Winter Parliament: T-29 Hours & Counting...

...and dear sweet holy hand grenade, do I want it to get on and start.

This morning, my coffee roaster still remains in Jon's room, waiting forlornly for the promised pickup. It'll be a cold day in hell before I drink freshly home-roasted coffee again, I can tell, and the crap that I am currently drinking is really very off-putting. So began this rather bad day.

We thought we knew how to fix the internet on the home network, so went through the rigmarole of getting a monitor and keyboard hooked up to the proxy to restart it and mess about a little...to find that no, that wasn't how to sort it and the internet still only works in intermittent short bursts. By now, it was a quarter to ten, and I was going to be in late.

Getting in late, I found that two reactions that were happily repeating themselves had done things overnight to produce entirely different results to those I got the first time round. Meaning I have to do them again until I get them to work twice.

I put together a publicity campaign proposal for the committee - over seventeen hundred words of it. They say they will "consider the options and want to talk to me later". It's like a bloody teacher marking someone's work.

What is the point in real life? Why do we subject ourselves to the daily slings and arrows of outrageous fortune? Surely there is a better way to get money to go larping than to actually live a real life - I should take up robbing banks.

Bring on tomorrow - I just can't wait.

He is known by many names, out of fear, hatred and despair. He has killed half a million sentient beings in his life, with skill and cunningly that have become the stuff of legend. His schemes, designed to destroy his victims' minds before he destroys their bodies, have been described as horrific, disgusting, twisted and a host of others up to and usually including "beyond description". With his new set of toys, he intends to take pain and suffering to its limits, and find out what happens when they are broken...and he intends to do it to everyone present until the name "Mindstalker" is said with the same fear and loathing as all the rest he is known by. Then he'll carry on.

This weekend, it all begins...

...again.

Winter Parliament: T-19 Hours & Counting...

...and it's dragging. Oh good grief, is it dragging.

Finishing today was good - the thought of not having to do any more work before I go off and spend the weekend fucking people in the head trying to avoid getting killed by the dark hunters was relaxing and one of the better ones I had had all day. It was my intention to go up to campus, do a little laundry and come home before eleven.

It's now twenty past, and I only started drying about a quarter of an hour ago.

The final available washing machine was taken up by someone washing...wait for it...oneitem of clothing. In a public laundrette, with three machines for everyone to use, she was washing a single item of clothing. The sheer waste in terms of power and water was enough, but the waste of my time caused me to leave the room before I said something to her.
Our washing machine should be fixed early next week - like the just about optimal landlord that he is, Roy responded to our requests for a new TV and washer immediately and with decidedly direct action. He looked at TVs today, with one to be delivered either over the weekend or on Monday, and gave us the number of his insurance company so we could arrange with them calling out an engineer for the washing machine. We rather seem to have fallen on our feet with him - stories of nightmare landlords abound in student land, but I haven't met many more reasonable and helpful people than Roy Pegrum in my life. The man is as good as they come. Now, if we can just keep his house as tidy as it currently is due to our thinking he'd be turning up to investigate, I'm sure he'll be a lot happier with us.

I disappeared away from karaoke before Pistol Pete could sing God Gave Rock & Roll To You actually dressed as KISS - he'll probably do quite well out of it, but his voice and my sensibilities are a mutually exclusive pairing. Next week, the S-factor will see me, in Vaexarius' kit, singing Fire by The Crazy World Of Arthur Brown. I imagine I'll murder it as well, but the same combination won me RAG karaoke last year and might stand me in good stead for this. Or I might die on my ass. You never know with student popularity contests talent shows.

I'm getting dangerously close to the hundred post limit and this journal becoming even more public than it already is - and still no-one has twigged. I've been told several times that I don't have one, but still no-one's asked me if I do. I feel quite clandestine - well, as clandestine as you can feel writing a blog that is open, viewable and commentable-on by anyone with an internet connection.

Meh - I have more important things to consider.

Driver...Kibblestone International Scout Camp, and don't even think about sparing the horses.