I don't feel at all well. Since I didn't actually have that much to drink last night, I am beginning to suspect the chicken burger I obtained from the kebab van on the way home. Normally I wouldn't touch chicken from a 'bab van with a bargepole, but they had run out of hotdogs and so offered me the burger or the same price. Fortunately I fumbled the thing after only a few bites and left it on the pavement where it landed. Rather lucky, all things considered.   There is a rather marathon quality to lectures when your stomach feels like an extra in Alien and keeps trying to make a bid for freedom from the wretched confines of your body. I sat through two lectures and wrote next to nothing, since I was too busy repeating the mantra 'don't chunder, don't chunder' to myself. It is difficult to know what to do if you need to make a dash for the toilet in a lecture. Do you rush from the lecture theatre with your hand over your mouth, or do you stroll casually from the lecture theatre and only make a dash for it once you're through the doors? The former has the advantage that it makes clear to the lecturer that you'd really love to stay and listen, but you have pressing business to attend to but it does also mean letting everyone know exactly what you're going to do. The second option removes the embarrassment of everyone knowing you're off to talk on the Great White Telephone, but it is a bit rude to the lecturer. The problem with both options is that you have to return to the lecture theatre to pick up your bag, coat, etc. A third option is simply to void your innards over the row in front, but this is rarely socially acceptable.   The day was further complicated by the need to finish off the tutorial work. This competed with the need to vomit on a regular basis. The tutorial work remained incomplete (but also unstained, which was a boon). The other requirement was to attend the tutorial. Dr. Fairbanks was most understanding when I explained that I might need to run from his office during the tutorial if the worst came to the worst, although he did criticise my choice of food from the kebab van. In fact my stomach was recovering well, and I only had to sit with my head in my hands and breathe deeply on one occasion after I moved my head too quickly and the world went fuzzy.   Dinner was not an option.
			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.