My hour for tea is half-past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody.

It was the worst of times, and the worst of times. And it was my own silly fault.

First I sat in the damp, freezing cold lecture hall all Saturday for the deeply intriguing lecture on witchcraft trials and heretics. I really enjoyed it, and normally I'd marvel at the quaintly Twenties (Thirties?) old building we were in, with orginal art deco fittings, but, man, it leaked like a sieve and had no heating whatsoever (they obviously bred students tougher back then).

Then I ran around in the rain doing emergency yardwork, thus ensuring my throat tickle turned into a cold. Then I ran around trying to meet my many and various commitments, and made sure my cold turned into flu. Oh, and it was hot water bottle time. And EOFY deadlines. Misery, compounded.

That said, I think being feverish rather enhanced my viewing of both Man of Steel and Angels In America.
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