Easter

Over the past few days, I have consumed a spectacular amount of wine. I personally think that's what Jesus did over the original Easter weekend: after the Last Supper he went on a bit of a bender and finally re-emerged on Sunday morning having recovered from his hangover.

On Thursday, I finished university for ever. Now only 18,500 words stand between me and the real world. HELP.

Thursday evening was spent in the pub with various Doctor Who types. The lovely Jonny lent me a select choice from the BBC Shakespeare collection, prompted by a discussion over Facebook I had completely forgotten about. Aren't my friends brilliant?

On Friday I ventured south of the river, where the equally lovely Simon and the Dr fed me hot cross buns and tea and showed me the dinosaurs. This was followed by getting lost in a maze, Simon giving me lots of advice about how to become a successful writerly-type (see, my friends are brilliant!), before retiring to the pub for wine. Then back to their house for much more wine, aubergines, and being glared at by their slightly evil-looking cat. I even returned home with another Shakespeare DVD and a free book. Although a North London girl at heart (what can I say? I like the Underground!), I'm now thinking I may have to venture dahn Souf more often in future. And, thanks to the new East London line finally opening next month, it'll finally be straightforward to get there from Hackney.

Saturday was, of course, Doctor Who day! A review of the episode shall shortly follow - I'm currently in the midst of another wave of job applications. I joined various friends in a giant Wetherspoons to watch Doctor Who on a giant screen, organised by the wonderful Jeremy Bentham.


Not this Jeremy Bentham.
Other than the episode, my favourite part of the evening was probably Helen's gingerbread Doctors. Must have taken so much time and effort, and they tasted as good as they look.

I got the last Gingerbread Matt!
Gingerbread Docs!
We didn't know each other at all, and it was only due to mutual friends on Twitter that I got to relay my thanks. This is one of the many reasons I love living in the twenty-first century. (In addition to technology, another major plus point is the fact I can do things such as vote and work and go to university. Huzzah for feminism!)

Through reasons unexplained, the pub the party was held in closed just after 8pm, despite still having several hundred people still there. So a large group of us headed to my beloved Shakespeare's Head and gave them all our beer and food money instead.

Essentially, my weekend can be epitomised by wine, Shakespeare, Doctor Who, dinosaurs and friends. I want all weeks to be like this (though I'm not sure my liver would agree).

Interior design

I went to the pub last night and drank an awful lot of red wine.

This morning I discovered a massive purple handprint on my bedroom wall.

I think these two may be somehow connected.

Despite it being fantastically artistic, I suspect my landlord is going to kill me.

Being Human

Last night I headed into to for a preview of the new series of Being Human. Which was, as expected, awesome. BBC3, Sunday, 9:30 - watch it. It's good.

The Being Human blog explains all. And they have the advantage of having their very own Aidan Turner, who is very pretty and therefore deserves to be appreciated aesthetically. Preferably on a cinema screen, but a brief video will have to do for now.

The only major drawback was queuing in subzero temperatures outside the cinema for an hour. I think I've just about managed to defrost.

The thing that surprised me slightly was the mix of fans. I'm used to wandering along to Doctor Who stuff, which is 95% male - the majority technically old enough to be my dad. This was full of very loud teenage girls (and their mums), which made me feel slightly old and haggard.

The advantage is that we got to go to the pub afterwards. Where the lovely Simon and his lovely friends plied me with red wine. All I really remember about getting home is falling over more often than usual. Icy pavements and drunken staggering are not the greatest of combinations.

It took me slightly by surprise - while Westminster have actually bothered removing ice from their pavements, Hackney (surprise surprise) haven't. So I walked out of Old Street station to find myself arse over tit. It would probably have been easier to just roll home.