The enjoyment that can be had from discussing the weather is second only to sex, and approximately equal to a good strong cup of tea.

What with the crazy storms outside, the miserable headache inside and the incessant dripping that kept breaking the barrier between the two, I did not get much sleep last night. Course I can't complain. My mother had none at all and woke to deal with my gran's shed; the roof of which had landed in a garden down the road. She's gone back to bed now, confused and angry.

Who broke the sky?

During the couple of hours I did sleep before Julie got up for school I had the craziest dream. I don't remember much now. Only that it was a musical. A musical involving lesbians and a plot about a missing ring. And it was ridiculously complicated and I was confused for much of it, trying to reason with the people around me.

I'm procrastinating. I can't study. There's a list of dates and names and pots I need to know by Monday and none of it is sticking. I am so sick of looking at aroused Satyrs and Greek men throwing up. Or the best one: a pot whose feet were shaped like male genitals "giving a shock to the holder." No shit the holder is shocked. He just wanted to enjoy a little wine, instead everyone is mocking him for holding the penis cup.

I'll have to drag my ass back to the library tomorrow. At least there is nothing to distract me there. Only smokers to sniff and fat women who hog three computer spaces and eat bananas loudly. You disgust me, fatty. And the toilets have the best graffiti. Only in a library would you find: "So girls, what's your favourite poem?" and someone highlighting the choice of Keats with a "YES TO THIS!"

Okay, I'm gonna stare at these pots some more. If my brain dies in the process you get 10 minutes to claim what you want of my possessions because I'm too tired to write a will.