King of Nothing. Lord of a Memory.
No real sleep for three whole days, and I find myself in a land where strikes pop up at their earliest convenience and not your own. But I got home before lunch, and sating hasn't been an issue since.
I have decided upon the University of Warwick for my full-year postgraduate course. Specifically, Translation, Writing and Cultural Difference. All that can be done at this stage has been done, UEA being further a model of incompetence, still having not mailed my results. The person I caught on the phone informed me they wouldn't get round to it until next week, the same week where, if I had chosen to attend it, my graduation ceremony would have taken place. But they've seen fit enough, whispers and duplicity aside, to tell me that I got a 2:1. A satisfactory result, and precisely the condition for my entry. Champagne rosé ensued.
I leave tomorrow morning for Where Be Dragons. Outlook is good and I needn't concern myself with anything other than not making painful and complicating cultural faux pas in a land which I must remind myself is no Hong Kong.
Wherein an obscure Marvel character whose prime was the 1970s sees his origins revised by an exceedingly promising new talent in thirteen pages and will doubtlessly be promptly forgotten anew.
Wouldn't want you feeling empty-handed.
I have decided upon the University of Warwick for my full-year postgraduate course. Specifically, Translation, Writing and Cultural Difference. All that can be done at this stage has been done, UEA being further a model of incompetence, still having not mailed my results. The person I caught on the phone informed me they wouldn't get round to it until next week, the same week where, if I had chosen to attend it, my graduation ceremony would have taken place. But they've seen fit enough, whispers and duplicity aside, to tell me that I got a 2:1. A satisfactory result, and precisely the condition for my entry. Champagne rosé ensued.
I leave tomorrow morning for Where Be Dragons. Outlook is good and I needn't concern myself with anything other than not making painful and complicating cultural faux pas in a land which I must remind myself is no Hong Kong.
Wherein an obscure Marvel character whose prime was the 1970s sees his origins revised by an exceedingly promising new talent in thirteen pages and will doubtlessly be promptly forgotten anew.
Wouldn't want you feeling empty-handed.