Our first real class of the year, today. I managed to obtain a 'B++', which just goes to show what you have to do for an 'A'. Still, it was better than I had thought I'd get.   To celebrate the fact that Chris failed to sign us up for Formal Hall, we went to the Radcliffe Arms for dinner, before heading for the bar and participating in that end-of-week quest to get your tongue down someone's throat. I don't know why I bother. I'm usually so tired on a Friday night that the only way I could gain tongue contact with another person would be by accident when they tripped over my slumbering form.   This whole tutor-down-the-bar thing is a mixed blessing. On the one hand I have to resist setting fire to Dr. 'Fez' Fairbanks' lovely red velvet jacket, but on the other there's the amusement of seeing a tutor get merry. A pattern seems to be forming for Friday nights: get slightly drunk (I'm too tired to drink and this whole arm-raising business is beyond me - I shall have to invent the Beer Lift), talk to Fez, go to the GCR and listen to some graduate torturing the GCR piano then walk home and go to sleep. What a life.
			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.