...and the horse you rode in on.

A pox on you, university. Now that you've given everyone else their grades, could you possibly find it in your infinite mercy to give me mine?

I'll try to get an appointment with the doctor this afternoon to discuss my results from the hospital. I've been doing some detective work. Hopefully he won't call me inexplicable and send me home. Again. Woe is Vee.

phable and I have such enlightening phone conversations. It pleases me that I now have someone to talk to about reanimating dead stags.

While I'm in the mood to complain, Ipswich trains are, predictably enough, the lamest of the lame. "I'm sorry, but we don't go to Manchester. Can we interest you in Prittlewell instead?"

Oh, the humanity.