Saturday...

Proper Autumn weather.

Yesterday was an emotional rollercoaster.

Starting with the house. I managed to get 2 of the required plasterboard panels up. This was mostly due to the electrical chaos that had to be resolved behind.  Whoever re-wired this house needs beating to death. I found nothing good inside those walls, including the fact that the cooker is not on it's own circuit - but a spur of the socket and switch line ( naughty ), and I also found several spurs and one complete ring ( I think ) that appears to do nothing - despite being live. Perhaps I'm supplying next door with free power. I considered trying to trace it but it was impossible without taking the kitchen ceiling down, and if I tried taking it off.... the streetlights outside might go out. In the end I just added junction boxed and left them to fester behind a panel.

More poison went last night, but no odour this morning. A good thing. I was also able to rewire the ceiling light in my bedroom and the two lights in the kitchen - they all work properly now. I bought new bulbs, they are so fucking expensive now - I went for the '10 year' ones and wrote the date on with marker pen - if they don't last THEY ARE GOING STRAIGHT BACK!

I also bought a small tub of E45 and some Frontline for the dogs ( available at Ore chemist - which has the largest sexual health department I've ever seen ) and came out with 15p change from 30 quid.

To make up for not being able to go to London ( I can't talk about that because it's so raw, sobs! ) I went to see The Lucky Ones at the Jenny Lind.

I love watching people, sitting in the pub observing as the world happens around me is fascinating. If you look hard enough you see everything, and as people relax and drink and become less self conscious - it just get's more interesting.

The fat girl with the glasses and flowery tabard really should have lowered her voice when she told her friends about her appointment at the new STD clinic, her subconscious hand gestures were very graphic. There was one devastatingly handsome bloke of about 22 on a date with a really lovely looking girl, beautifully dressed and very demure - but as the evening wore on and she became more tired - it was increasingly obvious that she was at least 10 years older than she had probably told him. A couple came in wearing 'better' than Hastings clothes - my friend instantly said 'weekenders' - he looked really familiar, I suspect that because he had obviously just shaved his head - it had changed his appearance enough to render him unrecognisable as someone off the telly - he now looked like Billy Corgan - but I know him from somewhere - his girlfriend was absolutly beautiful.

People forget that when you are sitting behind them - and they are standing at the front - you can see just as much - if not more, than if you were with them - I was again surprised at how gay Hastings is, apparently it's a lesbian hotspot but I am yet to feel any warmth. They all seem to come out at night and are only ever seen to be in couples or foresomes, at one point more than half the bar was same sex couples. This didn't stop one particular pair swapping partners half way through - it was so blatantly obvious they had sex in the toilets I'm suprised they didn't get a round of applause when they returned. The shorter of the two was so pleased he bought all his friends cocktails - the barmaid was so excited at lining up six B52's that she lost interest in serving anyone else and 6 people left the pub because they had been waiting too long - including ourselves. A quick hop and a skip to the FILO and half the Jenny followed us, including Billy Corgan and the Sex Pest.

When I got home I watched 'The History Boys' - I really hate that film, it's so smug, dishonest and contrived. It's a clever cloggs Notting Hill with pedarest overtones ( if your idea of 'young' is a 30 year old in a school uniform) - something to chatter over at dinner parties whilst excusing yourself from the table for a quick hand shandy in the loo when it all gets too heady. Boys of that age are not like that - even the smartest, most sophisticated lads just don't behave like that, and the tacked on epilogue is nauseating. I can absolutly assure you, no matter how hard I work for my students, how well they do or how successful they are, none have - or will, EVER offer to blow me out of gratitude.