18.30 - "Well, we're wandering round The Eagle but can't find anywhere to sit down. Thinking perhaps The Maypole instead. Meet us there?"

19.45 - "No, no. Really musn't. Definitely need food before more drink. Actually, do any of you fancy going via Sainsbury's to buy supper? Curry back at mine? With a bottle of wine?"

20.00 - "Yeah, true, but is it really worth the risk? Look, you guys go to the checkout, I'm grabbing another bottle of red."

21.10 - "Another ten mins, I'd say. Christ, I'm bloody starving. Where's that second bottle?"

22.35 - "Oooooook! Lahoma, where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain. And the wavin' wheat, can sure smell sweet, when the wind comes right..." Thwack. "Fyse. Shut. Up."

23.10 - "No, there's no question. For the perfect woman you don't look further than Belle. Intelligent, feisty, amazing eyes. Keen interest in English literature. What's more, she's sees through the monstrous exterior to the good heart within. That's right, I've thought this thing through."

23.40 - "I'm not gonna wheel it, it's bloody miles. I'll be fine. You remember that party in spring of second year when I got slightly tipsy and climbed straight onto my bike? Then rode directly into that parked van? And do you remember me walking away without a scratch? I think I've made my point."

23.41 - Thump.

"Two hundred degrees, that's why they call me Mr. Fahrenheit. Travelling at the speed of liiiiight. Wanna make a supersonic woman of you."

Emphasising this last sentence, he points his finger at a young lady dancing nearby, who promptly leaves the floor.

"If you wanna have a good time, just give me a call."

The young lady now leaves the room entirely, and bystanders carefully move their drinks from the edge of the table as Fyse whirls toward them. Executing what he believes to be a balletic spin, he strikes a dramatic pose as the song mercifully concludes.

The anticipated applause does not materialise, so Fyse galumphs away to sit with The Cousins in the corner. Taking another draught of entirely superfluous alcohol he casts his gaze into the gloaming room. Not many remain, and of those still standing his own family predominate. While pleasant enough, the brides relatives have been drifting toward bed for some time and the remaining huddles look somewhat perturbed by the magnificent and increasingly voluble expletives emanating from one table in particular. The Cousins are putting the world to rights in a loud and overly-opinionated manner.

The dancefloor is deserted, and at the edges of the room rubbish and empty glasses are being collected. The doors to the rest of the hotel stand open and in the light of the hallway people bid one another good night. It seems the revelry is coming to a close, but ere the end is one final track from the DJ. With whoop and cheer The Cousins charge the dancefloor.

"We are family. Get up ev'rybody, SING!"

In other news, I had a good time in Yorkshire visiting my grandparents, have still not done enough (or any) academic work, and spent 7 shots stuck in a bunker on the 6th at 'Abbey View' golf course. Oh, and was particularly incensed by the amount of coverage given to the royal wedding. Half every news bulletin dedicated to inane and pointless commentary, the TV stations wheeling out ardent royalists to say how wonderful it all is, and rabid republicans to say it's all symptomatic of the opression of the common man. So, two people have (finally) got married, and one of the them happens to be heir to the throne? Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.

Since Thursday the 19th was the subject of my last post, Friday the 20th is where I shall begin. The afternoon saw yet another rendevous with the cast of 'Me and My Girl'. It's always the way after a show; you spend so much time together during rehearsal and performance, and then suddenly it's over and everyone's busy catching up with work, or rehearsing hard for their next show. The odd reunion for coffee is the standard way to stay in touch. Since it was such a wonderful afternoon, we then went and sat by the river for a while. Watching people punting on the river is an endless source of amusement, and after a while you can be sure to see someone unceremoniously fall in. (Two on this occasion.) Follow the sidebar link to my photoblog for an illustrative picture. (One of these days I'll redesign my blog so I can post decent sized photos to it.)

In the evening I was at the ADC Theatre again doing 'front of house' for the musical 'My Fair Lady'. I had quite a few friends in the cast, and there were more M&MGers along that night too. I really enjoyed the show, and it made me regret that I wasn't a part of it. (Long time readers may remember my dilemma when offered a part, and as it turned out lots of people did both shows. Still, it would have meant even less time to work, so I probably made the correct decision.) Then I was doing front of house at the ADC again on Sunday evening, for a touring show called 'Jackson's Way'. It was the Perrier Award winner from last years Edinburgh festival, which promised much, and I wasn't at all disappointed. Definitely one of the funniest things I've seen in ages. Chris John Jackson is a spoof 'Life Coach', and builds his presentation around his 'flash of inspiration'. Paraphrased - 'While there is a small number 'pointful actions', there is an infinity of 'pointless actions', ready to be harnessed'. May not sound funny, but it was if you were there...

I'd been invited to a friends house for dinner, which I couldn't attend due to the show, but popped up afterwards for a quick drink. Ah, those fateful words. Needless to say it was past 3 am by the time I weaved back into college. It was well worth the effort of climbing the only hill in Cambridge though, as I got to have a long anticipated political argument with a friend of mine. I get on well with him, and he's a decent guy, which makes it all the more inexplicable that he's a Conservative party supporter. An ardent Thatcherite with a social conscience? I had to find out more. Needless to say I didn't manage to convert him, nor him me, but I enjoy arguments for their own sake. They inevitably leave both parties even more entrenched in their own views, but it does at least force you to clarify the reasons for your beliefs.

Monday evening was when I moved back to St Albans, laden down at the last minute with an additional ten books from Catz library. Indicative of my general work ethic, I am great at getting text books but struggle with the whole 'opening and reading' thing. Since I've been home, I have made lots of plans for working, and feel ready to launch into it any week now. Other than this serious apathy, the only major event in the last week was a big family party on the Saturday.

It was my dad's side of the family, who we see rarely compared to my mum's side. It's a shame, since we always get on very well when we do make the effort. The excuse for the party was somewhat confused, since one reason cited was my aunt's 60th birthday, but this actually isn't until November. She lives in the US though, and since she was over in England it seemed as good a time as any to celebrate the occasion. Other possibilities were the immediate proximity of my uncle's 65th birthday, or perhaps that my cousin turns 30 in the summer, and my brother is 18 at the end of April, not to mention that another of my cousins is due to turn 40. Basically, there was a party, and regardless of the reason it was great to see so many family members that I hadn't for ages.

It was organised by my cousin Joanna, and held at her place in Oxford. Bizarrely for an atheistic student, she lives in a catholic convent, but things are not as austere as one might imagine. There are only three nuns to almost 50 students, and I assume revenue from the accommodation provides them an income. Attempted conversion of their tenants is no doubt a consideration, but not in a scary or imposing way. I'm sure my cousin will stand up admirably to the onslaught anyway.

No doubt everyone has been through similar parties, when all these people you don't recognise seem to be related to you in the most obscure ways. Conversations revolve around clarifying that your grandmother's second cousin's nephew-in-law was their first cousin's uncle's neighbour's baby-sitter. Or something like that. Older family members will delight in pointing out how much you look like your brother, and will recount loudly how they watched you running naked round their garden hurdling flowerbeds when you were 'knee high to a grasshopper'. Merely walking across the crowded room requires great trepidation, and swift evasive action to avoid the crazy aunts, skillfully diverting them towards your unsuspecting siblings.

Actually that better describes parties on my mother's side, and I enjoy them anyway, despite the inanity of the inevitable small talk. At the party on Saturday I spent some time mingling, but eventually the cousins gravitated together, forming a generational ghetto in the garden. The cousins range from 18 to 40-something and are scattered country wide, both contributing to our infrequent contact. Whenever we do meet we all say how we must see each other again soon, and this time was no different. We're great talkers, but less than efficient doers.

It's actually not very long till I go back to Cambridge, at the very latest on the 16th of April and it might be a few days earlier. Between now and then I've got a lot to achieve, and as ever I plan to start bright and early tomorrow. The biggest obstacle is the current state of my notes from this year; I have three large piles of paper in no semblance of order whatsoever. The task of taming these into something useful for revision purposes will not be easy, but is an unfortunately necessary evil. I've been finding plenty of distractions to avoid starting, which reminds me that I was going to recommend the book I just finished reading. 'Pompei', by Robert Harris, is set mostly in the days just before the town's destruction and contains fantastic description of the erupting Vesuvius. It's a highly intelligent thriller, which I was entirely unable to put down. Well worth a look, as are 'Fatherland', 'Enigma' and 'Archangel', his other novels.

I think this mammoth post brings things up to date, and I must head to bed. Tomorrow will be a day filled with dynamism. It will.

PS Running the Blogger spell-check on this post, I was prompted to replace mum's with mom's. Yuck.

• Tuesday 3rd : Pool match
  The result was not good, leaving us almost certain to miss out on promotion. It would have been great to see Catz 4th team in the top division. Mourn the passing of a dream, people.
• Wednesday : "Orpheus in the Underworld"
  I shall be diplomatic in my commentary on this show, and say that I did enjoy it, but possibly only because I knew so many of the cast. There were some good points, including some very attractive Can-Can dancers and a funny turn by a fellow Catz student playing the part of 'Public Opinion', but overall the show didn't really work that well. It was at the Arts Theatre, as was 'Me and My Girl', and made me really proud of what a high quality production we put on. I can say that without arrogance, because I am only judging from the bits I was able to watch, which obviously I wasn't in. I cannot vouch for how far I dulled the show's professional sheen when on stage.
• Thursday : "Royal Hunt of the Sun"
  I was doing 'front of house' at the ADC for this show, involving checking tickets and selling programmes before the show, and selling ice-cream at the interval. There's no payment for this, but you get to see the show for free, and even receive a complimentary ice-cream at the interval. (At least, you do unless you turn up fifteen minutes late and the manager is annoyed with you. Whoops...)
• Friday : "Anything Goes"
  This was a college production that the M&MG choreographer was also working on. Every member of the company was from Magdalene College, and it had a great feeling of being a real community project. The standard of the acting and singing wasn't always great, but that wasn't the point. Everyone involved was clearly enjoying themselves immensely, and as a consequence the audience did too. Afterwards we all went back to a friends room for 'a quick drink'. I eventually left at about 3am...
• Saturday : House Party
  I wasn't intending to go, but was bullied into it. Once again, popping round for an hour or so turned into wobbling home on my bike at 3 o'clock in the morning. My sleeping rhythms are all over the place.
• Sunday : Dan's 21st Birthday
  Dan is one of my flatmates from last year, and we're all going along to 'Formal Hall' to get drunk in honour if this auspicious occasion. Formal Hall is one of the many weird Cambridge traditions, and involves dressing up in gowns and listening to arcane latin prayers before eating. You get a three course meal, plus cheese board, for only £7 though, which is a real bargain. Add to this the consumption of bottle of wine each, and there's no better way to celebrate a birthday in college.
• Monday : Nat Sci Society Dinner
  Nat Sci is the accepted abbreviation of 'Natural Sciences', the umbrella subject that includes physics, biology and chemistry. (As well as a load of random ones nobody really cares about.) 'The John Ray Society' is its official title in my college, after some famous alumnus, and we're having a big dinner on Monday. It will most likely include much alcohol consumption.

And there we have it; lots of fun, and little time to alleviate my current work crisis. You may notice the ridiculous hour at which I'm writing this, and considering I've still got two more evenings of revelry ahead of me, I must head to bed. I really must work hard tomorrow too...

I spent New Year's Eve careering round a small coastal town dressed head-to-toe in surgical scrubs, complete with silly green hat and face mask. My companions included a sixties girl with terrifying beehive hair, a sinister man in fetching goggles/skull-cap/lab coat combo, and Tatiana, Queen of the Fairies. Much alcohol was consumed, and other strangely attired folk were encountered. Amongst those spotted on the streets of Dartmouth that night were a conga-line of Dominoes, fifteen French men dressed as Arabs, and one bloke wearing nothing but suspenders and stilettos. (And a little underwear, thankfully.)

After celebrating the New Year with the grace and sobriety befitting a gentleman of my social standing, I was at home for a few days before returning to Cambridge. I got back here on Wednesday morning (cleverly forgetting several hundred vital items in the process), and have since been immersed in a computing project. I'm meant to be investigating percolation using cellular automata and the Monte Carlo method. My time thus far has been divided equally between learning Fortran-95 (which for some reason they insist on we use), installing Red Hat Linux (then counseling it through its inexplicable hatred of my graphics card) and trying to work out what the hell the preceding sentence means. So far I have managed everything but the last of these obstacles, but I'm getting there.

I've got two weeks till the project deadline, but things are complicated by the resumption of rehearsals on the 15th, which will take up a huge proportion of my remaining time. Speaking of which, I've just received the full schedule right up until the technical rehearsal on Monday 14th of February. It details a staggering 122 hours of rehearsals in the next five weeks. When I think about fitting in academic work and rowing on top of all these rehearsals, it scares the living daylights out of me. So I try not to think.

Talking of rowing, I've signed up for the 'pre-term training camp', which sounds a lot more serious than it is. (At least, I hope it isn't that serious. I've got programming to do!) It should just involve a couple of outings, and maybe a session or two on the rowing machines. I could do with the exercise, cos I'm sure the festive season has robbed me of any fitness I'd built up last term.

It's howling a gale outside, and my window keeps whipping from 'slim crack providing fresh air' to 'gaping hole spewing swirling vortex'. I fear that if I don't close my windows properly tonight, I'll wake up somewhere over the rainbow. (The Land of Oz. You know, that big tornado thing? 'Off to see the Wizard' and all that? Ahh, forget it...)

Fortunately I am mentally prepared for the ordeal, and pretty much know what I am going to purchase. Providing St Albans shops are still well stocked, there shouldn't be much problem. One area of concern is a CD, which may be difficult to track down. Amazon are out of stock, and while I wasn't planning to buy it there anyway (I was just checking the title), this might mean it has been selling well on the highstreet too. Time will tell.

A much more interesting subject is what I shall be receiving on Christmas morning. I remember the good old days, when a quick flick through the Argos catalogue would uncover hundreds of toys that I would be only too happy to receive. What is more, they would mostly be relatively cheap and therefore realistic to request. Now, at the advanced age of 22, my wish list consists almost exclusively of electrical gadgetry, and to request more than one of these might be misconstrued as, well, greedy. I've been hankering after an digital camera for some time now, and the SLR I had my eye on is still upwards of £700. I've given up on getting that any time soon, so I'm going to purchase a much cheaper model with Christmas money. I've been scanning eBay for a bargain, but will probably wait till January, when I reckon it'll be more of a buyers market.

Right, time to stop typing and go shopping. I'll grab some lunch first though. Can't purchase effectively on an empty stomach, now can I?

I don't want anyone to think I'm being waited on hand and foot though, as I do try and pull my weight in the kitchen department. Tonight I crafted my 'Shepherd's Pie of International Renown', a masterful concoction that defies even the most poetic of description. It was, of course, rapturously received. Whilst my sister erroneously believes her recipe to be superior, and has vowed to demonstrate so on Sunday next, it is a truth universally acknowledged that union of lamb and potato has never been achieved with such transcendental perfection as in my oh-so-humble contribution to humanity. Our younger sibling has been appointed adjudicator to the contest, and the requisite threats and intimidation are already in full swing.

I've been back in St Albans since Monday afternoon, and will be returning to Cambridge around the 8th of January. Between then and now, I will spend three days in Yorkshire for Christmas with relatives, then three or four days down in Devon for New Year with sister and friends. I'm looking forward to both, but the rest of the intervening time, which is only around two weeks, I have to spend working very hard on academic stuff.

It's slowly dawning on me that if I don't work now, I never will, and I don't want to end up regretting missed opportunities. There's not much doubt that I'm studying at one of the best Physics departments in the world, let alone Britain, and it'd be pretty foolish not to make the most of it. It's noticeable that the times I have found the course most interesting have been the times I was working hardest, so putting in more effort can only be a good thing. In the weeks preceding my first year exams, blind fear drove me to harder work than ever before (or since), to the extent that I was in the library for upwards of twelve hours a day. If I can get myself to even half that level of concentration and focus ever again, then I'll be happy. And surprised...

They say that explaining concepts to others is the truest test of your own understanding, and to this end I've been toying with the idea of starting another blog. It would be a blog about Physics, in which I attempt to explain the more interesting concepts behind what I'm studying at the time. The popularisation of science is a field I am very interested in, and it might be useful practice in jargon-free writing. It could also help clarify my own thinking, crystallising my chaotic thoughts into a succinct explanation. Then again, perhaps the setting up of an additional blog is a distraction from work that ought to be avoided...

This weekend sees a couple of important auditions, for two of the biggest shows next term. I loath auditioning with a passion, but they're a necessary evil I guess. Auditions for shows in Cambridge are nearly always open and non-appointment, so you just turn up at some point between appointed times, and await your turn. The format is normally to choose and perform an extract from a selection outside, and for a musical, sing a song. Sometimes they ask you to perform a bit of dance-type-stuff, which I normally make a complete mess of. Life as a thespian in Cambridge is certainly a lot easier for guys though, especially if auditioning for musicals, as competition is very much lower.

Whenever I write a post, I'm displacing my activity from something much more important, and this time it's the vast amount of work I have to do for supervisions next week. I'm currently embroiled in the wonders of Thermodynamics, and wondering once more how I ended up as a Physicist. The English school system meant I had to choose the Arts or Sciences route at age 16, and the choice came down to Physics or History. Ah, to be a lazy Historian and spend my days drinking coffee...

Compared to some other crews, however, our incompetence is neglible, and we therefore spend a lot of time twiddling our metaphorical thumbs in the middle of a half mile tail-back. This morning was more extreme than ever, and it seemed that no sooner had we found a comfortable rhythm than we were bumper to bumper (again metaphorically) with the next crew. In fact, gridlock was normally attained before any kind of coordination, resulting in much frustration. The outing on Sunday was much better, with open river ahead allowing us to row all eight at a once, and get up a fair head of steam (so to speak). It may sound odd that Sunday is the only time we've tried rowing all at the same time, but until people know what they're doing, half the boat is required to concentrate on maintaining balance. Also, when the river is so crowded, all eight of us rowing would simply be too gosh darn speedy, and would give us even less time before having to halt once again.

I really struggled with the early morning today, and hit 'snooze' enough to be slightly late. Once I get up, though, I really do enjoy that time of day. It was cold and crisp at 6.30 this morning, and the sun rose over the treeline as we carried the boat out to the river. I really wish I'd had my camera with me, as it was truly beautiful. I'm certainly going to persevere with this rowing lark until Christmas, and then I'll decide whether I want to carry on until the big races just before Easter. The cool rowing kit, bearing the college insignia, can't be ordered until the beginning of next term, so perhaps that'll sway my decision on premature retirement...