Your father is Dad.
Oh....tiddleypoms. An update. That's what this journal needs, an update.
Well, you'll have to excuse while I go find an interesting life, but in the meantime:
Just got another essay out of the way (on Madonna. No, really, it was). Technicaly, the next one is due in next year but that's not as consoling as it seems. Sadly. I've got a group presentation coming up and we can't pick what we're doing it on. The book we've *got * to do it on has been booked like, ten times over in the library, and will be reserved until 17th January.
Errrr.....bollocks. The presentation is just over a week away. *makes up stuff fast*
It appears my Superman t-shirt is a boy magnet. Well, to some extent. Wore it yesterday and recived no end of comments on it. From student comic-loving types, mind.
And in the Celebrity Dreams section?
Had my first Eddie Izzard dream on Tuesday night! That's the best bit. The downside is that (a) He wasn't wearing any make-up. Or a skirt. Or heels. In fact, he looked rather plain. Rather disapointing. and (b) I can't remember much details over than he looked at me a lot and we talked about cats. Not even drilling cats, which Izzard aficionados would appreciate.
And in the Robert Bathurst corner, I had a dream last Saturday which involved me and friend sitting at a canteen table (with burgers. No idea what type, which is interesting as it's got me wondering whether the dream me is vegetarian or not. I don't have much in common with my dream self. That's worrying from a psychological viewpoint.). Robert Bathurst and John Thompson (first dream about him too, lol) were facing us. And smiled. That was it. A dream that doesn't really warrant mentioning, but I did anyway for the sake of...something. Hey, you just read it, didn't you? In one of last night's dreams (which involved someone I know urinating on something they shouldn't and then both of us being on the run from the police. The person in question may be free to guess if it is them I dreamt about) I finished by getting on the train only to have Robert smiling at me again. Say something, man!
Slightly more interesting was the other one I had last night. You know those airplane simulator things you get in shopping centres and whatnot? Well, this one involved me getting into a Submarine one. Weird already, except that I had a captain in with me too. Chris Barrie. This may be a sign of watching too much Massive Engines, it's more than likely.
Strangely, the dream evolved so that we ending up getting in a car. A real one this time, that had eight seats. I sat in the middle and Chris decided to sit behind me. Which logically means no one was in the front. Er. Calmly as I can, I make this point out to him - he 'mm's something but he's too busy reading a magazine. So, taking matters into my own hands I lurch into the front and attempt to steer the car (the first dream I've ever had where I really *can't* drive) - just as it's heading into a tramline.
Now, it's baffling enough how the car managed to start itself anyway. But what slightly scared me was the way I shouted out;
"Dad, Dad! I can't control it!"
Dad.
At this point I have to have a word with my twisted subconcious. That's too strange even for me.
Well, you'll have to excuse while I go find an interesting life, but in the meantime:
Just got another essay out of the way (on Madonna. No, really, it was). Technicaly, the next one is due in next year but that's not as consoling as it seems. Sadly. I've got a group presentation coming up and we can't pick what we're doing it on. The book we've *got * to do it on has been booked like, ten times over in the library, and will be reserved until 17th January.
Errrr.....bollocks. The presentation is just over a week away. *makes up stuff fast*
It appears my Superman t-shirt is a boy magnet. Well, to some extent. Wore it yesterday and recived no end of comments on it. From student comic-loving types, mind.
And in the Celebrity Dreams section?
Had my first Eddie Izzard dream on Tuesday night! That's the best bit. The downside is that (a) He wasn't wearing any make-up. Or a skirt. Or heels. In fact, he looked rather plain. Rather disapointing. and (b) I can't remember much details over than he looked at me a lot and we talked about cats. Not even drilling cats, which Izzard aficionados would appreciate.
And in the Robert Bathurst corner, I had a dream last Saturday which involved me and friend sitting at a canteen table (with burgers. No idea what type, which is interesting as it's got me wondering whether the dream me is vegetarian or not. I don't have much in common with my dream self. That's worrying from a psychological viewpoint.). Robert Bathurst and John Thompson (first dream about him too, lol) were facing us. And smiled. That was it. A dream that doesn't really warrant mentioning, but I did anyway for the sake of...something. Hey, you just read it, didn't you? In one of last night's dreams (which involved someone I know urinating on something they shouldn't and then both of us being on the run from the police. The person in question may be free to guess if it is them I dreamt about) I finished by getting on the train only to have Robert smiling at me again. Say something, man!
Slightly more interesting was the other one I had last night. You know those airplane simulator things you get in shopping centres and whatnot? Well, this one involved me getting into a Submarine one. Weird already, except that I had a captain in with me too. Chris Barrie. This may be a sign of watching too much Massive Engines, it's more than likely.
Strangely, the dream evolved so that we ending up getting in a car. A real one this time, that had eight seats. I sat in the middle and Chris decided to sit behind me. Which logically means no one was in the front. Er. Calmly as I can, I make this point out to him - he 'mm's something but he's too busy reading a magazine. So, taking matters into my own hands I lurch into the front and attempt to steer the car (the first dream I've ever had where I really *can't* drive) - just as it's heading into a tramline.
Now, it's baffling enough how the car managed to start itself anyway. But what slightly scared me was the way I shouted out;
"Dad, Dad! I can't control it!"
Dad.
At this point I have to have a word with my twisted subconcious. That's too strange even for me.