This week I’m enjoying having a fat rabbit on my lap as I watch Senor Nadal battle past a few choice opponents at this year’s Australian Open. Nothing like having something big, black and monstrously fluffy to cuddle in the morning. Don’t read too far into that.

I’m tired this week. Dutch-tired, as in close to how I felt after cycling around a campsite all day, digging trenches late into the night. Fuckin’ knackered would be another way of putting it. It’s all these late nights followed by early rises to kill myself at the gym, then kill myself further reading French grammar. De des eaux cette pourraient voyons jerais celui-la ces WHAT NOW? WHAT? NO REALLY, QU’EST-CE QUE C’EST? Oh, go bougre yourself! And remember: c’est la guerre.

Last night I went to Molineux to watch the FA Cup second leg tie between Wolves and Birmingham City. Our seats were directly above the mildly abusive Blues supporters, so it was noisy, but I enjoyed the atmosphere. I hadn’t been to a football match in so long; you forget how different it is to watching it at home. No covenient replays, no commentary, no worryingly orange Gary Lineker, no close-ups of the melodramatic pansies as they wilt under flimsy tackles, falling to the ground and flailing around like jilted schoolgirls…we ate at City Bar beforehand because they have an excellent vegetarian and vegan menu, as well as things stuffed with meat for everybody else.

The ground wasn’t even half full. Can’t say I blame people for not going, though. Not only were Wolves tepid and uninspired (they lost 0-1 so NO WEMBLEY FOR YOU), but it was also bloody freezing. I believe I left a few toes behind in the Steve Bull stand.

I’m really excited about a lecture being held at the local university on 2nd February. Sebastian Peake, son of Mervyn Peake, who wrote the incomparably beautiful Gormenghast books, is lecturing on his father’s work and career in the Millennium building. It’s in the evening, so if I have to work that day, I hope I’ll be able to get back in time. I cannot think of a subject I’d enjoy more over a two-hour lecture, except maybe The Most Rewarding Aspects of Stalking Spanish Tennis Players, Discussed Over Tea And Biscuits. And even then, I’d be giving the lecture.

There is more good university-related news…I have an interview next month for a librarian position in the learning centre. I need to do my homework for this one. It’s a part-time position, and I’d love to give it a try. I have retail and customer experience; I’d be up for trying something different that still allows me to obsessively re-order shelves of books. It’s a while away yet, but I’m going to work hard for this interview. I opened the letter yesterday and couldn’t quite believe they’d picked me, but there you have it. Proof that you never know what’s happening next.

Well, time for me to expire. No actual death involved, you understand, just an expiration of sorts involving sofas and duvets and television and little else. I’m at the bookshop more next week, and on the days between I want to start work on a competition poem and tackle that imposing block of tofu in my cupboard. White, rubbery, unappetising brick, you will be scrambled in paprika and cumin! I did herb-roasted potatoes the other day, which was a success. And surprise cupcakes. Just call me Delia and get outta here, yeah?