shit it

I have spent the last week mainly crying, staring out of the window in my digs at a tree and some boys playing rugby, and wondering what the fuck I'm doing here. I feel old and void of enthusiasm and am absolutely convinced that someone young and happy should be here instead of me.

I realised yesterday that it was crunch time. Stay or go. Either 1) Attempt to work here in Lancaster, wander round the oppressive and  godforsaken campus, eat gregs pasties and pray for a freak accident or 2) bugger off somewhere no one expects anything of me ('cept the dog). 

Because I am basically an evil person masquerading as a good person and therefore need to be repeatedly punished, I have opted to stay. 

I should like to think that my continued presence may be of use to someone and that i can squeeze a bit of art out. I don't suppose this content is quite what they were hoping for when they invited us to blog. I'm sure it'll all be abolutely super in the end up...

Denise Van Outen says that the best way over a fella is under another. What would we do without her?