Last night, I went to what was supposed to be an 80s / goth / industrial / nu-metal / extreme-metal night with Alex, his friend Andy, and Louis, a fresher whose dressing policy is, "Leather and PVC are too cliché! Fleece is the way forward!" Despite the lack of extreme metal, the music was mostly good, just not loud enough. I missed the Pit. (Literally, too. They made £700 on the door!) But alas! Though I somehow managed not to hear "Killin' In The Name Of" at Ziggy's, they played it here! And "I Believe In A Thing Called Love"! Argh! (I wouldn't mind the latter, if Noj hadn't spent the whole summer listening to no one but The Darkness and Biffy Clyro in the room next to mine, and every video jukebox in the world wasn't playing it at least once an hour. But he did and they are.)

This morning, I went to the Freshers' Fair, intending to venture into town afterwards. As soon as I arrived there, I realised I'd have to go back to my room before going into town - it's been three years since I've been on the "receiving" end of a Freshers' Fair, and I'd forgotten how much junk you get - I left with four carrier bags full o bumph! However, I met Asp, who Noj met on the IRC channel #acorn in, er, 1997? (Despite Noj going to university not too far away, Noj and Asp have yet to meet.) He and the other members of the Douglas Adams Appreciation Society gave me a second degree (for correctly identifying the air speed velocity of a swallow). w00t! I also ended up joining more societies than I'll ever have time to go to, but alas! I still seem to have time to write bunkum in my journal. Then again, I'm writing instead of getting on with the Huge Assignment O Dume I was given yesterday.

After depositing the bumph, I went into town to establish where the railway station, bus stops and taxi ranks were, for my forthcoming trip to Leeds to see Motorhead. (I usually shun buses and taxis, in favour of the noble foot, but they're necessary evils in this instance. Doors open at 7. My last lecture finishes at 6.15. It's about twenty minutes from university to the station (by bus) and then half an hour to Leeds. Although the buses and trains run about every ten minutes, somehow I don't think I'm going to get much of a view, especially since The Wildhearts are supporting i.e. someone more famous than the sold-out headliners.)

And since I was there, I thought I'd check out some of the alternative shops and ended up buying a (cheapish) velvet skirt. And since I located HMV and I thought, "Hmm, I wonder if any of them albums I can buy with my Download card are worth purchasing?", I went in and discovered several of the Iron Maiden albums were selling very cheaply indeed. Since Noj owns them all, the only one I have is the latest one. But as I am unlikely to ever reside with Noj again . . . oh dear.

You'll never guess what I'm doing tonight! So I suppose I'd better tell you: Alex and myself are going to a goth night! Gosh! How extraordinary! It's a Rocky Horror night, but since I can't be bothered dressing up as a character, and I've, er, done my stomach in, by, er, doing sit-ups, so wearing my basque is probably not a good idea, I'm not even going to look like I've tried to dress up - instead, I will be cyberZed! (My one concession to fetish being a pendant shaped like a pair of handcuffs. I was going to wear my actual ones, but I decided against it. Note to self: find key.) Also, I finally get to see local goth/punk/rock/cabaret band, Screaming Banshee Aircrew there.


Sunday 12 October 2003

Oh, happy day! There I was, all set to order New Model Army tickets for their London gig (London being two hundred miles away), when I discover they've added a date in *Leeds* (i.e. nearest big city to York). w00t!

Although my faith in humanity has dropped, severely. Soppygit, Ibid and myself were most distraught to discover that one of the nights at The Venue has been rechristened "Promiscuous". To name a night "Horny" (which I think they did a few years ago) is cringe-worthy and meatmarket-ish enough, but at least it has an element of cheeky chappiness to it: "Hello ladies, I'm feeling a bit horny tonight." You know? And being horny is all well and good, but I differentiate between "having lots of sexual partners" - a lifestyle choice - and "being promiscuous" - the cold calculated act of gaining notches on one's bedpost. In any case, there are two bad-but-fitting songs called "Horny", whereas, to the best of my knowledge, there aren't any called "Promiscuous", so the name of the night clearly relates solely to how you're supposed to behave at it. Yuck.

But seemingly, it could be worse. At the ubertrendy club in York, there is a night called "Pooh Yer Pants"!!! No doubt prompting the question, "Are you going to Pooh Yer Pants tonight?" On the advertisments, there's a picture of Winnie The Pooh, wearing pants and a sly grin.

Note to self: take over world, soon.