In which I have a delightfully boring day, and feel the need to tell you all about it.

I am ever so slightly less pissed off today than I was yesterday. All the drunken people I shepherded independently became convinced of the need to feed me breakfast. I acquiesed without complaint. And I finished with my Economics this morning with a sudden observation: I have used more bad language in regards to Hal Varian, author of the textbook, than I have of anyone else in my life. He's "bloody Varian" as a matter of course, "fucking, fucking Varian" somewhere near the end of chapter thirty-two, and "that total arse" according to Claire, who doesn't even do Economics. Round about fifth week, we're planning to have a ritual burning. Page by page. (This week's brillance from that quarter: the entire chapter the man spends discussing the "Robinson Crusoe economy", where Robinson is the sole consumer, producer, firm and shareholder on the island, and presumbly its only schizophrenic, too.)

But I finished with him, the total bastard, and for the first time since 0th week, realised I didn't have any other work to do. It was a novel and remarkable feeling. Therefore, Claire and I went out onto Cornmarket and attempted to amuse ourselves. That was the plan; somehow we ended up on the High Street and I ran into kuteki. I'm proud to say I actually recognised her, and we had a sane conversation. See, I am capable of it. And then Claire and I did such interesting things as going to Sainsbury's and buying milk. Actually I did buy one interesting thing: I am now the proud owner of a Balliol hoodie for being grungey in. It's all snuggly and warm, and I've just noticed that the college crest, being a lion on red and gold, is more than a little Gryffindor-like.

But that, I think, was the most interesting thing that happened; beyond that, Claire and I chatted about crap, ripped CDs to iTunes, ate too many chocolate digestives, and looked at random websites. We spent a lovely evening a couple of nights ago doing nothing but looking at moon landing conspiracy sites, but did not reach those dizzy heights this time. After realising the college keep a comprehensive list of all the people who have died here and post it online, we had a deliciously morbid five minutes. My favourite is Thomas Somebody, who died in Balliol's garden quad in 1936, and then in bland parentheses, we have: "(probably murdered; unsolved mystery to this day)".

Such brilliance. I then discovered a very funny (and honestly fascinating) article on the Gordouli, which amused us for a further two minutes, and then I disappeared to wash my hair. Such a boring day, but so nice not to have work! And for some reason, Sundays are the designated day for sleeping and catching up on work, and the atmosphere is so wonderfully serene. One day, I will learn to write poetry, and then I will write a poem called "Sunday Morning In College" that attempts to capture that perfect autumn serenity. One day.

Talking of which, another thing that will keep me busy for the beginning of this week is my entry for the Isis Prize. I've finally thought of something to use for a prose entry, but I need to look something up in a particular book that I haven't brought up with me. I remembered this afternoon that this is no problem, the Bodleian is a copyright library. So I will pay it a visit some time tomorrow with Bod card in hand. I've never actually used my Bod card for its stated purpose. Shame on me.

So I apologise for the boringness. Tomorrow I will be fannish, at least if I make it to DocSoc after Logic; they're showing An Unearthly Child and Rose, in quick succession! It should be fun.

And now I'm going to do my ironing! Rock 'n' roll, indeed.