I’m not complaining about work, but the final few days of term are always so luxurious! My final essay was handed in just before 8pm on Tuesday and within half an hour I was watching Watchmen thanks to Sharon’s very impressive organisation of the masses (thank you!). I would have needed to have been organised to see Watchmen, to be honest, since the promise of gore would have put me off, but thankfully the extreme violence was sporadic and sufficiently comic-bookish not to be a problem. The film itself was faintly ridiculous but extremely enjoyable nonetheless, not least because of the cute interweaving with modern American history, albeit in a counter-factual form. And if you haven’t seen it, please skip the rest of this paragraph now. Good. Because I was wondering if I have a problem when my reaction to giant nuclear explosions going off in New York is “ooh, this will really hand London an advantage in global finance”?

The rest of the week has been similarly fun, with delicious servings of Peggle served with the sweet sauce of tyrannical victory. Lucy arrived yesterday afternoon for an impromptu visit, partly to use Cambridge’s – ahem – relaxed pace as a detox from the adventures of normal universities. Obligingly we all headed over to the Granta for drinks and very much appreciated burgers. I hope I will be forgiven for using a photo of Oliver and Abi now, because you guys are sweet and I love you both!

Aww *grins*

That night our party settled in the comfort of Oliver’s room to watch some more Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I very vividly remember choosing not to start watching this (in Year 5) when it came to BBC2, because – as with Lost – I knew I would love it and it would thus eat up my time. Well, I was right, because I do love it, in all its 90s glory. Of course, my objectivity is a little suspect in claiming that the 1990s (hmm, the decade of my childhood) was the best era ever, but who cares: we all know that it was. Sure, it would seem awful and primitive now, but at the time we were young, carefree and devoted to BBC2’s 6pm masterpieces. (And all of this is not even to mention Willow’s endearingly beautiful dress sense.)

This morning Abi and I finally, finally went swimming in the pool that’s so close I can see the water from my bedroom window. (Now there’s another precious piece of childhood: swimming pools!) Despite our less-than-rigorous attitude towards swimming it still felt invigoratingly refreshing, and I’m very glad we eventually got it together to go. Of course there’s nothing like swimming for leaving you hungry, and so it was perfect timing to stroll over to the Picturehouse to have lunch ‘n’ beer with Bill Thompson. Bill always gives you rollercoaster conversation so it was great to be able to see him again. It’s interesting, too, because this is a friendship inherited from my parents – all those years ago youngBill mixed with with youngDad and youngMum in this very city. So will I be chatting to any of my friends’ children in a couple of decades? If so… I hope they find this blog to be a useful source of embarrassing photos of their parents as pretty young things

Me and Bill

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