Vainglorious Bastard

The last time I got a good review, I wrote a frankly vainglorious post about how it made me feel. This time, I will say just this: "the Robbie Coltrane of our time".

In other news, it is freezing. I was flyering today and I thought at one point my fingers were going to fall off- then, even worse, I stopped feeling the pain and they went this weird white colour. When my shift finished and I went to open the door to go inside, my finger clunked unbendingly against the handle and made a hollow sound. Ow. Still, I'm typing this, so they're still attached for now.
Esmond, who spent last year in a post-apocalyptic, frozen wasteland, says he is also effing cold right now, so it's not just that my time in the sun spoiled me for other weathers.

It was Bedlam thanksgiving dinner on Wednesday, and it was as fun and ludicrous as ever: we all sat and broke bread and stuffed our faces together, and then played a huge-ass game of ninjas in the café. After, we made hand turkeys and then had a dance fest on the stage to, what else, Disney songs. Niall chased me around the theatre while nearly blind, which was funny as hell, and I managed to steal Izzy's shoes, which I'm pretty sure obligates her to give me her pot of gold.
I remember my first year, when, after having never had anything to do with Thanksgiving before and only vaguely even knowing what it was, I was suddenly invited to three Thanksgivings and, in classic sitcom style, I tried to have my turkey and eat it too and attend all three events and ended up going to all three and enjoying myself immensely, because life doesn't always imitate bad television. The climax of this paradisium (that's what she said) came in the form of Emma's inimitable pumpkin pie and, having celebrated two thanksgivings since (apparently, it's not a thing in Australia, despite Jason's attempts), nothing has quite lived up that treacley delight.
The most notable part of Bedthanks, as no one but me is calling it, was how at ease I felt, despite being surrounded by Freshers. I even let one of them hug me. I disinfected myself afterwards, but that's just common sense. I mean, you don't know what they've been rolling in (I'm looking at you, Bussom).

It was Henriette's birthday yesterday, and I managed to show up, still sporting my goblin make-up, to the dinner in a fancy restaurant.

Like this, but less lovelorn.

Needless to say, I dazzled everyone with my rapier wit, amusing theatrical anecdotes, and complete lack of dining etiquette.
Afterwards, we went to an Australian-themed bar, and, in the immortal words of Rosie Swayne, "I saw an opportunity to talk about myself for two hours", but I was trounced by the presence of an actual Australian (and a Melbournian, to boot!), to whom I graciously deferred on matters Antipodean. Still, it was a very fun evening, and, even better, Henriette's parents footed the bill so I can also eat today, huzzah!