Nothing to do

I recently read a post from across the world from someone recovering from the bad weather blues. He'd been away from his blog for a while and thought someone might've missed him. He was right. I, on the other hand, have no such welfare issues. I am on the singles shelf of blogland.
But I have hope, so I write today.
Actually, no, I have nothing to do, so I write today. Nothing. Check that: I have ironing, so, you know, nothing.

We got our uni results last week and went out for drinks afterward. The venue was 'ok' but there wasn't enough dancing for me. The most interesting part of the night was when I left that place for another with a friend, found a few boys who were dressed as 70s gym junkies and so couldn't get into the Elephant and Wheelbarrow. Shame! we cried. Double-standards! we declared. And promptly went into the alley to change pants with the boys and dutifully get them in. I focus on the battles of feminism, rather than the war.

In the few days before drinks I'd been helping with a conference, juggling seminars with job interviews and had an offer on the Thursday, so it was a kind of nice when my friend - who had been present when I received the offer - told everyone about my job before I got to drinks on Friday, and before I had accepted the job. That's a lot of people to call, so I chose the job, coz it was neater.