Last night, at around 2.30am, I finished an essay. Yes, I've completely betrayed my own people by suggesting that indie music is "chauvinistic" (Dear 2011:8), and yes, I do still have several more pieces of work to cross off my Kill Bill-style essay deathlist, but one must celebrate small victories.
I'd started the Cultures essay on Monday, which Cliffey and I had designated a "work day" - that is, one more or less entirely spent in my room, doing essays and stuff.
It got off to a shaky start - for some reason we decided that the best way to kick our motivation into gear was to play a couple rounds of Pokémon Snap - but once we had actually started (at around 11:30am, two hours later than we had promised ourselves we would) it proved quite useful.
For me, I mean. Cliffey used up a lot of time trying to decide what question to do, and subsequently reading an academic journal that had practically nothing to do with the one he had chosen. Bless 'im.
But yes, I managed to get about half of the essay done that day (the Destiny's Child probably motivated me - for the first time ever we listened to the entire album), and I decided that I would polish off the other half by the end of last night.
What was I doing in between? I was in Penarth, of course, and now it's time to explain that title.
I was at Sarah's house after spending the day in Sturff. We'd just had a barbecue* courtesy of Mr. Macleod, and we were enjoying a film called Ondine (in which Colin Farrell catches a woman while out fishing) when we were summoned to the front of the house to help catch a baby rabbit that had darted under one of the (parked) cars.
It was a tiny little black thing, and much debate ensued as to whether or not it was wild - the general consensus being, I think, that pet shops would never be allowed to sell such a young rabbit to clumsy humans like us.
After a bit of a chase, one which led us to the back garden, we managed to corner it. It was hiding behind some sort of outdoor boiler, so rather than scare the poor thing half to death trying to grab it, we opted to barricade its exit and leave some lettuce in a cardboard box so that he would have food and shelter for the night. Sarah even put down a trail of lettuce to lead him in.
We checked the next morning, but it seemed that he had scarpered. The lettuce was untouched, and there was no sign of Mr. Bunny.
So here's hoping he's okay. I'm wearing my rabbit onesie at the moment as a sign of solidarity or something.
Joel.
* I was recently astounded to find that the word 'barbecue' doesn't even have a 'q' in it! Mind-blowing stuff.
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