SATISFACTORY FLOG ENTRY, NEEDS SOME LOGICAL PROGRESSION

My deepest and humblest apologies Flogophiles, It's been a while since I wrote any Flog entry, but recently exam correction has taken over my life. From dawn 'til dusk I've had my big red pen out thinking up inventive comments to explain why I've failed everybody. I don't ever want to see another misspelling of "marriage",another sentence like "I think this story is funny because" or another incomprensible scrawl which may or may not have been actually written by a crayon-bearing chimp. And as for bad synonyms, bad synonyms are really... bad.

It infects every part of your life unfortunately. After unwinding after a day of scribbling comments like "poor critical analysis", "needs more development" and "what utter shite, God this guy is really thick", I found myself in front of the telly assessing the programmiing in my head. "This plot needs more logical progression" says I to Friends, "good, but needs more exploration" I said to a documentary about Jordan, and TV3 News got "too loud and annoying". I knew I'd totally lost the plot when I said "lacks substance and structure", before I was reminded I was watching the Angelus. I realised then that it wasn't at all bad, it has a pretty catchy theme tune, you have to admit. Although why it has a video plus number I'll never know.

GETTING MEDIEVAL ON YOUR ASS

I'm applying for stuff at the moment which is never fun. I realise I 'm going to have to use poncey words in my applications to impress my betters; that is words longer than three syllables and avoiding slang words like "poncey". I'll also avoid that incredibly hillarious and not-in-the-least-bit tiresome age-old gag of writing "yes please" wherever it says "sex". Maybe I could learn Latin or something to look posh? Yeah - that would be cool, I could litter all my correspondence with phrases like "confessio", "celebratio", "ad infinitum" and "depeche mode".

It hasn't all been work though, I have engaged in a little bit of rampaging too. I met Davey (what a clever pseudonym!) in O'Brien's on Leeson Street (that's the pub, not the sandwich bar) which was a handy stroll down from me. He was celebrating the end of his masters exams, so it was always going to turn into a bit of a dirty night from the start. We hopped into a taxi at the end of the night to follow the crowd into the Porterhouse, and decided that we were going to be foreigners for some reason. I asked for "The Porterhouse please" as stilted and as ordinary-level English as I could, and then we nattered nonsense French for a while: I'm not sure, but I think we had a intense discussion about the location of the train station and how many brothers and sisters we had - all in an accent so unconvincing it would embarrass Pepe Le Peu. Davey leaned forward and said in a slow, deliberate, thinly disguised midlands accent "Are you Busy Tonight?" sounding for all the world about as foreign as Father Ted. "Where are you from?" The driver asked us. "I am from, eh..." Davey scratched his drunken head, "I am from, eh... I am from, eh... eh... Tullamore!"

The following morning I found that Rocky, my flatmate, had slipped something underneath my door. It was an article about sexual practices in the Middle Ages with a post-it saying: "thought you might find this interesting!" So, it was either the most bizarre come-on you could possibly get, or I have friends troweling through medievalist journals looking for the dirty bits. There was lots of poncey Latin in it though, and guess what? The Latin for "climax" is "celebratio". How very apt.

MAY THE FIRST BE WITH YOU

Merrion square was buzzing on May Day, a celebration was being held to welcome the new scrounger countries into the EU. Did I say scrounger? I meant Skanky. Did I say skanky? I meant wanky. Did I say wanky? I meant something far less politically incorrect. Just pick you own adjective form this list: friendly, open, beautiful, allied, peaceful, definitely-not-going-to-immigrate-to-the-west-at-the-drop-of-a-hat.

I am just jealous of course; despite the blazing sunshine, the various stalls offered a glimpse of eastern promise, countries that had a beauty unspoilt by the onslaught of the gee-whiz-honey-aint-that-quaint-they-got-automobiles-here-too tourism machine. I met Butterfly and Evie on my way there (remember St. Patrick's harem?); they were there on business, helping out at the Estonian stall. When we arrived, the stall was a sea of blonde, perferated only by the odd skin-headed knacker trying his best to pilfer the mini bottles of Estonian Vodka. In amongst the flailing limbs, the poor lady distributing these much sought-after free samples looked like a victim from "Dawn of the Dead", and indeed if her career in mini-bottle-distributing ever takes a nose-dive, I'm sure she'll get plenty of work as a low-budget horror character actress.

I noticed the German stall was placed unwisely across from the Polish one, the latter looking like it was indeed being invaded, but it was only people trying to get their hand on Polish sweeties. Besides, the Germans seemed too busy annexing the Sudetenland at the time.

But my favourite was the Danish table, 'cause they had lego. I tried making a deadly spaceship but some bastard four year old had used up all the wing pieces and those cool tiles with the computery bits painted on them. There was a large sheet there for people to write their messages on, their good wishes for the Danish nation. Except one person wrote - and this was my favourite aspect of the whole day - "Welcome to the EU Holland!" I'm not sure what part I felt I should correct first. I didn't bother at the time, I was too busy trying to prise some bits of lego apart with my teeth.