Today, at work, I watched as a man overtook another in the fast lane of the swimming pool. In doing so, he slightly clipped him going past. This is a normal event. However, the slower man was not happy and squared up to the bloke and began to lay in to him. It seems that nowadays there is lane ettiquette rage.

It seems strange that in a country where everyone is so stereotypically repressed that England is also famous for its hooliganism and pub brawls. On Wednesday, Louise rang Mark when we were in the pub saying how she had been watching the football in the pub where there was one Turkish bloke. Her and her friends had to pretty much surround him in order to protect him from getting hit. When he left the pub, he was beaten up. It seems so pointless to do so. Obviously football raises high tensions. I get upset when England or Arsenal lose but in this case we had won.

It seems crazy that people can't express some more of that British self-control - even in the swimming pool.

After I finished work at 3pm yesterday, I went into Camden to meet up with Beth and Amy. We had a few drinks in the Tup and caught up on news while I kept an eye on the football at all times. After the match, I popped into the Mixer for a couple of drinks to share my joy of our mighty victory with Mike and Mark, who I knew would be in there. I got the last tube back to Amersham and, for the first time ever, was actually pleased that the Met line is so shit and bumpy because it meant that I managed to stay awake for the entire journey, only almost falling off my seat on occasions.

When I walked back home from the station, something struck me that strikes everytime I walk around Amersham after around 10pm - it is so dead. I walked along the road and there was nothing, no one else there, no noise, nothing. I guess this is normal for a lot of places but I am so used to Camden and Leeds. Leeds is just studentville so nighttime is the the peak time for goings-on. And in Camden there are always people coming and going, selling 'hash weed, hash weed' or offering 'minicab, minicab' (no, I don't want a minicab, do you really still need to ask?). But last night I felt as though I was the last person left walking through deserted streets of abandonned cars and closed up houses. Each step was so loud that it seemed to echo around the globe. It is very surreal, almost Truman Show-esque, feeling so seperate from everyone else. It felt as though I was on a stage with no one else and the whole thing was just a soliloquy. I was out there whilst everyone else was tucked up and hidden. Every now and then, a purr of a car in the distance or a scurry of a cat would bring me back to reality.

But then, I guess Amersham is just full of old people - I could hardly expect anything else at that time of night.

Back home for the holidays means back to doing some paid work to help wipe out some of that student debt I have accumulated. And work for me means lifeguarding. This is an easy job that is reasonably paid (for crappy holiday job), fairly flexible, and, as long as I have my NPLQ up to date, a job that I can come back to each holiday.

But, it is the most boring job ever. No, it really really is. It is a mind-numbing, longing for next fag break, clock-watching affair. The main drift of the job is standing on poolside watching people swimming. Not exactly exciting. There are only a few ways to keep yourself amused:

1. See how many different languages you are able to count in when counting the number of bathers in the pool. I can do four - French, Latin, Chinese and Fijian. Doing this as loudly as possible scares small children, making it more entertaining.


2. Swing your whistle around as fast as possible. If you swing it over enthusiastically and it falls in the pool (as it did today), this provides ten more minutes of amusment as you try and fish it out with the net.


3. Pretend the reaching poles are rifles and try to shoot the other lifeguards. Sound effects are welcomed.

Oh, it's all so much fun. But just because it's boring doesn't mean you can let your mind wander. This is the main problem. It is just so boring and yet you have to stay alert at all times. A negligent lifeguard can not only be fired but also be sued vast quantities of money - no thank you.

So what elso do we have to do? Prevent accidents from occuring in the first place. This is where your whistle comes in. 'No diving', 'No bombing', 'Don't climb on that wall', 'No running', 'No pushing', etc etc kind of gets dull too when you are shouting it over and over again. Boredom can lead to two possibilities here: becoming complacent and thinking that they can dive into the shallow end if they lack that much common sense and if they hurt themselves, they bloody well deserve it. Or, shouting at everyone for every tiny thing they do wrong just because I have nothing better to do. If someone pisses me off for whatever reason - for being mouthy, for having a stupid haircut...I have no qualms in shouting at them repeatedly. I will shout at couples for 'heavy petting' and that generally embarasses them. It keeps me amused. Sometimes we wish for someone to drown just for want of something to do. Although, after my last rescue (my second ever) of a man having an epileptic fit, I think I'm happier without casualties.

Lifeguarding is the worst job when nursing a hangover. Strictly speaking, a lifeguard should not be hungover when on duty but that doesn't work. The humidity combined with screaming girls and abusive pre-pubescant boys is not a whole lot of fun.

Then there is the cleaning which is just minging. The changing rooms become filthy very quickly, especially the ladies due to all the hair. I have also discovered that people are disgusting and seem quite happy to leave used sanitary towels or tampons on the floor for us to pick up. Vile. I try and hide in the enclosed area outside, smoking (despite the warning of hydrochloric acid and the 'no naked flames' signs) and see how much cleaning I can avoid.

Working times are all a bit crazy too. If you do an early, you start at 5.45am and lates are until around 11pm. Why do people voluntarily go swimming at such a stupid time in the morning. Daytime shifts are not too bad apart from catching alll the rush times. And evenings involve cleaning everything when people really should be in the pub rather than having an energetic swim.

But I love it really. Oh, it's not so bad. But the next time you are at a swimming pool and watch the lifeguard swinging their whistle around whilst counting loudly in foreign languages, spare them a thought. Because they are bloody bored and actually had to learn about vice grips, support tows and spinal lift-outs for the privilege.

By Friday morning I had my room all packed up and ready to go. Stereo, printer, bedspread etc etc were jammed into my wardrobe, padlocked tight. Openning the door of the wardrobe is at risk of one's own life as the entire contents is bound to fall out. Everything else was in my suitcase and my bag. Now my suitcase would have been of a reasonable weight had it not had twelve big, chunky books and two files in it. This made it the heaviest suitcase in the world. My bag contained my laptop and all my CDs making it also a little on the heavy side.

Carrying these from my building to the bus stop was hard enough even though I did have help. Despite the case being on wheels, I was unable to drag it more than 5 metres at a time before dropping it. Once I managed to get to Kings Cross, I then had to manouvre it around the tube station and then change at Baker Street before I was able to get home. Throughout the trip I was laughing hysterically to myself. If I didn't laugh I would have probably cried. But I have decided that London people are not as self-interested as is often portrayed. Each time I got to a set of stairs, it did not take a long time of me struggling and looking extremely pathetic before someone came to the rescue. And finally I managed to get home. Now, my shoulders and arms are feeling the consequences.

If you watched this programme, ignore this as, I'm quite sure you won't want to think about it again. Having watching this, I felt sick. This programme, on Thursday evening, was all about Fat Admirers, ie men who like their women large. This in itself is fine. In fact, being a little on the chunky side, I find this reassuring - there's hope for me yet. But this just took it too far. Apparently there is a culture building up of people known as feeders. These people want to make their women as large as possible in the quickest time possible. This is to fulfil their fantasies. When the wife of one man lost 125Ib, he was forced to divorce her (obviously, duh). He married another woman who he encouraged to put on weight. The woman had quite clearly grown up with low self esteem and so was particulaly vulnerable. She had grown to weigh 59 stone. She was so large, she could not walk. She could barely get out of bed. The husband had to look after her (or not as it seems to be) by giving her bed baths and such like. She had skin which was over an inch thick and not dissimilar from the skin of an elephant. It was hideous and, more to the point, extremely unhealthy. These women are not going to live long. And yet their husbands continue to do it to them. And once bed bound, there is very little choice in the matter. Some men pump liquid fat into them and put bulking up powders into their food. What sort of life is this, just to keep the perverted fantasy alive.

The other day I experienced my second Bodington Hall power cut, and the third one of 2003, having not had one for years. During the Christmas holidays, there was one in Camden. I went out for breakfast (best breakkie in town) at Solos and was introduced to the idea of candlelit breakfasts. Don't think this idea will catch on but would help to make the chat up line, 'I want to take you out for breakfast', slightly less sleazy (only slightly less). This powercut was one that was so typically Camden-like, in that it didn't effect everything or everywhere - a completely half arsed attempt. In Solos, you could eat eggs, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes, toast but could not eat sausages, hash browns, chips. Why did some things work and not others? And also, how come they were able to cook bacon but not sausages? Are there special ways of cooking sausages? I just don't know. Also, the club downstairs had all electricity working fine. The Mixer, next door was funtioning almost as normal (as normal as the Mixer gets) and was doing so until much later in the evening when it was complete blackout time.

The powercut at Bod followed a sunny day. Sunshine followed by light deprivation seems to induce a slight insanity. 1200 students were running around the vacinity, causing mayhem. Some in shopping trolleys brandishing light sabres, some dancing around outside to 'banging music', some setting alight to stuff and creating mini (or not so mini) fires next to buildings, and some thoughtfully throwing firecrackers at unsuspecting passers-by.