Woke up. This was my first mistake of the day. Head felt like owl pecked off the top and coughed up pellets in my brain. Respiratory system attempting to form Workers’ Republic. Doorbell rang.
Hello, mister postman! Didn’t realise you existed! Thank you, good morning to you too, no it’s just a cold. Ooh, a letter for me! And a parcel that looks just like the book I ordered… for Jess. And one that could be holding the new Corb album… for Jess. And a weird, feather-light cube for… me?
Filters for the teapot. My family do love me.
Encountered the Goldilocks effect, the little one fit straight in but didn’t go deep enough to actually brew, the big one didn’t fit at all, but the middle one (with some prising, some jamming) was almost perfect. Cue a celebratory cuppa, enjoyed with relish.
With this I felt better enough to stomp down to the Society Fair. Skipped the religious and ethnic ones without guilt, the political ones with a little and the commercial ones with the opposite; found Siz at the Gilbert & Sullivan Society stand and stole some of her Skittles. Wargaming Society caught my eye with an old, old Epic 40k poster but I don’t think I have the will or the disposable income to ever get back into tabletop, CVGSoc (COGS for Brum, the one I really wanted to join) and the Comics/SF one John upstairs mentioned to me apparently weren’t running stalls today, but from Greg I got a place, a time and assurances that they maintain the same dedication to vidya and pizza as COGS. I also got some times and dates off the Anime and Battle Reenactment socs for some serious neckbeardin’ action.
Then I visited the Fetish Society stand and Greg tied me to the marquee and said he wouldn’t let me go. (This turned out to be a lie. No worries.)
I went to the Arts block and found some rather more helpful things on the War Studies noticeboard than last time; also found my tutor, who seems an extremely nice person and advised me to reschedule my meeting with her rather than the disability assessment on the same Wednesday. Which I will do. This “organised timetable” nonsense may have something to it after all.
I FOUGHT THE LAUNDRY. Though it required no less than five trips to succeed. Were I in another block, this would be annoying as well as embarrassing. As it is, Block 12 is basically poking distance. Still…
1) “…How do I get in?”
2) “Woot, found the code this time. And… oh yeah, detergent.”
3) “…oh yeah, money.”
4) “MORE money. Fffff.”
5) THIS TIME VICTORY IS MINE, ACCURSED MACHINE.
Oh, and 6) damn these things are heavy wet.
Symptoms of ickiness have not intensified, but have diversified a bit: I now have headaches, weird muscles, snuffles and the world’s most irritating sore throat. None unbearable, none fun. In retrospect going to freshers’ fair may have been the dastardly act of a vile plague vector. But hey, misery loves company.
Outgoings: £2.20 to the Laundry Daemon, £1.80 CHEESE.
Scurrying Rat Count: 3, all outside so far.