We had to leave Jez in the garage last night because she wouldn't start, so we took Clem to Paddington. Dinner was eight chicken nuggets, chips, and a fucktonne of ketchup, so I deem that a fairly successful night. Plus Rikki got Jez working once I'd gone home.
Today was a strange mixture of epic win and epic fail. I'll attempt to explain.
Our lecturer for the past couple of lectures, who happens to be my tutor for this part of the course, is just not very good. Her slides have bad grammar, she's inconsistent with abbreviations, and she tends to run out of time and rushes through things. Needless to say, I didn't really enjoy our nine o' clock lecture on cancer; our eleven o' clock one on the cytoskeleton was cancelled, but I wasted this free time by doing work (a lot of people went straight back to bed at ten). I was also waiting for Rikki to text me back, as I was under the impression that the French coursework I was supposed to help him with was due in at one today. I didn't see him until about half one, when he informed me that the deadline was actually the end of the day. So I helped him with half of it, then had to go to my tutorial; or at least, that's what I thought, because my tutorial turned out to be at four and not two. Pissed off at having to wait around for two hours, I went to the SAC to help Rikki with the other half, then to the Waitrose on Gloucester Road to buy ingredients for baking cookies.
To be fair, the trip to the supermarket was pretty entertaining: I saw a guy wearing a Crystal Castles T-shirt, a singing and saxophone-playing Henry Hoover in South Kensington station, an Innocent promotional van decorated to look like a cow, and a very gay man lisping into a pink phone.
My long-awaited tutorial didn't go too badly either. My presentation went smoothly and ran almost exactly to the allotted time, which was five minutes.
"Did you practise that?", asked my tutor, seemingly impressed.
"Not at all", I said truthfully.
She asked the same question to the last guy who went up, but I don't think she was impressed with him: he kept stumbling, and kept talking for twice as long as he should have done.
The real mixture of win and fail was the cookies I baked. I don't understand why people find baking therapeutic, as I am constantly paranoid about burning things. To my credit, nothing got burnt, and some of the cookies turned out beautifully...
While others did not.
Amy would never have produced such mutants, I'm sure of it, because she would have stopped me from putting so much dough onto the baking tray. I miss her.
Oh, and speaking of cookies, the following message is aimed at the person who still owes me two of them.
You can keep them, and I hope you choke on them. You fucking tosser.
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