because finally the tables are starting to turn / don't you know we're talkin' about a revolution?

Democrats "win control of Senate".

God bless you, BBC, for putting that in quotes and not raising my hopes just yet. It ain't over till it's over and all of that. But I have hope, finally.

Anyway! To begin from the beginning, I spent yesterday in a mad flurry of activity. It was quite impressive, actually; I woke up halfway through my twelve o'clock lecture, and wisely decided it probably wasn't worth the effort. Instead, Claire and I went and bought Carousel tickets, onions and Lemsip. After having puzzled about what to do about Ben for most of the day before, I cooked dinner while Maria was telling me a story that featured the use of a traditional proverb, used by Russian mothers to their children, which translates as something like "If you don't eat everything on your plate it means you don't love me."

I had an idea.

So we bought the Lemsip, after in vain trying to explain to the nice people at Boots that we have this friend, right, and he isn't allergic to paracetamol, no, and no it doesn't give him a rash, and yes he is more than twelve years old, and yes really he is quite a pain in the arse, what made you think so? (Speaking of which, he's been so delightfully dozy and idiotic over the last couple of days that every time I see him I have to fight the urge to pat him on the head and put my hand on his forehead, and then I have to remind myself that, er, he's a twenty-year-old, fluent-in-Latin-and-Greek Balliol physicist, even though he feels like the little brother I never had.)

Anyway, yes! We made up the Lemsip with boiling water and honey, and carried it in to him, and told him very clearly, this is not lemon tea, this is Lemsip, and if you don't drink it you don't love us, we only want the best for you, do you want to pass out in front of hundreds of people, do you really not love us? Really? Really really?

He drank about half of it and fell asleep, and the fever had come down somewhat in time for their first performance. Success. So much success that Claire and I tried the ploy again this afternoon, and he looks a lot better.

I am undecided as to whether or not this was a good thing to do. But it is done.

Following which I spent a lot of time in the library being productive, reading about rights and ethics, and went to the inter-society geek quiz in the evening. I have written this up, but for Cherwell. I took pictures and everything, it should be in this week's paper. Anyway, it was a fun evening despite ou3fs coming a resounding last. We brought minstrels. No, not the Galaxy sweets. Actual musicians who strummed throughout proceedings. It was very soothing. This time I wanted to do a round of questions, but what with one thing and another I only wrote three questions. They needed a tie-breaker, so I got up and asked them regardless, and one of them was: "Sam and Dean Winchester drive around America in a car. Give the year and make of the car."

sebastienne, who has never seen the show, cast around her mind for a typically American car - and got it exactly right. I was amazed. One would think "1967 Chevy Impala" was unguessable, but apparently not.

So... after that, I dashed home, and wrote up the world's quickest piece of copy - twenty-five minutes, including the time it took to upload the pictures, with Sam pacing up and down my room muttering, "Virginia, Virginia, Virginia..." - and grabbed coat and scarf and ventured back out.

By our time, and off what we knew at the time, the Virginia exit poll was supposed to come through at midnight. We arrived at the Union bar at five to twelve only for them to tell me they weren't letting me in. No ticket, no paying on the door, piss off. I told Claire and Sam to go in - they had tickets - and stomped off to college, found someone else watching bad period drama on the JCR telly, stomped back out into the quad and kicked a tree.

It hurt a lot. So I rang home and waaaaaaailed. The last time there was an American general election, it was the night before I sat the Biomedical Admissions test and I couldn't stay up all night and I was completely and utterly hopping mad. I was smack in the middle of A-level politics and applying for PPE here, and it feels like a long time ago now. (In the linked entry, I am talking about a brand new pair of boots. In a twist of irony, those same boots just gave up the ghost this week; the zip came off at the seams.) Anyway, so I missed it last time, and I was missing it this time, and it was all woe.

And then Claire had a genius idea, distracted the guy on the door and while he was gone she let me quietly into the Union and up to the bar. At which point she hugged me enthusiastically and said she'd missed me desperately. Apparently she'd met Sam's tute-partner, a Thatcherite, "and you weren't here, and if you had been you'd have ripped him apart!"

It is so, so nice to know you're loved. I mean that sincerely. I had such a lovely time curled up in the Union bar, drinking cider and eating sweeties and waving "We Support The Democrats" banners at the screen. They had CNN projected up on the big screen, and people were applauding as the Democrats picked up districts and cheering when they picked up states. Sam, who is incredibly well-informed, was feeding me statistics while we both puzzled out how Lieberman won Connecticut, and while we were chatting away, Claire noticed that the guy in front of us turned round every time we said anything remotely left-of-centre. It was amazing - after a while we'd just say "welfare state provision" and "gay rights" and "Hillary Clinton" and he'd swivel round. It was like Pavlov's dogs, it was great. It took Claire saying, "Well, personally I favour communist means of production," before he walked out. We stole his chair.

Finally, at four am, the place was thinning out, there were three states left to be called, and we tramped hom to the flat and pinned up the Democrat banners. I went to bed and slept very soundly for five hours until Claire knocked furiously, dragged me out of bed and yelled, "The Democrats won the House!"

Our less politically obsessive flatmates were a little bemused by the sudden onslaught of propoganda. I made myself a cheerful breakfast, got dressed and sleepily walked to Balliol for a political theory tute. And Chris, my marvellous tutor, took one look at me and said, with affection, "And how late did you stay up last night?"

"Four," I said shamefacedly.

"Why four?"

"The Union chucked us out," I explained.

"Cryptofascists. No," he continued, "seeing as you have been up all night in a good and worthy cause... would you like some coffee?"

He gave me two cups of aromatic espresso and told me my essay was an interesting and shrewd liberal critique, so I sank sleepily into my armchair with a big silly grin, and decided briefly that I do the best subject in the world.

And there you have it. Sam appeared in the evening bearing cautious good news about the Senate, Ben is feeling better, Carousel went well, we had pork mince for dinner, the Democrats dominate Congress and I have the day off tomorrow. Life is pretty much okay.