Chris collected some conkers yesterday. There are conkers galore in Oxford and no-one picks them up, so we thought we'd retrieve some and make them feel wanted. Alas, when we got them out today, we had no string. A lightning raid on Dave's shoes (after Dave had been subdued) resulted in two strings, but they were recaptured by Dave. Whilst Dave attempted to work out how to lace up shoes, I got one of the laces from my boots and prepared a conker. Others were less inclined to sacrifice laces, so I had to play against a conker on the floor. Since I haven't played conkers for some years, and my aim has never been good, I obtained two good clean hits on the floor, leaving the target undamaged. A third shot nearly removed one of Mark's eyes as the target conker bounced off the wall next to his head. A fourth shot on the floor left me with a scratched conker on the floor and a half-split conker on the end of my lace. A fifth shot made me one of the first people in the history of conkers to lose to a floor. I retired in shame.   Mark has been into college and has retrieved some work from Dr. Tim Greene, our Inorganic Chemistry tutor. We are now in possession of all the work we are to do for him in the coming term, as well as work for the Christmas holiday. It's a thick bundle. I am not looking forward to this term.   Further information from Mark is that we only have two exams. Organic chemistry is not one of them. I have spent two days revising for an exam I do not have. Small salty tears form in my eye, but I blink them away.
			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.