one in the nuts.

Friday again. This has been a very long week. I expect that this is because of the exhibition opening, as that feels like ages ago but it was only tuesday. We've had it all at work this week, fights, stink bombs, chess-wars, exams, constant aggro day in day out.

They are going to move us into a new building in June which is spiffing cause it means I can pretty much stop working in summer when they pack up the books, we may even avoid summer school!!woop!march, april, may, june, then holiday.

I had a heartbreaking nostalgia dream, me and chloe were at my grandma and grandpa's, we were the age that we are now, daring each other to swim in the pool, but it was warm (definitely a dream). It took me a very long while as I awoke to remember that they no longer live there. I haven't seen their house since my cousin bought it from them, but i know he has completely re-built it. It makes you want the brain-surgery in eternal sunshine of the spotless mind....it's pretty unbearable.

Enough of that on a Freitag...soz bags.

So I have calculated that I have £1.66 a day until I'm paid. BUT on the plus side, I have shown remarkable restraint (for me) and closed my student bank account, having paid it off by creating a massive overdraft on my bastard halifax account.

Despite my loathing of people who love to read about murder, I am finding that I can not put down my book about a true Victorian murder, The Suspicions of Mr Whicher I only like it cause it's Victorian, it's all so crazy the way that they do their detecting, and the background and stuff, it's pretty interesting, it's like a courtroom drama, piecing together evidence and unravelling family secrets, this is what i tell myself, cause i do feel morbid reading about a murder, but that's that. I'm obviously a pervert. The way that women are treated and construed is also fascinating, lots of them killed their own children in those days, simply cause they couldn't afford them, also interesting is the constant fascination with sex, using it to explain any crime, everything is, 'she obviously had a lover', 'ah ha, they must have been lovers', 'it seems a secret lover must have been here, that's the only explanation for this violence'. There are lots of letters written in by the public who all had the absolute audacity to try and solve the murder themselves simply by reading about it in the paper! They write to the detective via scotland yard and say unbelievable patronising stuff like:

' excuse me, but had it even occured to you to interview the local villagers? as i have a deep feeling that the butcher must be responsible on account of his dealing with meat and access to knives. please follow my advice and apprehend him immediately. good day to you sir.'

not quite that bad, but pretty close. There's even some that say you must look at the dead person's eyes, as the last thing they saw will be on them like a photo??!! terrifying. People must have had such high opinions of their rights as a member of the British Empire, that they believed that their spurious advice, living 500 miles away from the murder, will be read and taken completely into account. Lots of people demand that certain people mentioned in the papers be locked up as they are making them feel uneasy?! 'can you please keep a certain Mr Jones under lock and key as from my reading of him in the papers he seems like a treacherous swine. poor people are prone to acts of violence, if only we could cull them all, but then who would clean our houses? good day to you sir.'

I like Mr Whicher as well, he's nice and fat and clever.

Anyhoo. i'm exhausted and absolutely desperate for the weekend. i intend to sleep a lot. being so poor leaves me with little choice, i can't nip over to St. Tropez, eat some canapes washed down with 2 bottles of champagne, meet an eccentric millionaire, dance all night on his yacht then leap into the sea at dawn and swim to shore before sleeping a few hours at my hotel and drinking cocktails, ending up at a casino, winning and losing it all again and apprehending a speed boat which i sail to monte carlo, so i'll prob have a Dr Oetker frozen pizza and count the hours until 'let's dance for comic relief' tomorrow night, after which i'll fall asleep on the sofa, have a fight with my brother, wonder why i can't lose weight and then eat everything in the cupboard closest to the fridge that contains the secret treats. Then it'll be monday again.