Having foolishly forgotten to book a seat on the busy train down to Oxford, the only place I could get a seat at a table (so that I could get my knees in without having to force my kneecaps through my legs) was in the smoking compartment. Since only smokers would want to sit in the smoking compartment, I was unable to complain when the sullen youth opposite me lit up on a regular basis and blew smoke in my direction, or when the saggy faced old crone next to me set to smoking her way through a pack with gusto.   The journey between Sheffield and Birmingham was made more pleasant by the presence of a charming young lady across the carriage. The presence of her large, skinheaded, tattooed boyfriend next to me meant that I had to ogle covertly, using the old 'looking out of the window but really looking at the reflection of the charming young lady' trick.   Once I got back to the flat and had moaned about the journey to Chris (who came back yesterday) I began unpacking and trying to set my life in order. This took all afternoon and evening, but my room now looks much tidier and I've made inroads into the pile of washing left over from last term. I had an early night, since it is surprising how tired you can get sitting on a train for five hours.
			The characters and situations in this diary are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happenings. Any resemblance to such things is coincidental, or just for humourous effect. All names have been chosen to implicate the innocent.