On Sunday, I saw "Vera Drake" at the campus cinema. Hmm. The first half was a pleasing portrait of London life in 1950; the second showed the slow predictable punishment for the main character's crimes. I appreciated that this was a deliberate contrast to the first section, but it tried my patience nonetheless.

I did loads of writing on Monday, then went to the rock night at the Beercart Arms for the first time in nine months. This used to be my third home (third only to Eliot computer room), but, as with the last time I went, I barely knew anyone there. This, then, meant speaking to Random People (tm).

Randomness:

1. I made arrangements to take some ubergoth-looking girl's Slimelight virginity.
2. I met the person responsible for yelling "Sheep shaggers!" at Funeral For A Fiend when I saw them supporting Iron Maiden in Sheffield. He also declared his intention to become Archbishop of Canterbury, so that he could hold a metal gig in York Minster.
3. I spoke to a bloke in a Venom t-shirt, who, it turned out, also lives in Whitstable. Apparently, when he goes out there at night, he always gets beaten up. So much for thinking Whitstable was a nice safe seaside town! I have seen many a chav there on getting off the last bus, but, as Whitstable is one of those towns where people walk sloooooowly during the day and is completely deserted when I get off the last train, I'd always thought they must be harmless. Perhaps not.
4. I was reliably informed that having sex in my bed was a bad idea, unless you want Alex to be able to hear every detail (on the rare occasion that he's at home). Darn, an alternative location will have to be sought for the copious amount of dodginess that goes on there. (Well, it might do. Who knows what my werebear gets up to when I'm out?)
5. Former Rock Soc Committee Member Chris told me that he once buried a chair in a long jump pit.

After the Beercart, I went to a newly-started rock night at Alberry's. Alberry's is not my favourite venue in the world: the floor is bumpy and anyone over six foot tall has to constantly stoop. I don't know that it was really worth paying three quid to get into, given that there was only an hour of metal played and the Beercart is free. Still, Gordon, who was DJing, played Arch Enemy and I waltzed to Guns N' Roses with some random girl.

The Beercart's music was slightly better than it used to be and I was wearing my Neptuna-soled New Rocks for the first time in ages (they've no grip, so they've not been good to wear in this eighteen-month-winter I've been having): I'd forgotten how much easier they are to dance in. And Dan kindly allowed me to stay on his sofa afterwards.

So, looking back, it was a good night. At the time, though, it felt decidedly odd. I guess it's not being able to go either "Wooooo, I'm back!" or "Wooooo, I'm visiting!" as I don't know how long I'll be around for.

Today, I found the ultimate proof that UKC is evil. I've just tried to go to the toilet, to find they were cleaning both sets in Eliot College at the same time! Gah!