This week I have mostly writing my computer game. You can now very nearly play right through to the end, but it needs loads more code to prevent the player from doing silly things like flushing your character's cloakroom ticket down the toilet.

Before I started writing the game, I was thinking it would be about 32K in size. It is currently 143K.

I was expecting this week I would be mostly co-writing my group project report of duuuuume, but my part took nowhere near as long as expected. Which was nice. I did, however, decidedly spend far too long in the Maths Masters students' computer room, as one night, I dreamed I was in there with various classmates, trapped in an annoying ICQ chat on a slow Linux machine about American politicians I'd never heard of, when a South American terrorist came in and shot everyone.

In the same dream, Bryn was on the news, for accidentally blowing up a whale.

My Siouxsie t-shirt appears to be remarkably good at provoking bizarre comment. On Tuesday, I was walking through my department, when a cleaner asked me if I was the original Iron Maiden. ?

On Wednesday, I had a Dutch oral exam. Apparently, I passed, but I don't pass exams. For want of a better word, I 0wn exams. The lowest mark in one I've had since starting university has been 79% (9% over a distinction) AND I thought I was being hard done by. This was niet zo goed, despite my hours of practise. My ability to speak in tongues appears to be entirely absent: I was fluent in French when I was fifteen, but four years later, I was completely lost for what to say when I had to thank a hotel maid, never mind buy a return ticket to wherever Eurorock was held that year. GAH! Axel Rogers and bloodthirsty squedgehogs! Why can't I be perfect?

(Squedgehogs are a cross between squirrels and hedgehogs. We found a picture of some, entirely randomly, on the back page of a paper we looked at for our report. Axel Rogers was a character in my second novel. The combination seemed as good a curse as any.)

Afterwards, since Alex insisted I had some sort of leaving do, I agreed to go to a goth night. I wasn't expecting the attendance to be particularly high, since 1) it never is, 2) most people would be conserving their energies for the forthcoming Whitby Gothic Weekend, and 3) I remembered to go to netgoth.org.uk to say I was going, for once, and the only other two people who'd said they were were the DJs.

There were, I believe, thirteen people there, DJs included.

It wasn't a bad night. I was in a good mood and the music was more to my tastes than usual. Still. Thirteen. Were it a tiny little venue, this would have been ok, but I think it could readily hold two hundred.

Last night, me and my classmates + various partners had a get-together thingy. Which was nice. It was held in a place called Stamford Bridge, which I don't think I've ever been to before. It was pretty and easy to get to on the bus as well! How good is that??? We talked about fairies, among other things.

Tonight, since Berna couldn't come to the goth night and I said I'd go for a farewell drink with English corridor mate, the three of us went to our college bar avec Alex. It is a place devoid of atmosphere, decked in many conflicting pastel shades and has occasional alarming bursts of music, but a good time was had. We talked about vomit, among other things.