managed 1:11.0 for 100m backstroke and 1:03.8 for 100m crawl. For some perspective, my best ever was about 1.04 for the backstroke and 58 seconds for the crawl (with a dive), so I'm pretty pleased with that. Friday I'm doing a 1500m time trial - that used to be my best event. I'll be delighted if I can do it in 19 minutes.

For a few years now, I've tried to be a part-time vegetarian and have just one meat-based meal per day (usually dinner). It doesn't always work out - sometimes, I just fancy a chicken baguette or someone else is spontaneously cooking me a chicken baguette or it turns out my pasta salad contains chicken baguette - but I would say I have, at most, between six and nine meat-based meals in a week, which is a lot less than before.

It's a simple thing relating to overconsumption. My substitute for meat often involves cheese - OK, fine, cheeses - so it's really not a health thing. Also, I have no ethical problem with our position in the food chain, I just try to avoid the worst parts of the production process and pretend I never stop at motorway service stations. I believe our current level of consumption is too high, and that this has a huge impact in terms of the inequity of global nutrition, the destruction of natural environments and on climate change.

For some clarity on these vague points, I would point you in the direction of George Monbiot's latest piece on the myths and realities about meat production. Don't worry, it's actually a argument against the need to give up on all animal products on ethical grounds, but to change our methods of production away from the inefficient use of grain feed. This suggests we would have less meat, but not zero. It also suggests that some claims about environmental damage have been overstated. They are still real, of course, so moderation is still worthwhile.

And now, for some cauliflower cheese. OK, fine, shut up, some cauliflower cheeses.

I can't remember if I've talked about swimming before, but when I was young, I swam a lot. I qualified for National championships on two occassions, and when I stopped just before my 18th birthday, I would regularly do eight session a week, every evening after school and three mornings sessions before. I was in pretty good shape.

Then I quit. Then I got fat.

Alright, shut up, I know I'm not enormous or anything. But I barely went above 9 stone (too small for a 17 year old, 5'9 male) when I stopped, and today flirt dangerously with 13 when on the scales (just pushing me into the overweight range on the BMI scale). So I could be better.

I've got back in the pool on several occassions since I stopped, for a decent run of time before falling out of the habit. Since we moved to Cowley, I went to the local baths once. Then, in May, Cath joined the David Lloyd gym, and we got a couples membership after I tried the pool a few times and enjoyed it. So I started going a couple of times a week and then found out they had a weekly club session, so I've starting going along to that as well. The guy who runs it asked me if I had a goal, so I told him the abridged version of the above story ("I was in pretty good shape. Then I quit. Then I got fat.") and he wondered if I'd think about doing competition again. In a burst of overenthusiasm I looked around to see what the university-level competition was like and, well, they apparently import huge Americans to swim over here, so the competition is faster than I ever was in my prime, so that was out of the question.

But there is a thing called Masters events, which are competitions for older swimmers who don't spend all their life training or are an imported American. Amusingly, the first age group is 18-24 years old. In golf, Masters starts at over 50s. In darts, Masters is over whenever it is you die. Anyway, there are some competitions I'm eyeing up for next year, because training is going well - I'm feeling faster in the water each week, and my stamina is building up and even though I'm carrying 4 extra stone, I think I could get within a few seconds of my best ever times over 100m. So, all very exciting and I'll probably put up occassional updates.

Update 1: I have lost no weight yet.

What I have done today:

1. Check email - three minutes.

2. Discuss Christmas holiday arrangement with colleague - two minutes.

3. Try to come up with a catchy title for a presentation: three hours, seven minutes.

This is the hardest thing about academia (easiest thing about academia: the spa days). What I want is about six words that suggests that my paper is both thrilling, yet insightful; meticulously researched, but definitely with car chases. The first problem is that my paper is on the labour market in the UK over the last thirty years - what jobs are disappearing (middle jobs income, routine task based occupations), why they are disappearing (computerisation) and where people doing them end up (words to do with mobility). This is not prime material for a catchy pun (play on words). In desperation, I tried to think of a song lyric or expression that might be tangentially related to this and what I discovered is that all of them have been used. A lot.

First attempt: "Stuck in the middle?" - a reference to noted popular music song 'Stuck in the middle'. This yields about 7000 results in Google scholar, ranging from the predicable (political science papers on countries bordering Russia and West Europe, sociological studies of middle management) to the less predictable (an article in a journal called, intriguingly, Fire Engineering) . I also found a paper called, "Tax Neutrality to the Left, International Competitiveness to the Right, Stuck in the Middle with Subpart F" (Keith Engel, if you ever Google your own paper titles, and I currently assume that you definitely do: Holla).

Second attempt: "Dude, where's my" and then something. There are 300 papers which are called, "Dude, where's my" and then something. Dude, where's my phenotype? Dude, where's my paradigm? Dude, where's my corn (possible subtitle: where's my corn, dude?). Even, Dude, where's my Black Studies Department? This is an actual book, although it may also be a page on Yahoo Questions.

Increasingly desperate attempts three onwards: "The more things change, the more they stay the same" - 3000 hits on Google Scholar (Including 'The use of popular cliches in academic paper titles: the more things change, the more they stay the same'). Next, "Moving on up" - 1200 hits on Google Scholar ("Movin' on up" has 600 hits, which tells me that for every three academics who have heard the music of M:People, two thought they could have been better). Finally, "Where have all the flowers gone? (where flowers are workers in routine task-based occupations and similar)" - no hits on Google Scholar, several hits on keyboard with own head.

So, anyway, this is the net result of my morning's work. Two paper titles. Firstly: The route out of the routine: jobs, wages and mobility in a polarising labour market. I love the 'interesting title: tedious exposition' format for academic papers. I want to write a paper called 'Punch in the balls: a study of fruit drinks at formal dinner and dance events'. The second one is called: "Calling time on the hourglass economy". Oh, by the way, there's a thing called the hourglass economy hypothesis, and I'm disputing it's importance. This is why this is clever. Both are original. Most importantly, if either are ever Googled by an up-and-coming young academic looking for ideas for a title of a new paper they will now see a link to this post. And, if they continue reading, they will also see this:

THESE TITLES ARE TAKEN. DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT USING THEM. THINK OF SOMETHING ELSE.

AND, YES, THAT ALSO APPLIES TO THE FRUIT DRINK ONE.

I went to see Murder by Death last Wednesday, and, as before, they were fantastic. I love how they will play any song from any album - looking over set lists from previous shows, they mix up the new stuff, pick and choose the old stuff and play the entirety of In Bocco over the course of any three nights. That's a band there - there albums aren't three singles and a bunch of filler, but twelve immaculately crafted songs, each one telling a story and standing alone. The new stuff off Good Morning, Magpie sounds tremendous live - the title track is heart-wrenchingly sad, whilst Yes and Dark Streets Below rock along disguising their dark lyrics. And they played Those That Stayed as an encore, which was their classic encore song before, you know, they wrote so many songs they could mix it up. And the Big Sleep (now also played by me, every evening, to my wife's chagrin).

Truly, this band has spoiled rock music for me. As a guy who mostly listens to different forms of metal, there are few rock bands I really listen to, and none of them are anywhere near as good as Murder By Death.

By the way, there are hidden links to songs in this post, if you can find them.

I'm cross-posting this from my wrestling blog. It's half about the lucha, half about the day to Brussels, and all about the jokes. Enjoy.

Ah, Brussels. To me, the very name conjures up an image of the people of Brussels going about their lives and their work in the city where they work and live. Of course, whatever else you may think, there is one thing we can all agree on - Brussels is not in Oxford. Yet, that is where I found myself on Sunday morning, nine hours before the Cirque Royal hosted the second of two Todo X El Todo shows which I had a ticket for.

I set off at half five of the morn, first by car (Suzuki Swift, my flat to the bus stop), then by bus (Oxford Espress, bus stop to Baker Street) then by underground train (underground train, Baker Street to London St Pancras). I have never travelled on the Eurostar before, and it was an enjoyable experience. Recent air journeys has conditioned me to associate checking in and passport control with invasive personal searches and ludicrous restrictions on hand luggage contents, so it was refreshing to meet the bored eyes of an attendent who couldn't care less if I went through the scanner laden with metal coins and have packed in my bag a bottle of (non-clear) Apple Tango. Ha! The fools. They won't be so care-free when I work out how to make an explosive device out of metal coins and (non-clear) Apple Tango. I concede that the prototypes have been failures, mainly looking like damp metal coins.

I watched some of disc three of the New Japan set on the train (Killer Khan vs. Andre is a really great match, Bret Hart vs. Tiger Mask is a really bad match) and listened to Immortal's 'Pure Holocaust' on the iPod, then arrived at Brussels Midi at 12.30pm, Belgian time, and took the metro to Madou, the final leg of the journey. It was at this point I stepped outside for the first time since Baker Street. The first thing you notice about Brussels is how cold and wet it is during a freak storm which killed fifty people in France that day. I walked towards Grand Place for a quick ham and cheese omlette, chips and a Tongerlo Dubbel (brune, if you're asking), Belgian beer being a secondary reason for making a day trip to Brussels. Back to the theatre for 2.30pm, collected tickets, took seats.

The Cirque Royal was a really nice venue, seating down to floor level all the way around the ring, then a huge ring of balcony seats going up a long way. According to Santo, the Saturday show was a sell-out. This was not, however, but most of the lower seats were full. The crowd was a mixture, plenty of masked children in Rey Mysterio t-shirts with parents, some older rowdy teens and then plenty of couples both young and old who had gone out for the Sunday to watch some lucha libre. There was no-one there who looked liked they be chanting at a wXw show, for example.

The show started about twenty minutes late, which is practically early by most lucha shows standard. There were two annoucers, one in French and the other in Flemish due to the biligual status of Belgium's capital. I was waiting for Terry Wogan to summarise it in English (a niche joke, at best). They were probably doing the standard "lucha for non-lucha fans" spiel about lucha being about good vs. evil, technicos vs. rudos and then, out of nowhere they are both saying "Black Terry", and I shot out of my mental happy place where I retreat every time foreign languages are spoken around me. Black Terry is my favourite luchadore in the world, I was thinking only last week how I may never see him live as he doesn't seem to be one of the guys who does Santo's European tours. And there he is, first guy out. In a referee's top. Mother of fuck. Who flies Black Terry out to Belgium just to referee? I will tell you now: it was not a Jesus who loves me.

Anyway, we are five paragraphs in, so let's talk about the wrestling. The opening match was the minis title match, with Pentagoncito against Mascarita Dorado (who, unless I've forgotten what he normally wears, was dressed as a mini el Hijo del Santo. A Santitocito, if you will). I thought this worked well as an introduction to the style, which is a good idea on a show promoted as much to art fans as to die-hard lucha fans. They started simple, with the rowdy teens ironically cheering every takedown and moved on to some arm drags and other lucha rope running stuff. They seemed to be having some problem with the ropes, which were too loose. Also, Dorada ended up botching a springboard moosault after slipping off the top rope. Pentagon drew boos by pelting Dorada in the chest a bunch of times, and it was nice to be amongst people who aren't desensitised to that. Slaps to the chest, as we shall see, were a great way of getting heel heat on this show. I think I was hoping for something more spectacular though, Dorado seemed quite restrained. This wasn't, for example, the exhibition that Dorada vs. Pequeno Damien 666 was from last year, but then Pentagoncito is nowhere near the base that Damien is.

Next up was Solar vs. Negro Navarro. They were wrestling an una caida match, so we got a sixteen minute matwork masterclass, as they worked through some of their extensive repetoire. They build up from simple takedowns to longer counter wrestling sequences and more unlikely submission and while I'm aware this may be a minority interest - it did not strike me that many people around the arena were watching this thinking to themselves, "here's the WKO100 third best wrestler of 2009" - I found it mesmerising. I think I may have been sat agog because I had the sense that the little Mysterio-shirted kid next to me was looking at me as if to say, "Whats so great about this? Where's the 619?". "Screw you, little kid", I said back inside my brain, "and watch these two guys take each other down in 619 different ways". Yes, I'm quite the quick thinker when I have time to write down an imaginary conversation nearly a day later.

I guess, objectively, it was about standard for them, but there were a couple of thing I found from seeing the live version. Firstly, they never stop talking. It's either meaningless noise or Spanish (the happy place again beckons), but it really adds to the competitive one-upmanship. Secondly, one of the reasons they work so well together is the way they split to roles. Solar is constantly interacting with the crowd, posing, encouraging them to cheer, whilst Navarro is nearly stoic, occasionally nodding his head when he knows he's been bested or sniffing in derision. Standing there, he looks like the toughest human being on the planet, it is an aura that almost can not be quantified, and only live performances do it justice. After about fifteen minutes of matwork, Navarro slaps Solar in the chest and the audience really react, whilst he slowly turns his head around to look at the most vocal with a slight smile and menace in his eyes. Just a tremendous performance.

After an interval of thirty minutes, they introduce a title match between Angel Blanco and Hurracan Ramirez Jr. This wasn't particularly good, and was the time during the show when my brain really went, "you booked this over a Black Terry match? He's standing right there, and he would have made Ramirez look amazing". Angel Blanco did some decent bumping, but this mainly struck me as not having many ideas, and the ones they did have weren't really well executed. They even did two near identical tope spots.

The main event was Cassandro and El Hijo del Santo vs. Magno and el Hijo del Solitario. Right up front - this was the most fun I have ever had watching a wrestling match ever. Before I start wheeling out superlatives, this was a best of three fall match with a classic formula: technico fall, rudo fall, comeback technico fall. Cassandro comes out and I will say (as a tribute to Eric), he was wearing a fabulous two piece robe radiating the same brilliant blue as the heavens from where he descended. This is what he was wearing the night before. He had unreal hair both days, looked truly beautiful and felt a confusion I had not felt since my corporal beatings in the headmasters office during my boarding days at Repton. I have seen two recent Cassandro matches previously, yet from those and (mostly) from this, I have no problem calling him the most spectacular wrestler, anywhere, in the world.

I love the reaction he got, which was identical to the first time I saw him in the London show. I didn't understand the tradition of exoticos in lucha libre, assumed he'd do an entertaining gay or drag queen act with a load of schtick. What nobody expected is the extent of his athletic gifts. His first armdrag and flip up are met with a collective "Wha?". From then on he continued to amaze a crowd that was already won over. His execution is perfect. His workrate is tireless - he'll go from one takedown, to a quick hip shake at the crowd then run straight into the next sequence. He drops in comedy spots before doing something else. I loved his rope running bit where he prances over Solitario. I got the impression from the short video on Belgian TV that on the first night Santo, maybe the luchadore with, did a lot more of his spots in the first caida. In this match he took a back seat and allowed Cassandro a complete showcase. They also both seemed to be having a great time, Cassandro was smiling almost constantly, which could only add to the enjoyment.

Santo is someone I love watching so much that providing I see him once in a year, for long enough to go, "yeah, he's still El Hijo del motherfucking Santo", he'll appear in my list of the best wrestlers alive. I also really enjoyed the rudos. El Hijo del Solitario was hugely entertaining, from the moment he camply ran to the ring lip-syncing to AC/DC's 'You Shook Me All Night Long', thrusting himself into the turnbuckle. He ran up into the crowd at the start to shout at a teen, followed by Santo who walloped him in the middle of the people. Both rudos bumped all over and did everything they needed to do in a match all about the technicos. They both also had some really stiff strikes, I remember Cassandro taking an audibly nasty right hand from Magno to the side of the head, and Santo ends up sprawled across the front row while Solitario chopped him right in the chest. In fact, the rudos were so aggressive in the second fall that they had the old lady (and many others) next to me covering her eyes after a series of strikes, then a senton, then a double team assisted front lungblower.

The deciding fall finished with stereo topes (the ring rocking as our technicos hit the ropes at the same time), Santo's like a dart and Cassandro's with a little giro. Our seats were above to exit right in front of the ring, so the dives came towards and then under us. The visual of seeing Santo and Cassandro dive out of the ring and then right out of sight was amazing. The whole theatre, young children and elderly couples alike, cheered and laughed and clapped in awe and it was just a fantastic moment.

After the show I followed a similar route to the one I took there, only in reverse. I forwent stopping around afterwards for photos to make sure I made my train, only realising when I got there how much time I would have had to spare. In keeping with a theme I listened to Immortal's 'Sons of Northern Darkness' and watched a couple more New Japan matches, but mostly half-slept. I got home at half ten, British time, and then did the other half of the sleep. A good day.

I'm having a day in Brussels tomorrow, which is about the most 21st century thing I've probably said. It is a much smaller world than it used to be.

The reason I am going is to watch a lucha libre show. Mexican lucha libre is the most unique of all the forms of professional wrestling. It transcends Mexican culture in a way that other forms do not. It's also a lot more performance, rather than accurately imitating a sporting contest. Both explain why this show is actually part of a month long Mexican culture week in Brussels in a theatre - the Cirque Royal - and other shows have been organised in venues, like the Lourve last year, where wrestling fans are not necessarily the target audience.

The card is stacked, with el Hijo del Santo, Negro Navarro, Solar I and Cassandro all performing. The middle two are thirty year veterans, maestros, still amazing to watch (actually, they have improved with age), and I figure it may be my only opportunity to see them live. Cassandro is a guy I come to know recently and is an incredible performer, but one who has rarely appeared on video. And Santo is the most famous luchadore alive today, a guy who embodies everything great about lucha both as an in-ring performer and as a part of the mythology that make it such a transcendent artform.

Exhausting a day as it may be to travel to Belgium and back in less than 18 hours, I am massively excited.

My new years resolution is to watch films. I'm so rubbish when it comes to watching films. There are so many I should have watched (by which I mean, ones everyone has seen apart from me). A pointless ambition? Maybe. But it should hopefully be an enjoyable one. And, I always thinks it helps intelligent comedy to have as many cultural touchpoints available as possible.

I aim to watch 100 this year. I'm starting tonight with Pan's Labyrinth.

I passed a sad landmark last Sunday. It has been ten years since a friend of mine from high school, Ed Matthews, died. He had turned 16 two months before, and he took his own life on December 27th 1999.

I do think of him on occassion. We met at the start of year 11 (September 1998), and quickly became good friends through sharing a lot of the same classess. Ed's importance on my life and on my character really can't be overstated. I was an awkward boy, short in confidence outside my group of friends. Ed was massively popular. He was cheeky and playful - he would disrupt a class with a joke, but in such a way that he rarely got in real trouble. I attribute, at least in part, my future interest in comedy and performing to him.

People would joke that we were identical twins (despite only having bright blond hair in common) and I loved hearing that, because I secretly doubted I was half as interesting or funny or as enigmatic as he was. He was a teenager who refused to care what anyone thought of him, in a way that most people only bluster about. He wasn't interested in the politics of the school yard - he had time for you if you were interesting and fun, regardless of who you were friends with. He brought out the best in everyone around him. I think he made me comfortable with myself, and helped me embrace who I was and what I was interested in, and care much less about how I was seen. If I can pass only one attitude to any children I might have, it will be that.

Of course, I was fifteen. I considered him one of my best friends, but when he killed himself, part of the shock was because I knew nothing that might be troubling him. He never even called. He just went and did it. I know a little of what happened now, the falling out with the unbelieveable overreaction. He left a note in his pocket for when it was found. On it was written his name, his address and the sentence "everyone likes a considerate suicide." His last joke.

Sometimes I feel angry at him. Sometimes, thinking back, it barely seems like that Christmas holiday happened to me at all - so much has changed since then. But mostly when I remeber us daring each other to lie on the book shelves at the back on the class until the teacher noticed, or him hopping around on his BMX, or the last time I saw him (Christmas Eve 1999, laughing and waving), I think what I do is miss him. The answer to all the unanswerable questions drives me crazy.

I'm supporting the Rage Against The Machine for Christmas Number 1 campaign, not because I think it sends a powerful message (it does not) or because I care about who tops the Christmas chart (I do not), but in the name of SHENANIGANS. I am pro-frippery. And also vastly amused that Cowell would call this bit of fun 'cynical', given how he makes a living.

Buy the track or don't buy the track. But do make a donation to Shelter, who do amazing work for a group of people it would be easier to forget about: "You'll never silence the voice of the voiceless".

UPDATE: Cowell again bemoaned the campaign earlier, calling its organisers "miserable". He also said it's denying Joe "his moment". Firstly, he's had plenty of moments, including the one where he won the talent contest that he entered and got a million pound recording contract. Secondly, there's the implication of entitlement. The fact that Cowell sees the Christmas number one spot as something that should be granted to everyone who wins his show is just another reason to get on board.

As far as I'm concerned, this is the only argument for vegetarianism I'm interested in. It is a very good one, and I recommend giving it consideration. I, personally, try to have vegetarian lunches, or vegetarian dinner if I had meat at lunch.

I have no desire to stop eating meat entirely, but I think moderation can have a massive impact. We should all share the costs of climate change, and going without chicken on that Caeser salad should be right at the top of the list. Interestingly, this is exactly the opposite situation for me when it comes to alcohol, but the same result - I have no real desire to drink (and would happily go completely straight edge) but do so in moderation in social situations where, quite frankly, it's almost seen as offensive not to (happily, I've learned how to have a drink in hand and remain sober). I wish I could always have Coke, but I also wish to avoid unnecessary dramas.

By the way, I don't count fish in this (neither as a food nor as an alcoholic drink). They don't live on land, we don't cut down rainforests to build aquariums. Although that would be more pleasant.

On Friday, I had a moment where I suddenly thought, "you know what? I actually might finish my D.Phil. And it might be good."

Had a good weekend. First time in a long time I've had a weekend off. I could get used to it. Not allowed, though.

I've been wanting to post this news for a while, but there have been delays in everything being official.

At the age of 25, I have a job. Specifically, a research fellowship at SKOPE, a research group in the Univeristy's Department of Education. They were clearly fooled by my succinct yet persuasive CV (Craig Holmes, 25, unemployed, talented economist, hero to millions of children). It's perfect really - lots of academic freedom for research (within their research programme), but also more security, the ability to publish more often and at a more noticeable level, and most importantly, an office with my name on it. And an employer - nothing makes you get out of bed and start your day like having an employer (Exceptions: fire, dreams about spiders, violent wife). I'm very pleased, is all.

If anyone knows anyone who does poster design quickly, send me a message. I need to send for an order by the end of the month at the latest.

Stupidly, a week ago, I got caught going 36mph going down Banbury Road into Summertown. The letter came yesterday, but addressed to Cath because she's the named owner with the DVLA. And instead of taking the £60 fine and 3 points like a good wife, she's shopped me. Actually, she has filled in a form with my details, put it in an envelope and asked me to post it tomorrow, so technically, I'm shopping me.

Mainly I'm most embarassed by the fact that I got speeding just 6mph over the limit. What's the point of speeding by so little - you get there hardly any faster, but the penalty is the same as if I'd gone 50.

Speaking of speeding, Usain Bolt's new world record was just breathtaking. The record came down by 100ths of a second every few years for ages - he takes 0.11 off in one go. It's important not to go over the top though - listen to the commentator saying (approximately), "he thinks he can go 9.4, but that's his limit. I'm not sure, I think he could go whatever time he likes". One day he shall wake up and say, "I want to go 5". And it shall be done.

Had a culinary success yesterday evening entertaining a couple of our friends. I like having dinner parties, because it gives me an excuse to try and impress people with food - I wouldn't say I'm a natural, instinctive cook, but I like trying new things, and I'm building a decent repetoire.

Anyway, our guests impose an additional problem when coming up with a menu, because one of them is vegetarian. The actual problem is that Cath can't stand all the usual things you substitute in for meat as the main ingredient in a vegetarian meal - mushrooms, nuts, aubergines, butternut squash are all off list, and there's a few others that she doesn't really like.

So, we had a warm salad of chargrilled leeks and red onion with mozzarella and a tarragon and mustard (and some other things) dressing to start, and linguine (in a a creamy sauce of parmesan and dolcelatte) with feta stuffed roasted figs - ours were wrapped in parma ham - as a main. It worked really well, and there were excellent reviews.

I must remember to have more dinner parties.

I've been learning the play the guitar for a while now, and as my musical tastes and the acoustic guitar are not quite the happy bed fellows you at first might imagine, I like trying to find songs I enjoy and would listen to that could be played unplugged. Youtube is your friend in this situation, as there is no end of people posting their cover versions of pretty much anything. Anyway, I've recently been trying to find versions of Bad Religion songs, having seen a couple of tracks Greg Gaffin himself has done acoustically (Sorrow, already discussed, and God Song, both of which I can kind of sort of nearly play a passable version of).

There's some nice covers out there, but I just found quite a few performed by one girl (whose name is Emily, we're very close), and some of them are really great. This is not just because she has a strong voice and plays well, but because, if you know the originals (find the originals, know them, love them), you'll see they're not just carbon copies played on an acoustic guitar.

Anyway, have a listen - I recommend Faith Alone, Walk Away and You. I'll be stealing them soon. You should all be aware that I only try to sing along when I'm sure most of East Oxford is out.

I was a Michael Jackson fan in 1991 when he released Dangerous, but even as a seven-year old who listened to Bad and Thriller over and over again, a part of my brain always thought that it was rubbish. By the time HIStory was released, I had moved on, but my impression of the singles were that they were trite and musically weak, and that they compensated with expensive, bloated videos. I never listened to anything from Invincible.

I don't say this to be callous. I just want to make the point that at a time like this, there is a tendency to overhype the dead person's legacy and the implications for the world of the death. In reality, Michael Jackson was hardly a prolific artist, and his best work was behind him by over 20 years - the Michael Jackson of 2009 is not a loss to the music world. Furthermore, if you are one of the people who are openly mourning the demise of a musical genius, and can't actually tell me when the last time you listened one of his albums was, then you'll get little time from me.

I could also talk cynically about the supposed genius of the man - a great pop record is the result of many different people, and the guy on the cover is just one of them. It's probably unnecesary though, as the word 'genius' ceased to mean anything a long time ago. I think we can all agree that he was a talented vocalist and a charismatic performer. However, even this is not free of hyperbole - a message passing along the bottom of the news this morning from a woman in London declared him 'the last great showman', as if being an entertainer of millions was an ancient secret passed down to only a select few and now lost forever.

Jackson will be remembered as a tragic figure, partly because of the heights he thrust himself to and the unreasonable expectations of his dedicated legion of fans, and partly because of the relentless media obsession - the same media that will fill days with tributes to the parts of his life they haven't cared about since the mid-90s. If I could make one suggestion it would be that everyone shows a degree of balance and level-headedness. If he inspired you, then his death should make you sad. If you enjoyed his music, be thankful for that legacy. But don't jump around making grandiose proclamations about a man who has probably in the past decade been the punchline of numerous jokes you've laughed at and the topic of many appalled conversations you've had. It's very tedious.

I can't get back to regular blogging until I write about the wedding and everything. Enough stalling. My problem is I really don't know what to say to you (the gentle reader) that you probably haven't already said to both Cath and myself. So we'll see how this goes.

Obviously, we had a brilliant day. In all the ways that matter, we thought it went perfectly.

Some details you wouldn't know. The night before we were seperated, although much to Andy's chagrin we spoke several times. Cath likes tradition, but likes me more. I've never cared about tradition. I had a fun night with Murray, Scott and Adam -food, drink (Coke) and a lot of pool. I didn't really sleep much. I struggled to eat a bacon sandwich the following morning, predominantly out of nervous excitement rather than any fear. If you saw me before the ceremony I hopefully looked as calm as I felt, any nerves having departed by the time I started getting ready. Having seen the wedding photos, it's weird seeing me smiling and chatting and generally dicking about downstairs while upstairs Cath's room is much more serious as all the preparations are going on.

We had this plan for the ceremony that failed. Cath knew she would be nervous being watched by a room full of people, and she had decided that she would just focus on me. All the way down the aisle I could tell she had a fixed expression on her face, which made me think for a second something was wrong (she told me after that before she entered the room, she felt really lightheaded and wobbly). I had no preconceptions about what she would look like, and needless to say, she blew me away.

The ceremony is a blur - I don't think we stumbled over our words, and my general impression was that it was lovely. Afterwards, I can't remember ever being yelled at some much - a lot of people had a lot of need for my time. It's exhausting, but at the same time, I am aware I may never be (joint) centre of attention like that again. We were pleased with the food, although dinner did drag on a little. The one part that was worrying me was the speeches (or at the very least mine) but I was pleased with it, and everyone has been really nice afterwards (so thankyou). It was great getting the Imps to perform for all our families and friends, almost all of whom had never seen me do improv before (after four years). It wasn't strictly speaking a good set, but it was an entertaining one, and seemed to be a hit.

And then there was a fun evening of dancing and trying to catch up with far too many people - so for everyone I said "I'll be back in five minutes" (and who might still be waiting), I apologise. Several family members have commented that they liked how full the dancefloor was throughout - I blame (and thank) Imps.

Married life, thus far, has brought very few changes. Maybe the biggest one is that I now need a new clap - my old one keeps hurting my finger as it bangs into the ring. No-one warned me about that. The official photos are available to view online (if I haven't already sent you the info). Go to our photographers website (www.robwhealphotography.com), go to the client area. Then, email me for the password and login details. There are some fantastic shots of many of you, so you should definitely look at them.

I will talk about Cuba next time.