Catch up!

Two debating competitions: the IV for university students, the school tournament for school kids. Predominantly reasonably cute sixth-form grammar school girls in the schools tournament. That was nice.

Junk food week of DOOM. Tuesday, Ben and Jerry's fest. Wednesday, Pizza Hut with Dave. Thursday, Curry Night. Friday, chinese takeout with Tristan. Saturday, chicken and chips. There's plans to eat at Varsity on Monday. My poor fat-clogged arteries must be begging for mercy now.

Glitterball was a big worry until it happened and nothing went wrong at all. I was quietly organisational, people noticed, I kissed my lovely boyfriend, everyone got home safe, the food was great, my dress fitted me.

Battle of the Bands. My housemate and his band came THIRD (travesty!) despite the crowd feeling they'd at least come second. Such is life. Again, cue the lovely boyfriend. Sometimes you forget how nice it is to just kiss for ages and ages and cuddle a little bit.

Debating confidence wiggles. The IV kinda kicked it out of me a bit (one of the DCA's didn't exactly take a shine to me), but Schools made me feel good about myself again. I called it right, I chaired a room, I gave warm and sunny feedback to ALL the children.

Sleep. The plan was: stay at Tristan's, eat junk food, watch a movie, go to bed fairly early and get to Schools on time. We ended up going to bed quite late and not actually sleeping until 3 or 4. Waking up at 7 wasn't very fun. But, going to sleep on Saturday night, after Tristan coming over to eat junk food and watch Clueless with me while drinking Strongbow and gin, was bliss.

The sky is perfectly blue. There's a little bit of a breeze. I'm listening to Lady Gaga and Robbie Williams. I have spent the past few weeks trying to make various people feel good about themselves in various ways (myself, debaters, Priders, Tristan, schoolkids). Sheraz gave me a cuddle and told me I wasn't awful at all, and in fact quite alright.

I got the calls right in rooms! I justified my decision and actually agreed with myself!

I have lots of plans, short term and long term. I might even have time to read some maths, or perhaps just read for pleasure. Although maths seems more sensible.

Honestly, I don't think things have been this busy and THIS GOOD for such a long time.

The best part is something that kinda made me feel sad this morning. I woke up alone, and it felt very strange. It didn't feel right. The more I think about how my life's going, it's all become possible because of him. He's the lynchpin of my confidence and success... I don't think I could do all this stuff without him. I'm pretty excited to see him again tonight :)

Nine stars!

During the summer holidays, I started going to the gym in between my days of working in Sporting Hell Inc. I started to enjoy it, and in my yearly budget for the academic year, I set aside £130 for a membership to the university's sport centre and gym, with a little extra for sports clothing.

One term went by; I went twice. Equivalent to paying £65 per workout. Ouch.

Last term, I made a lot of excuses:

• It's too hard to fit a workout in two hour gaps!
• I'm too tired at the end of the day to work out after lectures.
• You can't work out before a 9am lecture. That's absurd!
• I'll just not schedule working out for the weekend. That's a trip to campus just to come back.

Some of these were actually valid; I did have very tiring days last term, with 9am starts, 5pm finishes, and two/three hour gaps in the middle, where I often walked home to eat lunch and do a little work.

This term's timetable was much nicer. Most days ending at 2, with only one 9am lecture and one 5pm end. There were some 2 hour gaps, and I felt incredibly annoyed at the idea of so much money going to waste. So, I bit the bullet, and tried to fit in the workout in two hours.

Turns out that a round trip (Maths dep't to gym then back to Maths) takes two hours if you really dawdle. Usually, I arrive about 10-15 early for the lecture after a gym trip and collapse in a soft chair somewhere.

So, my schedule became gym between lectures on Monday morning, and gym in between Pride and debating socials on a Wednesday. I am on campus for reasons other than the gym on those days, so I will definitely be on campus

My ideal gym pattern is Mon-Wed-Fri. Problem is, the only gap is the two hours between lectures and debating, 2-4. Due to the layout of the lectures beforehand, this really should be lunchtime. I couldn't fit a gym workout and lunch. Problem. Then Rachel came! She goes swimming at 3 when it's Ladies Only swim, and relatively quiet. So, I go with her.

Once I established an easy-to-maintain pattern, I got a reward chart. One red star for every gym session, one blue star for every swimming session. The chart gives you space to put rewards after an amount of stars of your choosing. I chose:

• Gilmore Girls: Season 3 after 9 stars
• A nice date with Lovely Boyfriend after 18 stars
• Making my favourite cake after 27 stars

(The new gym routine has come with a slightly more conscious attitude to eating, so there's been very little cake this term.)

It's Week 3. I've been to the gym six times, and I've been swimming three times. That is nine stars.

I've started measuring myself on Sundays, and it seems encouraging, although I'm just enjoying having the time to exert myself physically and not think about anything.

Now I can order the Gilmore Girls boxset I've worked hard for! :)

I wasn't really expecting that.

One summer, long ago, a friend of mine and I were left home alone. Being 16 years old, we raided the liquor cupboard. We ended up making out on my bed for quite a long time, with her alternating between pushing me away and pulling me closer. Finally, she shoved me away and slept on the floor.

The following morning we had a conversation that was essentially this:

"We're never doing that again."
"Okay."
"It was totally a mistake. It's not like we're gay or anything."
"Well... I'm not exactly straight."
*stony silence*

This silence lasted for damn near five years, punctuated with the odd hateful interjection. Since all our friends were shared, I lost everyone, since she seemed to win that particular battle (I didn't even realise I had to fight it).

I even heard from a close mutual friend of ours that she thought that I was in love with her. This was as far from the truth as you could get without coming back.

I just missed my friend.

We had been growing apart anyway; she lost her virginity in a tent with a stranger at a music festival, and the girl I had known wouldn't have done that. She left for university in London, and that was it.

It was her 21st birthday a few days ago. I sent her a Facebook message, "Happy birthday!" I have no idea why. I just felt like it was such a stupid thing we fell out over, and given the masses of posts she already had for her birthday, it's not like she'd have noticed my name in the notifications...

I was wrong.

The following day, I saw she'd left me a message in my inbox. She thanked me for the message, and hoped I was well.

It was nice of her to do that. It's funny how a few years erases things that seemed so major at the time, but really are nothing.

Interesting, Dr Watson.

First post of the year!

I had a great birthday. Apart from nearly getting a parking ticket and my brother bursting into tears at the table, it was everything I'd hoped for and more. I got over £300 in total from birthday and Christmas money and I bought loads and loads of things and stuff. I have headphones, t-shirts, boy tops, kitchen electricals and I still had nearly £300 to deposit. Thank god for January sales.

I found a pleasant surprise. I'd forgotten that last summer, I went mental and cleared out some of my drawers in my room. So, I stumbled upon what is now the Diary Drawer. All my scrawlings from the age of 13 right up to the American summer before exam results. It's weird. I was dating Ashley. I forgot that that was happening right up to university. I was still not over Matt in the biggest way possible. I hadn't forgotten that bit...

I'm still watching Gilmore Girls. I got some awesome yarn from Lovely Boyfriend's parents, so I am knitting with that.

Onwards, Christian soldiers!

Perhaps...

Perhaps, after the sun comes up and before the epic round trip to Wembley and the Boxing Day party, I will try to articulate how I feel about how the Big Day went. Successes were many, and weird moments and feelings were also present.

Then again, perhaps I won't. Despite being rather open about certain parts of my emotional spectrum, I'm incredibly reluctant to talk about certain things. We'll see what happens in the morning.

She sent me a festive text.

I would call her "the one that got away" - except I was never close to having her. Nowhere near.

Happy Christmas. You're still weird-looking, eclectic and undeniably sexy.

Travelling in Holiday Fortnight.

Before I launch right into another post, let me explain Holiday Fortnight.

This holiday period is the perfect example of Holiday Fortnight, since there is a very neat Monday to Sunday fortnight encapsulating Christmas Day and New Year's Day. Sometimes, you get Holiday WeekPlus, especially if Christmas falls in an awkward place (like a Monday). But a great deal of people really gear up to Christmas Day in the three/four days before Christmas, take the week between Christmas and the New Year off and sometimes indulge in a day or two after New Year's Eve to recover.

This post isn't about the semantics of Holiday Weekend. This post is about what happened when I tried to travel at the beginning of Holiday Weekend. Lovely Boyfriend Face is travelling to see me at the end of Holiday Fortnight, with the added bonus of weekend travel, so I imagine he might have quite the journey.

I went Up North on Monday and came Back Down on Wednesday, last night. Both journeys require three legs. The first two legs are largely similar, except the third leg offers me a choice: either I take a slower Northern Rail service to make the journey from Sheffield to Leeds, or I take the fast Cross Country service that is part of a behemoth voyage from Plymouth to Edinburgh.

On the way there, I decided to take the Cross Country to save time. So I stopped the second leg short of Sheffield to take that train through Sheffield and onto Leeds.

There were no seats. None.

I was standing for about an hour before we got to Sheffield, where luckily one seat became available. People filled the aisles, the hallways, it was difficult to get in and out. It was one of the worst train journeys I've been on for a while.

What had exacerbated how I felt about it was the fact that the first two legs had comfortably half-full trains: not ram-packed, but not eerily empty. (Mind you, I did start my journey at 9, maybe it's to be expected).

Coming back, I learnt my lesson. I opted for the slower Northern service. The best part of that journey was that the first two legs of the journeys begun where I was getting on, so the train is sat at the platform for a good 15 minutes before it set off, and you can always get a seat. So, my journey back home was rather comfortable.

Now I don't have to do any big travelling until Boxing Day, when we're going to London for a party with a family friend with an OBE. He got it several years ago, but it's still a massively big deal to me.