I knew that going out for walks so very often would catch up with me eventually . . . but I had never suspected for an instant that it would be in the form of a huge grubby football travelling at such a velocity as to break my nose - just like that. Admittedly, said loafing oafs were were tremendously contrite about the whole thing, and one even handed me a (singularly inadequate, though much appreciated) tissue to mop the really disarming amount of blood that was gushing from the smashed appendage. To be honest, it didn't actually occur to me that it was broken at first (perhaps I was suffering from concussion in addition) and so I just went home and went to sleep . . . but when I awoke upon a blood besmirched pillow with a black eye that had seemed to blossom overnight and a nose that shifted where it shouldn't and made grinding noises when I moved my face . . . it could only be a trip back to outpatients, where an overly jovial doctor with an intimidating beard said 'What a shame!' and put a fetching white dressing on it. I suppose it will be an odd shape after all of this kerfuffle . . . but it was never terribly elegant to start with, being honest . . . so I'm not overly concerned. In fact I've always wanted a face with 'character'(!) I can smile about it now . . . actually, that's not true at all. It hurts when I smile, so I won't even try to.

The walk, other than this, was actually lovely: I wandered for two hours and found a provincial town called Trumpington, which, believe it or believe it not, has a Waitrose - it quite sent me reeling with its dazzling array of vegetable schnitzels . . . whatever those are. I fear that the Germanic tongue strikes again - how is it that every word sounds like an insult? Even 'gorgeous' is 'prachtvoll'. Trumpington also boasted a small red wooden cart manned by a vast and moustached woman selling greasy kebabs to passing tinkers. I longed to reduce it to matchsticks and run away . . . but I never did, and I probably never will.

Waitrose is, for those who haven't heard of it, quite as nice as it sounds. It is a very impressively furnished and spacious shop, selling all of the things that any other large food store would sell, but with more variety and less claustrophobic clutter than many. And also a cafe, and a water-tight roof, which is always an advantage, and more than can be said for the local Sainsbury's. I quite like to wander about it even if not intending to purchase anything, because I like its airiness and fluorescent, flat caffeine lights - but I'm easily pleased: to most, it's probably just a large food store: a slightly pricey means to a gastronomic end. Perhaps this is for the best.

Oh, I am thoroughly lethargic, and a little uninspired - I cannot pretend that I'm enjoying this term at all: to be finished would be a relief - I have, for the past few weeks, just been amusing myself (well, you've got to make the most of life, haven't you?) with very silly essay topics - for instance, this week, my supervisor was treated to '"Cruelle and Devoid of Pitie": Vegetarianism in Shakespeare'. Actually, this is a bad example, because he had nothing but good things to say about it*, which was really fascinating because I expected him to find it a stupid essay, at best. (I later discovered that he did not eat animals either, which may possibly have had something to do with it . . . )

I am now going to lie in bed, drink hot chocolate and watch Morrissey, and I am not even choosy about which DVD it is - as long as it is he I will be captivated. Isn't it remarkable how he can make absolutely anything seem . . . not so very bad? I should really, if the truth were known, be reading 'Othello', but . . . I strongly believe that procrastination is a way of life, and whilst there is no escape from the concomitant guilt once ensconced (though I do find uselessly, that seeing oneself in a mirror certainly exacerbates it) one must never regret anything that once made one smile. Especially Morrissey's priceless hair in the video to 'Sing Your Life', or the way he almost laughs (but not quite) a couple of times in 'Tomorrow'.

*'Titus Andronicus - A Buddhist Reading' was recived with somewhat more animosity.