I am Miserable.

Lots of grumbling and sulking.

The Joys of House-sharing.

'Nuff said.

I'm not painting a very rosy picture of my personal habits...to clarify, the bedroom is usually tidy, but when it's untidy then I go the whole hog. If a job's worth doing then it's worth doing properly.

As for the bathroom, this is an area in which I excel given my long-standing phobia of other people's bottom germs and the like. It is scrubbed, painstakingly, on a weekly basis. Pubes are purged, skid marks scrubbed, the shower scoured, but despite my best efforts there are two habits I just can't seem to break my housemates of:

1) Peeing on the toilet seat, the floor, the mat...anywhere other than the toilet. There's nothing worse than sitting down to business to discover that you're sat in someone else's.

2) Not changing the toilet roll when it's finished. This is the only thing almost as bad as number one. I do not appreciate having to do the twist and shout, knickers round ankles, before shimmying gingerly over to the cupboard to find a replacement. The photo is my idea of a subtle hint...you think they'll get it?

My personal idea of heaven? A bathroom in which no traces of any DNA other than my own can be found. A place where no man has boldly gone before.

Little streak of misery

Okay so all of yesterday's 'hooray I'm running the trail' enthusiasm went out with a little fizzle this morning when I whipped back the curtains to discover that our promised 17 degrees and sunny looked more like flippin' cold and foggy. Any other day I'd have wimped out and resigned myself to the gym, but having made arrangements with Rob and won my fight with the Frenchman to run before lunch I couldn't see any way to worm out of it this time. Damn.

It was freezing - cold enough to see breath - and the only t-shirt I had to hand was rather small and not very warm. Arms looked like corned beef after just five minutes and I've brayed like a donkey all afternoon. Why is it only running outside that leaves me with a cough? Managed about 3kms at a mixed pace - was passed by a few stampeding turtles (see photo!) and the odd racing snail but at least I was trying. Was quite disappointed that I had to keep stopping to catch my breath, that never happens on the treadmill. Rob was actually pretty useful, even if he did keep telling me I'm a little streak of misery...I know, but I don't need to keep hearing it!

Lunch went by the by, as none of the participating restaurants were actually aware they were a part of the Independent's 'eat out for a fiver' deal. I didn't mind though. Last night the Frenchman strode purposefully into the kitchen to inform me that *assumes 'allo allo' accent* he would not be waiting for me to have my run before going for lunch, and neither would Nick, so I had better think twice about running if I wanted to eat with them. I felt like telling him he could shove his lunch, but I knew very well Rob was running with me and Nick would wait, therefore I'd won the argument without even opening my mouth. If there's anything that annoys an arrogant, narcissistic only child more than waiting for me to finish my run before lunch, it's losing an argument. Take that Frenchie.

Photo's courtesy of this site by the way; http://mfrost.typepad.com/cute_overload/

Hooray for spring - running the trail tomorrow!!

Recce'd the running trail in my lunch hour with Nick today. It's great - nice springy peat surface, pretty trees and, most importantly, no inclines. It helps that it's a mild, sunny day too, so here's hoping tomorrow follows suit weather-wise. I'm supposed to be running it with Rob after class, which should be fun as he's somehow tragically convinced he's playing a lead role in Top Gun. Probably not the ideal partner, as he'll no doubt be running rings around me and talking up a storm about whatever obscure political gems he's gleaned from the morning papers, but I guess if I can persuade him to run just a step or two behind me I could always maintain the illusion of running away - motivation if there ever was any.

Once again I'm being mean. See the thing is, Rob's one of those quirky Irishmen who regularly turns up to lectures brandishing a large pineapple which he proceeds to carve and eat using the very same leatherman he used to pick his toenails with earlier. He's been known to carry cold fried breakfast around in a tupperware for two days and call it a snack, he never irons his clothes, is a mine of useless information, and has even been known on occasions to strap a whole roast chicken to his handlebars with the intention of sharing it with the class at uni for lunch. Oh and he farts. Unashamedly. All the time. Great guy, slightly odd, very stinky.

Anyway, in other news I've just spent a whopping £7 on phone credit alone whilst fighting over extortionate electricity bills. At long last I've managed to settle the issue of paying bills to two companies simultaneously, but somehow I have a suspicion that the trouble isn't over yet. The landlady has decided to have a key meter fitted, which will mean paying money into a kitty on a monthly basis - easier said than done when dealing with my housemates who, naturally, all know better than everyone else. I have a creeping feeling that somehow this is going to come back and bite me in the ass.

Interesting fact for the day; In addition to the well-known nerve agents and irritants, there are also 'psychochemical agents' which "cause mental disturbances eg.depression, hallucination, psychosis". Awesome. Depress your enemy to death. I'd like to see Al-Qaeda release that one on the London Underground...

"prepare to be depreeeeessed! Mwahhahaahaa...oh wait - you already are. Damn."

P.S. Is it illegal to kill a man even if he's French?

Four seasons in one day.

The weather is about as stable as a two-legged table today. We've had, sun, rain, sleet, a few flakes and howling wind and it's only just midday. It's all over the place like a mad dog's poop, I tell you. One of the trees at the bottom of the garden is making an ominous creaking sound and leaning a little further in the direction of the house than I'm comfortable with in the strongest gusts, but with a casual shrug I reason that it's not my heap of bricks - and the landlady's a thorn in my ass anyway.

I'm dying to go for a run but it's difficult to gauge what to wear to get there. Running outside is definitely out of the question unless I can be sure of having the wind at my back...I'd have no trouble beating my personal best if I could manage that. Today's one of those days when you practically need to pack a survival kit just to walk to the end of the road: umbrella, jumper, coat, gloves, scarf, hat, tissues, lip balm, sunnies.....the list goes on. Am beginning to wonder if it's worth all the trouble. After all, the proper gym shuts at weekends (squaddie logic, go figure...) so I'm relegated to a tiny room in the mess where they throw all the old equipment that's too worn and shitty to be of any use to anyone serious about exercising. I guess I should feel right at home.

The treadmill is a deathtrap when all is said and done, but it's worth chancing if I can forget Skippy for a half hour and up my distance. Brettus Minimus will be accompanying me as my gym buddy because you can't exercise alone in this gym for safety reasons - whether they're worried about you simply pulling a hamstring or being crushed by dodgy machinery is open to speculation. I feel quite bad about inviting Brett because I know I won't speak a word to him while we're there. I'm still at the stage where I have to concentrate hard on breathing to survive a 20 minute run without a crashteam stepping in, and, to be brutally honest and very mean spirited, I generally run to escape people, not to make polite small talk with them. I'm becoming as crabby and anti-social as my sister, the self professed 'bitch-hermit' extraordinaire. ;)

Just cooked myself a salmon steak. Like all of it's culinary predecessors this week at least half of it met with a sticky end in the bin. It tasted just fine, despite supposedly having gone out of date yesterday (I reason 'no mould, therefore it's all good') but somehow I seem to have developed a powerful aversion to food I've cooked. I even ate at McDonalds yesterday to avoid having to cook, and after my abortive attempt at salmon earlier I reason I may have to order pizza later if I'm to avoid starvation or over-dosing on 'After Eights'. Luckily I already have two dinner invites this week, and Skippy will no doubt have something up his sleeve as it's been over a week since we last ate together. I can probably squeeze a meal out of Nina the housemate too at a push. It's times like these when I miss home the most. What I wouldn't give for a big, juicy steak and home made chips the way Dad does them. I'm missing mother's day too. I wish the train fares were cheaper and work-load was lighter.

Have another 2000 words to bash out about Cuban disaster reduction by tomorrow. Right now all I want to do is curl up and pile up some Zs. Think I might do just that. I'm sure the Cubans can manage just fine without me for now.