Three Unrelated Things

Why are my Uni holidays going for so long? It is quite perplexing. Most of my friends at other Unis went back on Monday, some are going back this coming Monday but I am a lady of leisure until the 30^th. I’m really not utilising the freedom though, instead I’m spending my days working, and trawling share accommodation websites trying to find a new place to live. Hooray for responsibilities.

So I’ve just finished watching the whole first series of Torchwood, courtesy of a sci-fi obsessed mother and her propensity to foist DVDs upon me, and can I just say – Phwoar! That show is a definite case for there being more man-on-man action on TV. Captain Jack getting it on with his man-servant Ianto? Hawt. Captain Jack getting it on with Captain Jack? Uber hawt. God I’m hoping that John Barrowman and David Tennant pash in the current series of Doctor Who. That would likely leave me sexually fulfilled for the rest of eternity. Note: I may be more starved of human contact than I previously realised.

And in a most unfortunate turn of events, despite my overwhelming desire to lock myself in my bedroom this weekend and read Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows from cover to cover, I am required instead to work, and to placate my friends by attending various birthdays and going-away parties. Who organises a party to coincide with the release of the new Harry Potter book? Hello! That’s akin to holding your wedding on AFL Grand Final day or your funeral on the same day as the Melbourne Cup. My time would be far better spent reading about the new wondrous events in Harry’s world, and secretly imagining myself as the meat in a Daniel Radcliffe/Sean Biggerstaff sandwich. (Biggerstaff played Oliver Wood in the early movies. He is terribly attractive, has a sexy Scottish accent, and, let’s face it, a name that promises so very much.)
But I am forced to postpone the book until Monday, by which time some fuckwit will have spoiled the ending by telling me that Harry impregnates Ginny before dying, thus leaving another child wizard to grow up fatherless and resentful, ensuring Rowling has enough teenage angst to fill another seven books. She’s a clever one, that J.K.

In conclusion: men kissing other men - good. Friends who deny me the immediate pleasure of learning Harry’s fate - bad. Wasting precious holiday time doing mundane tasks - utterly depressing.