Oh yeah, that Master's degree

Must really get down to actually doing that.

It's been a great few weeks here in jolly England, with first one guest and then another, exploring the London club scene with the hilarious Investment Bankers/French Canadians, and watching at least one of the Infamous Canadians (class of 2003) tear up the town. This weekend we decided to really start getting back into the academic flow of things by attending Quiz Night in the bar on Friday (where the question on where Che Guevara was killed led to the question of where he was born and - honestly - the question of whether he was Cuban or Argentine. Where are you when I need you, TJL!). Feeling a little unsure on the wisdom of choosing to do what is technically a history degree after my performance on the history section, I was vastly reassured that the four years at Queen's wasn't a waste after being able to proclaim Becky Sharp as a character in Vanity Fair. Take that, Queen's Commerce! Unfortunately was so excited about getting the answer right that said it a bit too loudly, enabling all the teams around us to use our correct answer. But the bottle of wine we eventually won for coming in second place (as well as the steady stream of drinks that were being put on my card at the bar for the gang) managed to dull that pain.

That night then culminated in my Infamous Canadian getting hit on by two guys at once, in a brief history lesson on the meat market during the 1300s from the two favourite Investment Bankers, and in me meeting from the Largest White Man I Have Ever Seen - Marcus, who memory now paints as eight feet tall with paws like sandpapered boxing gloves, who was chowing down outside the place we'd stopped to get food. Fortunately I was rescued by one of the Investment Bankers (let's call him "Like Dan", or LD, for now). LD, I believe, told Marcus he was my brother. Marcus didn't seem to pick up on the discrepancy between this statement and LD's pronounced French Canadian accent, but I think he'd had a long day after all.

The next day, after a very successful bout of shopping on Portobello Road where Kari and I came away with definite bling but still lots of money in our wallets, the Investment Bankers took us under their wing again - what great guys. Of course, the undisputed favourite is my old Bermuda friend, who I shall call by his London alter ego "Dan" (as differentiated from Like Dan, or LD. LD is apparently just like Dan in certain aspects which I shall refrain from detailing now out of respect for the parents who still read this site.) Dan's the Best Ass. Ever, of course - the undisputed favourite - but the others certainly have their, um, attributes. LD can, for instance, moo any song you name - including the Ninth Symphony and Britney Spears' Toxic. Believe it. He's demonstrated. Moo. Meanwhile the one we'll call YAH is young at heart. That's "young at heart". If you mishear that statement at all in a crowded bar after a unhappily protracted dry season, keep it to yourself please.

After saying a very early morning goodbye to Kar the next day and sadly leaving her at the airport (yes, I am very destabilised now) I decided to go and actually meet new people - then said ah, screw it, and got on the bus to go stay with the Fam in the Cotswolds.

A wold, by the way, is a hill. The knowledge is just accumulating up here.