England beaten! Hamilton pipped! Harriers defeated! Woe! Woe! Woe! Yes the boys have all done our country proud (less so Harriers!) but sometimes you really need something to cheer about.

I've a novel to read and analyse for tomorrow and I've not long got back from my nephews christening (which was lovely). And I'm stressed! VERY STRESSED! Gah!

But... at least the sun was shining again today...

For the past two weekends I've made pilgrimages back to Kidderminster out of sheer necessity. There really isn't time for such a peripatetic life though when deadlines are hitting you already and the work load is suffocating you.

Final year at university is hard, hard, hard and full of work, work, work! I see it as punishment for all those dreamy first year nights where the brutal reality of a life of labour and anxiety seemed a million miles away.

Don't get me wrong. I knew this was coming. There is a general trend to these things. First year you get drunk and try to come to terms with being so very far away from home. Second year you attempt to work harder and organise yourself, inevitably failing. Then finally in third year... well aren't you supposed to transform into this super-efficient, super-clever being on the verge of making rather valuable contributions to society?

I think that's what should happen.

University goes too fast. It feels like I've barely left Bewdley High School and now I'm here. Wherever here is... Am I ready for the world? Has university made a man out of me? Is the system working? Would I have been better off just going off straight into the world?

I don't know. Maybe they are all questions for a day when I've got time to answer them! For now it's back to the grind.

I wish I remembered a time when Sundays were a day of rest...