Good morning, children. I can almost see light at the end of this week's tunnel, and what a week it's been. The latest on the redundancy front is that the uni has threatened to advance the compulsory redundancy phase if we keep saying nasty things about the vice-chancellor (such as calling on her to resign). Oooh, scary!
Neal turned up last night, tired, hungry and beardy after spending a week with the hippies at CAT, eating lentils and building his test walls (he's doing an MSc. in sustainable building). I fed him meat, made him use a cup and saucer as part of my drive to live in a civilised fashion, and he's probably still asleep. I wish I'd spent the week in Wales with hippies!
Rather shamingly, I found the passport I'd lost 5 or 6 years ago. Having blamed my former landlord for accidentally chucking it out, it turned up as a bookmark in a biography of Samuel Beckett…
Tonight, a little more culture: The Revenger's Tragedy at the Arena theatre in Wolverhampton, followed by curry with my sophisticated and suave colleagues Ben, Frank and Hilary. It's by Thomas Middleton (it used to be attributed to Tourneur), was first performed in 1606 and is still considered shocking, dark and violent. Highly recommended.
Then tomorrow it's off to Bangor University, for its 125th anniversary: there's a discussion between novelists James Hawes and Philip Pullman which I might not arrive in time for, then Super Furry Animals performing in the main hall. My friends Aimée and Vicky are also attending, so we'll have a good gossip as we haven't got together in a very long time.