9.6 seconds

I finally beat my original 2000m indoor rowing time today. After missing my lift from Bob due to a peculiar dream that kept me dormant until 1120, I eventually got to the club at 1150, after having some much needed bacon. Within a half hour, I was on the machine, and rowing the best I've ever rowed on one, cutting my time from 8:21.0 to 8:11.4. That's the 9.6 seconds you've read about.

In other news, my attempted install of Ubuntu server failed. This is due to a lack of support for my i686 infrastructure. I may have to use 8.04 or 8.10 instead. The ideal plan is to get a new build, then use this laptop to connect to the server, not as the server itself.

I've begun work on the Common Application today. That's America's answer to UCAS. It'll cover my Harvard, Princeton and Stanford applications, hence speed up my progress with the flowchart of academia, which now covers my entire whiteboard.

My mother certainly deserves commendations for another brilliant Sunday roast, with mashed potato, sausages and all. It's thanks to such a dinner – and my progress in rowing and completion of the flowchart's primary function – that overall, I'm in a pretty good mood today. I've been edgy as of late, for which I do not apologize. Edginess is a fine component of the human condition: a truly excellent defence mechanism.

Goodnight all!

Gluttony and Three-legged Races

For me, Sunday mornings mean heading down to Tynemouth Rowing Club; as you may already know.
Again, as you might know, both Bobby and Niall are ill. I row when I'm ill! I went to a regatta when I was ill.

Nevertheless, I got down to rowing, courtesy of the ever brilliant Michael, and spent several upcoming hours not rowing, but, instead, babysitting Saskia. It's not all that bad, really. We did do some brilliant three-legged racing, however, it'll be nice when Bob's back on his feet; he's much better at looking after her. Bless 'em. So cute!

Back to superficial matters: I ate a burger and a sausage at the post-rowing barbecue. Yes peeps, October barbecue. I later ate my entire Sunday dinner. I have a big Sunday dinner. Loads of mashed potato.

Right, enough monologic drivel. Exeunt.

Bangers and mash!

Yeah, guys and gals – no, not gals. Dolls? Nope, 'tis a play. Oh, hang on, reboot, I've got it!

Yeah, ladies and gentlemen! Today, I had some wonderfully reheated sausage and mash with gorgeous onion gravy. I have a tendency to call brown stuff gorgeous, given that it's not faeces. Blue stuff – besides mould, that is – gets tagged "pretty" in the exquisitely complex matrices of Robin James' brain. Anyway, yummy dinner; thanks mother! She's given me a cupcake for afters, but hasn't told me what's in it. It could be spacecake. Mmm, drugs... Here's hoping!

In other news, I am not as good on a rowing machine as I would like! In fact, I'm worse than Tom and Niall. This, ladies and gentlemen^†, is embarrassing. It must be dealt with immediately, or at least in the near future. Maybe I was fatigued today from a piano lesson. They can be quite strenuous!

Finally, I bring such brilliant news: I am totally immune to whichever serotype of rhinovirus the local disease factories – or, as I believe the biological term is, "humans" – gave to me. Excellent! Total immunity, here I come! Apologies to anyone I gave diseases to over the past few weeks.

Here ends Tuesday 5th October. Now to have that prospective spacecake!

^†I'm sticking with that now; apologies to transgenders, although I figure you're covered by the "and"? I don't know. I AM JUST A GUY.