Kates Journal

Mark Ronson has done a version of (Radiohead’s) Just. The song itself is pretty cool, but the video and song together are truly awesome (and feature references to Bristol’s beloved Banksy).

James asked me about a strip I used to have an archive of. Only he couldn’t remember the name. Sadly nor could I. Having dug through my CD-Rs of backups I discovered that I didn’t appear to have any RiscPC backups – frustrating (not that I’d've been able to read them properly anyway). Having discovered this, I then set to work digging in my brain.

Bad though my memory is it sometimes can be startling in what it’ll recall. After but a few minutes prodding it’d come up with the artist’s name (“eight”). Trying to find a cartoon by some bloke called ‘eight’, well that proved to be a little bit challenging. But googling the phrase ‘eight comic’ pulled up Road Waffles right away.

It appears that he’s started updating it again – which means I’m a mere 2 years behind, and since I can’t remember the entire back story I’m looking forward to starting from the beginning. Mmmm. Psychotic women.

I suspect I may have found my root.

I’m not quite sure how I didn’t notice before, staggeringly blind is a phrase that leaps to mind, but two of my papers are actually by the same person discussing the same research. Granted they’re a year apart. Granted they cover entirely different segments of the research. And they have entirely different titles. But I can’t imagine how I didn’t notice.

Reading my critique notes, they’re virtually interchangable; only one’s discussing the social aspect and the other the actual care. Feh. Never mind. I think the content is different enough to count them as different papers.

But god do I feel like a prick.

So, I did the run to Bath and back in about two hours which wasn’t too bad given the time for me to hand in my Petrol Reclaim form, hand in EU packs, my essay, and find parking.

Oh, and I stopped to buy bras. My bra collection, if you could call it that, was getting on for pathetic. 2 of my favourite bras had actually disintegrated (to the point that the straps were only held on by my re-stitching attempts). It really did look a bit sad, so I stopped and picked up new bras…oh, and a new skirt… and new combats to replace the ones that have started to hole… and a new top.

Um. That wasn’t meant to happen. But the problem is b’wise QS Select (*raises eyebrows* isn’t rebranding fun? It’s next to poundland InStore…) is ridiculously cheap. No doubt I’m supporting disgusting labour practices, but until I can afford not to (I shop loads at Charity stores too) then I don’t have a lot of choice. I can’t wander round nekkid. Or I can. but… yeah. Mmm.

Incidentally, teeny little inside pockets on bags should be banned. Why? Because I nearly had a heart attack after emptying out my bag when I got home and not finding the keys. I’d removed the carpets from my car, run my hands down the backs of the drivers and passenger seats and started to reach the stage of thinking I’d have to drive back to Bath and see if I dropped them.

And there they were, lurking in this tiny pocket of the bag. They’d fallen in there – and obviously didn’t fall back *out*. Grrr. Anyway, on with dissertation prodding.