What I really want to do right now is write a revision timetable. This is odd. I never stick to them, and they are scary and cause woe, and it may cause me to weep, but they give my life some purpose. As do essays, but the essays at the moment are hurried and very due in, and therefore worrying.
In other developments I have confirmed the fact that spending periods of time away from my family makes me a happier person, and am contemplating forgiving the Wachowski brothers everything because they got the Valerie monologue right. And Weaving was excellent casting, as was Rea. I do not, however, feel quite generous enough to forgive the random tacked on romantic subplot. That was daft. And didn't work visually because he was wearing a mask. The lure of another essay calls me.

Googling things related to your subjects is a bad idea. There is just this faint hint of self justification, which means that while you would play one game of Tetris then stop, you spend longer on Cicero websites or looking at revolutionary manga. And then you have a load of articles in French and while on an average night you would read the new Quicksilver comic or a novel or some Sarah Kane (or for some reason known only to myself the first third of Brideshead Revisited, which I keep on keeping next to my bed) you are there with your dictionary and feel like banging tables. Not good.

When in Eton endeavour to talk to the chaps who are excited by the fact that they have a Gutenburg Bible in the library.
Eton is very large and rather impressive. The graffiti on the oak panelling is exceedingly neat. 'Tis one of the ways they endeavour to disconcert poor people who go to dinner there, along with saying "of course that only dates back to 1637-ish".
Excruciating and silent car journey with many girls. Silent in my case only. Eventually we arrived and spent more time lurking in corridors with the others and Mr B. Finally we were allowed into the Housemaster's amazingly nice study, and looked at his bookshelves in an exceptionally nosy manner, and were given sparkling wine. The Etonians came in and I discussed Theology with one, found the Classicists (which to be honest could be done by sight: green cardigan and a red tie?). Once I was actually speaking, ie. not in the car, the stammer began. Went into dinner and was downright intimidated by the cutlery, recited Larkin to the boy next to me and discussed Chaucer, English and Horace. He had read Leishman! Generally a very decent sort. The food was inedible, I endeavoured to look as though I was eating and drank the exceptionally bad white and then the exceptionally bad red, and discovered that trying very hard not to stammer makes it worse. Then they switched Etonians at desert and I was stuck between two mathematicians, one of whom told me he could never respect me since I failed Maths GCSE. After that pretty much fled to coffee, talked to the Classicists and English chap again, and met the Physicist-Philosopher, who compared degree unemployability with me, and disliked Richard Dawkins (he was an atheist too, just a liberal one). Then went home, on the very long train journey I shall mention later.

Maximilien Marie Isidore

What I think at the moment:
probably quite a fun person to tease (ie. Supreme Being jokes)
very principled
pretty good orator and not as mad as Hebert or that lot (even Barnarve)
I would love the Camille and Maximilien stuff to be true
A fine classicist
Didn't win prizes
Agreed with me on party politics
Liked parks
Dressed fairly well
Was sensible about the war, unlike anyone else
Very short
Didn't eat
Was very sweet.

You see why I like him?

St Sebastian...

(We are sitting in the National Gallery opposite a very large religious painting, Madonna and child with assorted saints)
"That St Sebastian's really rubbish, isn't he?"
"What, with the arrow through one of his arms? Yes"
"And vaguely disjointed"
"You know he's a gay icon?"
"What?"
"Male, obviously"
"Well, yes. Why?"
"They have far too many. I have to sit here and go "okay, Highsmith" and they have tons. It's not fair."
"Are those arrows supposed to be phallic or something"
"Very probably. I think it's to do with him wearing very little clothing and the faint look of religious ecstasy"
"There isn't very much of a loincloth, is there?"
"No"
"There must be some story explaining it"
"I think there is. I may even have read it, I just can't remember"

(we go and look at other St Sebastian paintings)

lets just invite a lynching
The problem with finishing an essay at 2.00pm the day before it's due is...
it does absolutely nothing for your self motivation and you feel tempted to read Chaucer rather than work.

There's a johari index as well, but I couldn't post the URL for some reason.

Might as well do this



Have decided to abandon self esteem as well.

http://kevan.org/nohari?name=pseudobohemianlloser