it is remarkable what one can find if only one looks. i am sure you will be glad to know i have a new pair of jeans, so i am less of an object a when on the stairs. germans abound at the lse, but they are unripe and need to be left to consume campachinos before the eat their fish pie on set. hampsted is actually quite nice, like a rich exurb with a tube stop: staff multiply, coffee flows, i am happy. it is a long way, where i am headed.

by way of aping my dear collegue, i shall provide you with a summary of my health. i have chipped a tooth, and will be visiting a dentist tomorrow to rectify the situation. my evil twin showed signs of deflation, but has firmed up again. i have a terribly sore throat, but i am drinking laphroig to soothe it. i weigh slightly more than 9 and a half stone. i am grieveing at the loss of my favourite 7" single.

well haven't we all had fun. i went to wales and saw the inside of a kitchen. i went to guilford and met a cat who loved me. we left on good terms. unlike nico i think i need another, these days. my room is full of boxes.

blah-blah-blahl-blahl-ball. oi! yo ho ho and a bottle of rum. pat her head. have another. get a cab. "jet pilot"! blink. it is light. streaming from the sky. jamais, encore. oi! a pauscity of entries. london calling from a far away town. tea. leaves. eats, plants and leaves. skab! oi! a handfull of sprats? handle the sprat? splat. oi! phil. pus-kram. i haven't slept a wink. oi! thick blood. put it in a barrel. age it. test it. is it evil? is it wrong? yeah. try the other one. firmer. yes. how far you've come. we've grown together. i am drinking again. waiting for ever. come near. come close. it doubles up as a urinal for drunk teens. goodbye.

far too long since my last visit, today i returned to the happy haunting ground, to the tall sky, to grantchester. tonight i will celebrate iceland with the pround boast of never having been there. it is roasting. unlike so many i have seen today, i am wearing a shirt.

exams finally done. i think i may have the second worst hangover of my entire life. i blame ed for getting me to play frisbee. there is so much to do. it is raining.

update - my hangover is passing off thank goodness. also i now have a new phone with the same number as my old one, so if you fancy a chat, give me a call, and i will hopefully be able to talk back. the sun has come out.

here are the big questions on my mind: is johanna newsom a poet or a charlatan (as i suspected)? why is the big brother house dressed up as pirates? what is on john coates' mind as he falls asleep this clear evening? will i do any more work before tomorrow's grand finale? yes.

and now, some film news. it appears that mr barney has been busy, and rumours of a will oldham/bjork collabo soundtrack have whetted appetites from here to the ohio river. david lynch was able to confirm that he is now breathing freely and may well open his directorial eyes soon. contrary to poular belief, my exams are not yet over, but anyone who fancies a pint on tuesday is advised that i may well get a round in.

dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to sit in the library feeling hot and tired. on this happy occasion, we must all hope that our salvation shall come quickly, and that in the interval, we might fine some amusing diversion to fill such empty time as is presented. we hope that tomorrow brings inspiration, and that our pirspiration is not in vain, and that we shall not attempt too silly an accent tomorrow in conversation with civilians.

one exam down, and only one to go today. i have discovered the secret. dont forget to eat. stay constantly in motion. i am listening to "if you're feeling sinister". i am.

here is the plot of my new novel, "the code of the windsors":

our hero is a struggling matheatician, obessed by the idea that everyone is out to get him. whilst he is taking his exams a senior figure of the shadowy "house of windsor" visits the site of his exams specifically to put him off. her name is elizabeth, queen of england. she is believed to be connected somehow to the freemasons. our hero is mildly put out due to police presence. his first exam doesn't go so well. he is generally a bit irritated. then he goes home.

advances over 100k payable through my litterary agent, don van vliet. that is all.

news from the front - glad to see someone else has already nominated lacan & tragore for melvin bragg's gold star for the bestest philosopher ever. i am of course very bored, but it all kicks off soon. also, if anyone wants to break news of long pondered conspiracies (ie you are aquainted with a grassy knoll) i would like to know.