I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed tutorials with Dr. Fairbanks. There's something invigorating about standing at the whiteboard and uttering the words 'I haven't got a clue, sorry' when he asks you questions. I tend to play hotter-colder with reaction mechanisms - you watch his face as you move the pen over the board, and then only start to draw an arrow when he looks hopeful. If he stops looking hopeful, or indeed puts his head in his hands and says 'What the hell are you doing?', then stop and reconsider.   Chris had another match on the college squash ladder (I don't quite know how you play squash on a ladder, but there you go...). He was confident of an easy win after his 16 minute match last week. He had an easy win. Mentioning squash is now not a good idea in the flat since his head surely can't get bigger without exploding.   I intended to have an early night to catch up on lost sleep. I got to bed a half past midnight. Blunder.
			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.