Last night I apparently saw Zippy, Bungle and George and some men pratting about in Michelin suits, though I remember very little about it, and then came home and said to someone in my corridor 'PARA-FUCKING-LYTIC!' before collapsing on my bed and passing out, waking up to a mascara-stained pillow in the morning. It was a good night though, until I went outside and realised I'd lost my jacket somewhere. I hope some good samaritan type has handed it in in the union, ready for me to collect Monday morning before my lecture.

Only been to the bar for a short while tonight. The thing is, I have to walk past this wall that has photos of the various authoritaaa types and there's this one man who looks like he's had way too much sex, and whenever I enter or exit the building I'm always in a state of mass hysteria, laughing my eyes out and doubling up on the floor for no other reason than it's fucking funny.

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