Another busy week has almost literally flown by. Seriously, is it Saturday already? Good Lord.

Lectures started this week, and for now at least I'm inclined to be geekily organised, although I'm on the verge of throwing my flip-clock bodily from my third-story window to cure it of its refusal to show the right time - every time I think I'm being clever by changing the time, it just stops. I don't think it liked being thrown in a bag for three hours on the journey down here.

While Psychology is even more interesting than I'd anticipated, not least because the lecturer looks like Ricky Gervais and sports the derogatory sense of humour to match, Sociology is disappointingly boring, despite the fact that the slightly rotund old lecturer wears an eyepatch when he's talking. Theatre is, well, theatre - if you're interested in the hows and whys, it's always going to be infinitely fascinating.

I've run into a lot of people I knew from primary school, which is embarrassing because I'm extremely good with names, so I remember them and yet I know almost without a doubt that they will not - and probably will not want to - remember me. I've also met an old acquaintance I used to catch the train with before he shot to local stardom by appearing in a series of Countdown ads on telly and started snobbing us normal people - Riley now flats with a friend of mine from high-school and my God, it's a dump. When you walk in and the other flatmate is busy getting stoned in the kitchen you make your excuses, don't touch anything, and leave as quickly as you can. Sorry, Ben.

Socially, I've spent enough time in the 'pool room' to know exactly how bad a year's lack of practise makes you at snooker, and this morning I'm actually more hung over than I expected after last night's burlesque vintage party at the local gay-bar. During the course of the night, I was hugged by an alarming number of people I don't know (sorry, Simon. I'll remember you next time), realised exactly how many of the words to the Rocky Horror Picture Show I actually know by heart, and punched a stranger in McDonald's. In my defense, he had forty-two knives in his collection.

Creatively, I've written so much angst I could explode from not being able to upload any of it - sorry, anyone who's following me on ff.net, but you'll be email-bombed by alerts when I finally get access - and been inspired to great theatrical intent by fellow enthusiasts in the art of guerrilla theatre. Citizens of Wellington, watch out. I've also met my match in a Sherlock fan, which I'm so delighted about that Fiona, I can't express the depth of my love for you.

To deduction I have dedicated only a passing fancy in the glances and assumptions of strangers; I found deducing people's sexuality last night laughably easy, and not just because there were a number of men graphically having at each other on the dance floor; the number of recently-outed and delightfully shy lesbians, especially, was adorable and I wish them all the best. I like to think I'm growing more observant of the little things like clothes and mannerisms, although I still can't decide whether that basketball hoop was always outside Te Whanau house and I never noticed it, or whether someone put it up especially yesterday because it was sunny.

Whew. Sorry, meant to post this a few hours ago but got distracted by the frankly abysmal Phoenix game. That was three hours ago, but you know things in town on a Saturday night - my arse is aching from where some random laid a mofo of a smack on it. I'll leave you to your deductions.

-for you!