Last night in a semi-rage I wrote a draft of a letter I intend to send to my bank, which is so far five sides of A4 long. They have made multiple errors and not fixed them. I am pissed off beyond belief and demanding that they give me a generous lump sum in return for all the hassle and anguish I've gone through (ok a few interest charges I should not have received, a £10 fine I should not have received and an infuriating letter demanding I provide evidence that I am a student, which I have already verified not once but twice. Not exactly life-threatening stress situation but it is bloody annoying).

I have a Rachel here staying with me until Friday. I begged her to bring Dream Phone (some ponsy teenage girl board game involving a phone, a pack of cards featuring supposedly fanciable adolescent boys who look like they've stepped right out of the early 1990s. The aim is to find out which of the boys wants to go out with you via a robotic voice coming from inside a bright pink, over-sized phone which gives messages such as "I know who it is but I'm not telling ha ha," and "I've just heard he's not eating biscuits,". It's a laugh and a half and nothing less).

But Dream Phone was not brought so I've tuned in my SNES and since playing Mario Kart the percentage of my speech that is swear words has gone up considerably, a prime example being "Get out of my way Luigi you fucking piece of shit!" Good times, people, good times.

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