Rhubarb Rhubarb

Yesterday, after having been afraid to open my bedroom door in the morning (fearing Evil James would have stockpiled the UK's entire supply of rhubarb outside my room), I decided it was time to single-handedly conquer the rhubarb phobia. It only took me half an hour to manage to get some rhubarb into my basket at Sainsbury's (such a brave, brave girl) and then I spent a traumatic hour or so making an apple and rhubarb crumble. I still don't like it, I still think it's evil and I would never want to eat it ... but I can now at least be in the same room as a stick of rhubarb and not feel too anxious. Progress of a sort and one less thing with which people can now torment me).

What with all this phobia-banishing, I've forgotten to do any revision. But I'm sure if I explain to my Director of Studies why I haven't revised, he'll understand. After all, we've still got the script of the Shakespeare porn film to work on - these things don't write themselves. Busy, busy!