During lunch yesterday we discovered that only Adam and I had finished the 6th Harry Potter book, that Hugo abhors Harry Potter ("Where's the child in you?!?"), and Kunal... well Kunal just doesn't read at all.

Inspired by our trivial lunch time conversations, I ditched trying to detect cepstrums (don't ask!) to finish off the book I've had my nose stuck in for a week.



It's gripping, it's chilling, and its startling to read it late at night when the water pipes get cranky and bring on the spooky drumming noises. How the house that does not belong to us can ignore those LOUD drumming noises, I just can not understand. But the book's good. It makes me cry. Quietly. Slavery is really no different from rearing cattle.

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I've reached a Nirvana-esqe level of procrastination. I really have to get this project going somewhere. But I just can't swallow anymore of these equations, algorithms, incantations and muddle-isms! It's amazing how easily the human brain just shuts down when one is not in danger of failing exams. All my faculties of reasoning are on permanent 'out for lunch' mode. Not surprising. They are Malaysian after all.

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I've got 3 weeks left in London, and all of a sudden my social calendar is ready to burst. There's football this Saturday, and a potluck to herald the arrival of Kwan Eng's girlfriend. In the meantime Sherene has given Ritwik and I strict orders to meet up. This is going to be so interesting. I haven't the faintest clue what Ritwik looks like! The following weekend will be spent at Cambridge. Can we raid YOUR fridge for a change, Fidel? Maybe we should bring the fruit liquor you bought us and get rightly high! I'd drink it, but Lionel already says I'm alcoholic enough without needing your fruit liquors to tempt me.

I have also promised my old roommate (the Claudia Schiffer duplicate - but oh so brainy) Kristina that we have to meet up. Maybe I should invite her over for dinner. Miss her so much.

And just yesterday we had coffee with Angela. Boy is life much less exciting when she isn't around to shock your synapses. I hope we've persuaded her to never try bringing back weed to Singapore, ever again!

My ever loving ISE classmates have also made an alarming vow to get me out clubbing. They won't accept my feeble excuses of "No! I really DON'T club!" (Liar!) "... and I don't DRINK!" (Who are you trying to kid?) "... and my boyfriend won't let me go!" (Oh alright then...). I'm glad that one always works.

And I really don't club. I know Kunal says I used to be at the union in my first year, dancing, chatting up and being chat up. But first year is a wild card year. Anything goes. Including my money. I've sobered up, and I have no excuses (apart from the fact that I always have enough money now). I am a party pooper. I'll still drink though, I just won't go pub crawling with you guys.