Donuts of Shit

I've been pretty quiet of late as I've been busy what with one thing and another, last Wednesday I spent a lovely day in the company of Kate, which nothing could spoil. Not even the biggest shit storm of madness that has occurred in the last two years. I have to tell myself I don't miss her.


Work has been anything a shitstorm. It is literally one of the best jobs I have done for a while, since, erm... last September anyway. I was playing the nice supervisor last week, I bought a load of donuts for my team and put them under a bucket for them to find after first break. They were ecstatic. Then later I had to send, let's call them, Student A and Student B off to another area to help clean an area for Andy. When they came back Student A and B asked me to buy them a pint in the pub after work, to which I initially agreed. I then thought about it and said no, I'd already bought them donuts, to which Student A said 'Yeah, but they tasted like shit!' There's gratitude for you.

I did a Google Search for 'Shit Donut' and this was the first picture that came up. So it is used to illustrate my point...

On Saturday John, Cleo and I hosted a Barbecue, to which all of York's Medieval PhD students were invited. I needed a break from Nerdom so I invited my Sheffield buddies along to bring up the cool quota. Lauren, Steve and Kate tipped up, along with Bob, Craig, Marcus, Alix and Sarah. The rest were John's (and Cleo's) friends so I had nothing to do with them. In the event, my mates proved how cool we were by NOT leaving the party at eleven o'clock on the dot to stress about how much work they could have done had they not been out enjoying themselves. I spent most of the time in charge of the grill and topping up my sunburn from the flames. The evening progressed into a drunken orgy of violence that spilled out onto the street and ended with three houses being burned down on Scarcroft Hill, including ours.

Scarcroft Hill 3am; 31/05/09 The Police move in with Tear Gas

A Sunday afternoon Craig, John and I headed out to Whitby for the remainder of the afternoon as it was so nice. Craig and I had to literally drag John away from his laptop to come and enjoy the sunshine. After we had secured him in the car we arrived in Whitby to be promptly captured by Algerian Pirates and placed aboard their ship where we were transported to the Barbary coast for three years living as white slaves.

Craig laments agreeing to come to Whitby with us. Mainly due to the incessant sea shanties than the slavery

We managed to revolt against our master (taking our tips from the screening of Spartacus last week, without the bummery...) and took control of a schooner and made it back to Whitby, where we continued our tour of the town. We climbed the hill to the Abbey where John and I had an icecream covered in 'Dracula Blood'. Whether it really was Dracula's blood or the blood of one of his victims we never found out. After gorging ourselves on blood John miscounted the 199 steps as 198 on the way back down from the Abbey. I assumed that one of the steps had been removed for repair. Finally pausing to play in the arcades I managed to win myself two tins of peppermint sweets and a key fob tin with a smaller key fob in it for the princely sum of £2 on the two penny pushing machines. I remember one time years ago, when Carl tried to win a Spice Girls key fob which he had become fixated with in the same machines. He ended up spending ten pounds to get the thing out. Who's smashing society now, Carl?

Trophies of the hunt!