The idea of a career at McDonald’s or KFC, minimum wage, and being done with life at thirty seems oddly alluring at the moment as I finish another day of homework and revision on a Sunday. This is what my weekends will look like until the exams. No partying, no fun, and no games until the serious business is done with. Thus, I feel like a dead-end job in a carer that will go nowhere sounds just about right! I can’t see what is wrong with it.

I am perfectly aware of how whiny I sound, but I think that I am allowed to sound so because there is tradition to uphold. Countless of generations of people in my situation have lifted their eyes toward the sky, with a dramatic eye-roll, and have complained about homework and revision. I feel quite a bit petulant and don’t see the point of going over the same thing that we’ve gone over a thousand times before. Yet, here I am, wangsting.

I am also hungry because someone in this household left to fetch some small thing from the shops that we didn’t have, and he’s been gone for over an hour and a half. I’m sure he has met some acquaintance, and sit at some nice place (or not so nice) and relate each other’s lives in detail from birth to present. Say what you will about the in-laws, you don’t have to force them to eat. Our cupboards are bare now, and I still haven’t replaced my wine.

Only now, nearly a full day after the in-laws left, did our new cat peep out from cover. They came all the way from Wiltshire to have a look at it, but the cat kept running to hide with all the strangers in the house. I think they got one glance of it as it ran, like a crab, across the floors from one cover to the next.

It has a very funny way of running, almost completely sideways, and with the tail in a hook and it’s behind pointing forward. It looks almost as stupid as Watson does when he stands for a full minute observing his own tail, and then lunges at the tail so fast that you can hear his teeth snap as he misses. He even wags the tail slightly in anticipation of “the kill”.