I have about seven novels to read, a presentation to work on and six poems to analyse for tomorrow morning - yet I still managed to spend the last hour watching Age 8 and Wanting a Sex Change. Seriously. That is an actual programme, involving children who refuse to take on board the characteristics of their given gender and convince their parents to let them get a sex change... It is almost as ridiculous as the "Ghost Tour of Chester" me and my housemates took part in on Saturday night, aka "Being Led Around Chester In The Freezing Cold Being Told Its Shit History By An Old Woman With A Torch". Highlights included a long story involving the plague of 1803, a woman using her skirt to parachute from a window (she didn't die in the process, so why bother involving her in the ghost tour?!), two boys leaping off the bridge behind Brannigan's and a car of chavs driving past with the windows down blasting out some kind of hideous 'tune'. 75 minutes and 4 quid later, I realised that this was exactly why Saturday nights were better spent at home, watching X Factor and waiting until 5am for PostSecret to be updated. However, the night wasn't a complete waste of space - we got Chinese and somehow managed to get a party bus taxi home from town. We were outside Alex's work (which she has now quit in order to take on a prestigious position at Build-a-Bear Workshop) when, low and behold, an actual mini bus shows up to take us home. I half expected to be presented with champagne and a karoke microphone when getting in, but alas, we did without.
Right, I am actually going to read some poems as everything I have contributed to my seminar so far has been followed by a, 'yes, that's an interesting idea...', which is really code for, 'you are talking shite, please remove yourself from my eyeline'.