Well, what with the amount of time work takes up, and the mind-meltingly dull nature of it, there's not been a whole lot to report. I have a meeting with Cyprian Broodbank on Tuesday, at which he may tell me that a boiled potato could come up with a better PhD proposal than mine. I hope he doesn't, of course, but it is possible.
Yesterday I expanded the saga of my eyesight by going to Specsavers (who have not paid me for this advertising) for some glasses. Imagine my surprise when their optometrist agreed with the medical folk and said that there is nothing I need glasses for. Apparently I should try blinking more, though (NOTE: This, despite all appearances, is not a joke). I'm still not sure how to feel. Given that there may be something wrong with my eyes that medical science knows nothing of, perhaps a sense of rising panic would be appropriate.
Speaking of medical science, I'll be spending next weekend with Chris the Medic, a Keyser Soze-type figure in my life for the past 18 months - known only from rumour and legend. It's his finals in March, after which he will be unleashed upon the public as a healthcare professional. To think that he once deliberately threw crisps all over my living room...
I recently finished The Long Firm which I rather enjoyed, apart from one slightly unlikely segment. Any London gangster novel which finishes with a critique of 1960s and 70s Sociology is fine by me. I've also just read Rex Warner's The Aerodrome an interesting little book which could make a rather nice British film.
Thats all from me, until I've come up with something else to talk about.
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