In which Helen is drunk

I'm a bit drunk right now, after having attended the first in a series of lectures given by King's College professors. Not required that I go. This one was "Transgender and the Middle Ages." The professor read a paper he wrote. Wasn't too interesting. The gist of it was: dressing up as a woman when you are a man during the middle ages wasn't looked on as a good thing and women shouldn't do other women.

The department had wine in the English department sitting room afterwards. Went with Mary, who is in my two classes, and another English litter, Ellie. We drank, talked about our courses, with about fifteen other people around in their little groups. It was nice; just the kind of experience I want to have.

But the consequence is that, given I haven't really eaten anything all day -- woke at 1:00 when I had toast and then rushed off to the Globe theatre to only get home at 5:00 with only an hour before the lecture, and still needed to rush to the library some ways away to pick up a book, so that I just had a bit of cheese and crackers before leaving -- so the wine, in short, went right through me, and I walked home along the Waterloo bridge at night quite intoxicated which, if not perhaps the most intelligent thing to do, was at least fairly interesting. Now I'm eating ravoli's with beans and bread and butter and diet coke (I broke down and bought a big bottle from Tesco's today -- it was, however, on sale), and will soon after take a shower -- the water is always hot, thank the...well whoever; my other addiction other than diet coke is hot showers -- and then will read until 3:00 in the morning.

The GREATEST thing about only having classes on Wednesday, and having really no other obligations other than that, is that I do not have to be woken by an alarm clock. It is the worst thing in the world to be woken by an alarm clock and I can say that it is an experience I shall do without almost completely. Can you tell I'm drunk; I really am drunk. I'm not just like, "Ooooh, I'm drunk," for effect. I really just bloody am. This is why I am rambling.

Wow, I just had deja vu. I went to eat some ravoli and I was like, "I've had this experience before. I've done this before."

Want to talk about weird. Along my walk today to the Globe theatre and then afterwards through the City, there was this long, winding, occasionally underground path I walked through and every half a mile or so there would be a homeless man with a dog. There were about five homeless men I passed through the cobbled streets that had dogs, about the same looking kinds too, with golden fleeces and about medium size, and at one point I passed two men with dogs -- about a half of mile between them -- that were reading a book. Really. This isn't a drunken daydream. Even the men I passed looked the same, as though I was just passing the same man every time. Is this like the "in" thing this season for homeless men -- dingy, dirty rags are out this winter, and in is the golden-fleeced doggy complete with doggy blanket, and a book to wile away those unproductive hours.

My ravoli's aren't that good.