Met Lex, my likely future housemate with Siz and Greg on Thursday night, and he seemed wonderful. Unfortunately, he then said that he’d give a certain yes or no response by “the end of March” (at the latest; possibly sooner). That’s more than fifty days away. That’s five tens. And that’s terrible. I had the impression, however misplaced, that if he liked it we’d be sorted and start signing things then and there, and feel more than a little messed around.
It’s still a very good chance, and I do absolutely want to live with Siz and Greg, but it’s been a very good chance for ages and I just want to bloody sign something and get it over with.

My other options are, basically, the private Victoria Halls, which would be a little costlier than the extremely reasonable house (even with bills included) and is, most annoyingly, only 42 weeks a year, but apparently nice to stay in and considerably closer to campus than even the proper halls (whose application deadline was a few days ago, but I deferred on the impression that Greghaus was now pretty much a Sure Thing.) I could try and get into Jon/Jony’s group, but I don’t think that will work out – they’re signing a contract about, er, now.

My latest batch of leek and potato soup is so delicious and sustaining that I thought about writing the recipe I’ve come to use, but I realise my measures are based so much on intuition (and resources) that the ingredients list would start with “some leeks, dollop of butter, slightly too much pepper” and just get vaguer from there. Also, I need to find a good way to buy loads of sauerkraut, which as well as being one of my favourite vegetable-derived things is quite absurdly healthy.

Inspired by Rose, I have repositioned my bed, to what seems to be a much more logical position for warmth and space (drawbacks to follow as discovered, of course). However, in the process of moving it, I found that the corner of my room is damp and has gone mouldy. Fantastic. Jess told me that she’s had the same problem (they’re in the same position on opposite sides of the block, with exposed corners which are presumably not quite as watertight as they should be) and we are together resolved to hassle Maintenance until they sort this.

Next week is reading week, and as well as pulling together a lot of essay prep I will be visited by the wonderful TOM. We will watch things, and explore Birmingham, and visit floating cafes, and he’s bringing up a hard drive to take advantage of my deliciously fast internet.

Also, alongside the essay planning and reading and presentation-last-minute-scraping-together, I’ve been writing some fiction again, and will shortly have some fun things to post.

This week’s outgoings:
£61.60

Be advised: This post talks about food about as much as a Brian Jacques book, and made me hungry when I reread it. Have snacks on standby.

A number of the small bolts holding my desk chair together have attempted to declare independence. The causes of the revolt are uncertain; did the unpopular government practices of leaning/wriggling a lot put more strain on them than they could bear? Was the foundation of my fundament already fragile when I took to the throne? Or has some seditious outside nation crept in and sabotaged the chair as a drunken student prank? Regardless, armed with my Allen key I have viciously denied the secession, though judging by a few empty threaded holes, some rebel elements escaped to the hills/cupboards. I just hope none of them saw my Maoist Strategy notes on the screen, because I do not think I could stand a protracted war with my own furniture.

I’ve written to the blasted DSA asking after my case but they still haven’t replied; tried to phone them, gave up after being held in a queue for eight minutes of crap music and six of voice clips telling me to use their useless website. Nor have Take Note, who lack a phone completely. I’m still not at the point that I’m in dire need of either of their services. I can see why those who are get very annoyed.

Yesterday morning my shiny new grill arrived. In a cardboard box, which was itself in another cardboard box three times the volume. No, I do not understand. Still, I gleefully tore it open, read the (surprisingly short, surprisingly lucid) manual, washed down the plates and treated myself to a breakfast of frozen beefburgers, my go-to dead animal product. They did actually taste noticeably nicer than frying, and the drip tray provided a lardy testament to the healthiness of the measure, not to mention the ridiculous ease. So far, so good. For lunch, I broke out the chicken fillets. I… I had no idea that cheap food could taste so nice. By far the best chicken-related thing I’d ever made for myself. For dinner, the grill was subjected to bacon and tomatoes; these weren’t obviously tastier than in a pan, just much easier. I suppose sometimes, the new ways really are better.

To all who advised me on grills: You are blessed in my sight, and shall live forever in my memory. To all those with a grill-shaped gap in their lives: Fill it.

Work isn’t exactly oppressive yet, but the essays will be mounting up fairly soon:
2k War, Armed Forces & Society formative due 25th March.
4k WAFS summative for the same.
3k Analysing Everyday Texts due 28th April, which is likely to be a complete mess…
2x2k Making of the Modern World, first (formative) in next Friday and the summative on March 22nd.

All on different topics which need to be individually researched and referenced. So it’s a lot of reading ahead. Damn. I do so hate books.

Last week, inspired by Gemma’s constantly healthy and delicious-smelling good ol’fashioned down-home cooking (or more accurately, inspired by jealousy watching her eat the products of such) I attempted to make my own Soup. My first attempt, tomato soup made from essentially butter, too much black pepper, and cheap tinned tomatoes, tasted (surprisingly) like butter, too much black pepper, and cheap tinned tomatoes. My second, leek and potato, tasted like heaven. And it’s inexpensive, very filling, keeps well and is disgustingly wholesome. I might well be sorted for fooding from here on out.

Dustings of undecided half-snow are coming down occasionally, but not settling, and the canal still has plate ice in places. Drinking absurd amounts of tea to fend off the cold, also to replenish the pints of body water I seem to be losing through my nose (still running like a river in spring). Paddy was ill, so no RPGsoc; I taunted Jony with my delicious (GRILLED) chicken salad sandviches before relenting, giving him one and cycling home.

House certainty is up to 99% from 95%, the last per cent to be sorted out tomorrow evening.

Grill has been purchased – upon finding the actual George Foremanites would only deliver to my card address (which isn’t, obviously, where I live) I went for another vendor, who were also £5 cheaper (there was another I found that was £15 cheaper, but they had unfortunately sold out. Fair enough). So the infernal device should be winging its way towards me at the moment.

Maoist Strategy presentation went swimmingly; Robbie Scott (whose presentation I had gingerly found fault with to break the post-presentation Expectant Silence last week) ended this week’s encore silence with “’s good”. I like him. Found that I had rather too much to say, despite not really putting in all that much work. This is becoming a habit with presentations, not that it’s a particularly bad one. My delivery was awful, but my content at least sound (as it should have been; I went all the way up to Selly Oak to get some of those books, dammit!) As a result of the slow-fading residual fascination that comes from intensive learning on any specialist topic, I’m watching the Che movie(s), which is so far really rather good, though so far I’ve only seen the Cuba half, and I think I know how the Bolivia one ends.

The weather is suddenly painfully chilly, more noticeably cold than it was in eight inches of snow. Three layers and a brisk cycle ride still isn’t enough to stop me arriving in lectures shivering, cheeks rosy and glasses misty, hands numb and white after pulling them from gloves. In reaction to this… my nose is now streaming constantly. Oh, biology.

My washing up habits as a filthy, squalid student have developed into “wash everything I use either during or after the meal, since it really is easier than letting it pile up” (see, mum, I’ve learned at long last!) Unfortunately, the other 80% of the flat doesn’t seem have cottoned on to the same, or done any washing up for straight weeks at a time, meaning that basically the entire kitchen sits soiled on the counter. I’m fine with cleaning up my own mess after I’ve finished with my meal; I really don’t like having to clean up theirs before I can start. Flat inspections happen this week, so one of the occasional complete cleanups has sorted out the kitchen for now, but I doubt it’ll last long.

Week’s expenditures:
£32.50 grill
£1.20 chips
£5 Psychonauts
£6.50 memory stick
£3.20 laundry
£19.39 shopping