I headed towards the bar tonight, for the first time in weeks. It was no more exciting than usual, although I did manage to miss an act of extreme, not to say shocking, bad form. Dave, it transpires, had discussed the Kathryn Deyes situation with Adam Kay, his 'mate'. Adam then went on to pull Kathryn tonight. The man evidently has no morals, scruples or discretion. He seems to have a penchant for women that Dave is/has been interested in, since he has already attempted to pull Claire Fowler just after Dave had dumped her (and after he had warned Gareth Kenneally off her since she was cut up about Dave). I use 'attempted', since he got back to Claire's room, and asked if he could stay the night. She went to bed, fully clothed, whilst he had the floor. Allegedly.   Tonight was also not the night of The Turl Street Dash, bicycle race of dubious legality which does not occur on an annual basis and whose route is not around the college. Large (and voluble) crowds failed to form outside of college. The initial race was (not) from the Bridge of Sighs, round the Rad Cam, up Brasenose Lane (through some interesting scaffolding chicanes) and onto Turl Street. Once the police car had left Turl Street, the race was then (not) re-run on the original round-college route. In the end, the race was (or would have been, if it had been run, which it wasn't) a dead heat between Rob Casebourne and a police van. It is a credit to the constabulary that they gave Rob a stern telling off for showing 'a blatant disregard for traffic laws' and then nipped off for a tea break. A good time would have been had by all if we hadn't all been tucked up in bed with a mug of hot chocolate and a biscuit.   On our return to the flat, Mark and I had a heated discussion as to whether Chris was actually in bed, or had nipped off with some bint for a quickie on the quiet. Mark's argument was that Chris' door was shut, and he (Mark) had seen him (Chris) leave the bar alone at 11pm. My argument was that he was a sly bastard who could have come home, shut his door in order to dupe us and then nipped off for a quickie on the quiet. Mark contended that he wasn't actually that sly, whereas I put forward to concept that he really was that sly, but had been pretending to be non-sly in order to lull us into a false sense of security. In order to settle the matter, we decided to put bits of sellotape across the edge of his door and the door frame, so that if he came home while we were asleep, then the tape would be broken. If the tape was unbroken when we got up, then he would either be in his room, or out of the flat and so we could find out the truth of the matter. The flaws in the experimental procedure were not exposed, since a muffled voice from Chris' room told us to get lost. Mark went to bed triumphant.
			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.