When I went to clear my Google search history just now (I compulsively clear my search and regular histories; my brain categorises it as clutter), the only two searches were "chuntering" and "doctor kisses". I almost wanted to keep those.
("Chuntering" was a word I wanted to use in an email to describe my research proposal, but it turned out to have overly whiny connotations, so I went with "meandering" instead. "Doctor Kisses" was my attempt at finding the Achewood strip where Ray names his 34 AIBOs. It mostly turned up lots of chuntering about Doctor Who. People should probably stop thinking so much about Doctor Who. Then again, I should stop thinking so much about dog names.)
It's been a very lovely Christmas and New Year's, particularly if I selectively edit out the part where I was ill with influenza and massively contagious: I've seen everyone I wanted to see, though not for as long as I would have liked; I've been to Gothenburg; I've watched "Demolition Man" in Ellen's basement; I've eaten two of the giant buns (one glazed cinnamon, one with raisins) at the Trondheim library café. At some bizarrely early hour on Sunday I'm flying back to England. This term, I think I will: spend a lot of time under blankets (England is colder in January than in December, and they don't insulate their houses very well), watch The Wire, get involved with the creative writing group at school, go home in Long Leave, try to get an exciting summer job, read Elizabeth Bowen, and finish my MA applications. (No, the Oxford one isn't in yet. But it will probably happen today. When Becky finishes hers as well, a massive celebration will be in order due to how stressful we've managed to make the whole process.) So at least there's a plan.
Short-term plan: walk to Dromedar and get some cheese toast, also possibly quantities of coffee.
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