Christmas Cheer

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,

Like th' other foot, obliquely run;

Thy firmness makes my circle just,

And makes me end where I begun.

- Isn't that glorious? I'm reading John Donne. At first it was a bid to educate myself in poetry; now it's turned into an obsession with the love lyric, in every shape: a Wyard, or a Byron, or even a Cohen:

Your faith was strong but you needed proof

You saw her bathing on the roof

Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you

And she tied you to her kitchen chair

And She broke your throne and she cut your hair

And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah.

The pen, as ever, is mightier than the sword.

But sometimes it is more fun to dance than to write. So last night we danced a lot; we drank and were merry (some of us a little too merry, perhaps) at Kirstin's vodka-soaked Christmas party. Highlights of which included: Ben insisting he was in no way, shape or form drunk. Then challenging Gemma to a dance-off, suggesting that maybe those shots had indeed gone to his head. Jenny Don't be Hasty. Repeatedly. Encouraging some dirty dancing and slurred singing of dubious lyrics. Gemma, generally. Kathryn mother-henning Claire: "Come on then, come with me. Lets get some water, shall we?". We know how to spend a Saturday night.

Hmmm. I hope the boys all got home OK. They were quite vague when I saw them last, prompting Sophie, when we gave her a lift home, to stare dreamily out of the window and say:

"You know, I'm half-expecting to see Lewis giving Richard a firemans lift home."

Then, this moring, I went to work. And was faced with carol singers, bizarre, flashing Christmas hats and a million Kesgrave residents buying spirits and stirring meories of a blissed-out Ben and a teary Claire. And then Yasmin came over to talk, and everything was stirred again. I love parties.

Only a day and a half of school left. For this whole year. How time flies.