Can I copy your notes?

I have a difficult time being a grown-up sometimes. I’m used to being the teachers pet kind of student (I managed to acquire the nickname ‘boff’ in secondary school which, if nothing else, attests to the lack of imagination in 12 year old boys), and have actually never bunked a lesson, of any sort. Mostly this just adds to the guilt when I do take a day off for sick. Sometimes, as with last summer’s broken hip, it’s justified; today, I have a stiff neck (since yesterday morning) which would be desperately uncomfortable to sit through a lecture with. It still takes someone sensible just to tell me to stay home though.

Hence I’m home, squished into bed amidst a tower of pillow upon which my tiny computer is propped, and I have no idea how I’ll be spending the rest of the day. Ah well. At the moment I’m listening to Radio 4 which has been firstly about Henry Ford’s modernist, high industrial utopianism in the Amazon jungle, then about Creswell model village, now the literary habits of Molotov (he and Stalin both loved Chekhov best). Good old Radio 4 – cutting 6Music starts a Facebook frenzy, cutting Radio 4 would cause national riots.

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