With the power of hindsight...this year would have been completely different.

Some things I've done this year. With hindsight, most might be redacted.

1. Weighing myself on the post office scales -- intended for 'parcels only'.
2. Telling people that they can't eat a banana in a non-sexual way, and proceeding to make them really self-conscious so that it becomes self-fulfilling
3. Wearing a Kermit jumper and avowedly telling people that the Muppets are the only legitimate source of political authority.
4. Wearing sunglasses in an exam, and pretending that it's normal. (This may involve asking other examinees, even examiners, where their's are).
5. Overreacting to minor inconveniences with inconsolable blubbing. 
6. Being over-enthusiastic when meeting a friend who you haven't seen for a week.  Comment on how much you've missed them/how things have changed/how they look different.
7. Ignoring texts and modern communication for a week.  Then pretending that they haven't made any effort.
8. Writing articles that quote friends as saying silly things they haven't said. Then make sure that everyone reads it. "Read all about it, Read all about it," malarky. 
9. Hiding in a box and jumping out at my bedder/any other entrant into my den.
10. Pretending that my room is a den and that I'm a lion.
11. Giving anti-presents, reserved only for arch whiners. 
12. Trying to climb in through windows when people won't let you in through the door. 
13. Playing the opposite game, and deliberately not informing others. 
14. Wearing rimmed spectacles and pretending to be a Harry Potter imitation at Kings Cross 
15. Turning Oyster cards into wands.  To do this, simply dip a card into boiling water, peel the plastic film, remove the chip, and implant it into a stick. Then tap the stick on the Oyster machine and bellow "Alohamora" at the gate. 
16. Buying enough hummus to fill your room. 
17. Then devouring it in a single meal.
18. Crashing the presidential banquet in Zagreb. 
19. Subsequently interrupting a live press release on the 10th anniversary of 9/11
20. Do an audio walking tour of Berlin pretending that it is actually referring to Budapest, more specifically war-torn Pest.
21. Hiding your friend's belongings in the bathroom. 
22. Changing your friend's phone contacts to resemble Harry Potter characters. Ideally these should bear some resemblance to those real-life characters, who can then be independently contacted and asked to text said friend with in-character phrases.  (Courtesy of Emily Fernandes).
23. Buying a giant Connect Four set for your room.
24. Insisting that everyone - including strangers/people you've just met - play it
25. Strenuously denying that it is a euphemism.
26. Essentialising your friends, and when they do a characteristic thing, say 'classic'.
27. Telling people you have a goat called Kevin. 
28. Printing multiple photos of your face, and plaster them over a friend's room.
29. Feign flattery for patently disgusting/undesirable objects. I.e., awww, is this used tissue for me? you shouldn't have.
30. Teaching people the Vegetable Game
31. Making games up
32. Treating your college like a castle. 
33. Graffitiing a friend's passport photo -- in whiteboard marker
34. Dressing up in a Sherwani, and pretending to be the Raj of Cambridge
35. 
    

Women only, please

Very often, perspective is everything. What is funny to one person, may be deeply embarrassing or downright upsetting to another. But some events are deserving of universal laughter. Sometimes, it is worth acknowledging that what happened was, frankly, hilarious. Earlier today saw one of those excruciatingly-awkward-but-retrospectively-hilarious moments.

Two friends (don't be over-awed by my popularity) informed me that Sidney Sussex was hosting the Women's Forum this evening. Naturally, I was interested, not least because I'd been before and found it intellectually edifying. Soon, they'd persuaded me that I should go, albeit separately (because I wanted to grab something to eat beforehand).

I arrived to be greeted by pin-drop silence. Odd, I thought, but maybe the're reading a text. They weren't. Maybe I'm late. I was. I sat down, expecting the tension to subside. At this point, the chair piped up, "this is a self-defining space," she mumbled. "That means men aren't welcome", she concluded.

The tension had reached insurmountable levels. I got up and left, hearing a huge collective sigh as I exited the door.

A threat or a bonus?

"http://ifttt.com/recipes" seems like a fantastic way of short-cutting our way through social media. One of the benefits of this form already is its directness; you simply click on the person you want to talk to, and bloviate. So we've reduced some of the formalities associated with face-to-face contact. A handshake, a 'how d'you do', a nervous smile are all replaced by a simple 'heya' or even a continuation of last night's 'convo' ('...sex is fun, you know').

Now, however, we can even automate those basic and arduous greetings and thankings - the computer says 'hey babe'. All of which leaves me wondering, who am I speaking to? Am I even needed for this conversation to happen?

'via Blog this'

Annual competition

I have long been a competitive type; much more competitive than you in fact. And this recent bout of VVD (virtual verbal diarrhoea) has its roots in that primitive drive. You see, I was scanning my blog, proudly surveying my work, and it struck me that I was more prolific in my past. As I write this, there are only 8 pieces from 2011; yet there are 11 from 2010. So I am competing for myself, with myself, and by myself. (Not that I would ever claim to have anything on Mr. Lincoln).

All this makes me rather sad. And it is hardly a fair competition either. Currently, I am furiously typing away, striving to close that post-gap. Soon, I hope, I will have overtaken 2010, a year I never liked anyway. But any race must have two runners. Otherwise, if one is immobile or dead, the result is necessarily unjust. So to appease my conscience, I must accept a handicap. Only then can I claim true victory. (That's a lie; I would happily do so anyway). The only problem with a handicap is that I am, as a writer, so immature (or crippled) already that any further disruption would yield a totally unsatisfactory (or even illegible) product. This is no mere scaremongering. This is an accurate reflection of my unquenchable desire to better my previous attempts, even if they cannot respond or laud my spectacularly modest achievement.

YES. I WIN.

(according to independent reports)