Infest 1

When you tell someone that you're going away for a bank holiday weekend, they understand. If you then tell them it's to Bradford, they look at you as though you were mad.

I travelled up here yesterday on a elderly double-decker... hair salon. It wasn't quick but it was interesting and cheap.

Thanks to the auspices of the redoubtable nils, I'm in halls, which is wonderfully convenient. There has been much curry and much loud music, I have spent considerable time geeking with crispygoth and steer, nattering to miss_wonderly, gothgrr and of course the inimitable childeric. I shared the bus with the charming niallsdiary; it is not every man who can carry off glowsticking in a shirt and tie. I stayed up far too late and have been drinking Beer. Terrible stuff, I know.

Observation of the day: aside from the excitability of certain Celts - not looking at fuzzygoth here at all - there is something powerfully evocative of a feeling of glasgow about watching an EBM band who sample such golden oldies as... the Sisters of Mercy. I can sort of understand the Sex Pistols - I mean, I was only 10 when they were at their peak - but... aaaaugh!

Today, there has been Bavarian beer in the international market in Centenary Square, mooching about, more curry, and a personal first. I have been given a ticket by the police. It was for the terrible crime of... wearing a T shirt.

All right, so it does have bare tits on the front and say "JESUS IS A CUNT" across the back, but really...