Boys leave. Girls arrive.
Having rid ourselves of boys whose names begin with J (and day-amn, we had a great time), I settled down to collapse for a week. But no, not allowed. Online acquaintance of the fannish variety messages me and says: "Yo, I'm arriving tomorrow." That was yesterday. But hey, should be fun, and I figure it's all karma. When I do my tour of the UK, I hope my fannish friends will put me up.
So, lightning-quick organisation of rendezvous by St. George (saints have so many uses) and now I get to party on down for the rest of the week. I think the Male is just going to collapse, though.
Fascinations of the day:
- Obvious fake tan. How obvious? Well, she has a tattoo, and obviously the fake tan doesn't go over the tattoo, because there's a little line of not-quite-tan around it. I can't stop staring. She's going to get the wrong idea.
- That Irish Accent. Still.
- Students still carrying on about the war, and would it really be that bad if I wrestled the microphone off them as I went past and flushed it down the nearest loo?
- The State of the Inbox. Not good.
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