Sleep? What's sleep?

Right. Macbeth was fantabulous, and all those who went? You're all insane. Sean Bean droolsome, we're all worshipping Samantha Bond, and I have proved myself a sad fangirl. I stood outside the stage door for a glimpse + autographs. Mesh shirts have been declared an item of holiness, automatically inducing drool. Plus I heart, heart, heart the rest of the costumes.

There was the V&A, me and Tanya going round the medical history bit of the Science Museum, and drinking at some pub in Whitehall. Where we all discussed slash and I was the only person who didn't write RPS.

Then came Mini-Bitten in Hull. Drink! Supermarkets! Hair brushing! Massage! Silly Truth or Dare (mostly dare) games! (In which I seemed to get a large amount of the 'change clothes with the other person' dares...) Lots of Buffy and Angel eps! Firefly! Mass quotage of Izzard! Dissemination of language and culture with Rob! Music Videos! No sleep! Breakfast fry-ups! DVD watching and heckling! (In which Blade was heckled throughout by everyone in the living room and Beetlejuice was watched in complete silence and reverence. Most odd.) Bungeeing lemmings!

Outside there are fireworks. But you can't see them from my window, and they've been going on since Friday. Expect them to go on till Thursday. A whole week's worth. Because gunpowder is of more import in the UK than scary costumes. :g:

Nanowrimo is... ergh. Have spent last four days partying, and writing about seven sides of a notebook. Have written some up on Martin's computer, but that's mostly transpostion and extrapolation of notes....

Am also slapper. That is all.