On this glorious Sunday Morn, sitting here as a typical man about the house with greasy sausage sandwiches on my lap, I find myself looking on in horror at the household chores and other duties that lay before me.

You see, for months I have been putting off working on the degree’s final tasks as the motivation has more than just disappeared, it’s been brutally beaten, and stuffed into a black van being driven off at high speeds only for the next day, a ransom note to appear through the post-box containing instructions for the money and a severed toe to know that they are serious.

As it stands there are two modules left for me to do, a work-based project and another module of our choice which may or may not be carried out at the University due to lack of intelligence on their part. This year, I have just wanted the thing over with; it’s like a bad smell from the toilet that you just can’t get rid of.

The fun starts again in earnest next week and with only a few months left, it cannot be over soon enough. To that end I have started on the work based project, which is something complex and boring and for once the geekdom shall be left outside along with a note for the kidnappers saying they can keep the motivation for all I care.

Then, once free in the summer I can properly pursue what I want to do which actually for once, doesn’t just involve sitting down and eating.

Friday Night in Shrewsbury was a good evening even though for most of the time, Nat and I didn’t even chat to the man who was leaving Shropshire for greater climbs in Bristol, Mr. Morgan.

It is worth noting that it was only the second time Natalie had seen James in the flesh, the first time actually being when Nat and I first met on a night out in Shrewsbury, in which James had encouraged me to get out there after a naughty end to another relationship.

Just think, if I didn’t listen to him and stayed in, none of recent history surely wouldn’t have happened?

Instead at the Indian eatery, we spent all the time chatting to a Mr. Paul Evans and his recently acquired girlfriend, Claire both of whom I had met before, the last occasion of which we were all shooting each other with balls of paint. Doesn’t that show the love?

Most of the time was spent talking about the insane amounts of drinking the man called “Evo” had par taken, and frankly if even half of it is true, there is no contest. The man should leave his body to science; because it would baffle the doctors as to how he is still alive, having not yet coughed up his entire digestive system.

He was also obsessed with taking huge amounts of photos with various digital equipment and frankly the evil Natazuki was put to shame. She has much to learn it appears.

We did get to have a chat with Jim and some special sparkly stuff in Reflex, the 80’s bar. I must say for the record: I hate Reflex. Most of the music is rubbish, and the one in Chester suffers from sticky floor syndrome, where if you still have your shoes on, let alone your feet then you’ve had a result. But I enjoyed it in Shrewsbury, the company I guess made all the difference.

Making various comments about James’ blowing power, and performing head banging with those space alien head things certainly spices things up. And a man called Weaver smiled more than I had seen for 2 days at Glastonbury, but that’s another story. Fair Play chap!

So bon voyage Mr. Morgan and don’t worry I will keep in touch.

And with that bombshell of a personal update complete, I now return to the ironing. Curse you (various gods of different faiths conveyed here so I am not sued for discrimination) for punishing me this way!