Dear Diary,
I managed to get a little nap in after doing some Uni' work. The fridge was ajar, some of my tobacco was missing. I noticed some stray kids had wandered into the house round back, friends of the family here. They had come round to clean the bird-cage, heaven knows why they came back, except to scrounge for food and such. Bugger. That's me out of tobacco for the week now. I guess I'll have to busk.
Loving Janie is a full-time occupation. I need to focus on my assignment. I have so much to write about. Hans Holbein the younger, Emile Zola's Therese Raquin, also Victorian mummy-unwrapping parties. None of this is strictly on the syllabus, but I thought it fitting to include in my essay. I'll do a good job of the paper at least, even if I'm throwing the dice a little, breaking the mould: not sticking exclusively to the O.U. material (though I hasten to add I put in a shed-load of stuff from the module course books, and even managed to link to a past module - paganism and Avebury).
Janie said she'd phone by now and hasn't, I'm not worried, she's most probably shattered. She's visiting my place tonight, and wants to help me tidy it up. I refuse any sort of help, being stubborn, but somehow she's managed to win me around. I know that I'll try and sort it out, whilst working on this essay. God I love working on archaeological studies: as much as I love Janie. I'm just glad she has a shared passion for archaeology.
The dogs are all going nuts, I tried to chill them the flex out with some food, but somehow they're still fooling around. The bitch is in-heat and keeps mounting the males, affirming her dominance over the pack. The big-guy occasionally licks her behind. It's all very base.
I should call Janie, but I need to eat dinner first. Ooh! I have some strong drink left. Jolly good! Chin chin! (Oh, and it's nice to see the following back).
Maxwell adprobata est iterum pro momento ad minus.
Maximus.
