Sunday, 24^th February, 2019 1315

Don't talk to me about rugby. I hate it. With the English chariot last seen atop a recovery vehicle heading east on the M4 and the sound of daffodils singing and leeks crowing audible even here, the Grand Slam, Triple Crown and more importantly both my bets, were consigned to the folder titled “What were you thinking?”

Connectivity problems have returned to plague me, in particular yesterday, thus relegating me to watch disaster unfold in the small hours by sitting glued to live text updates from the BBC.

I made another trip to Metro on Friday armed with my Taobao shopping list. With few customers I was able to browse thoroughly what was on offer and to my annoyance was only able to cross one item off the list (self raising flour) and I was singularly unable to find anyone with any English to advise whether I could buy six cans of tonic water rather than a case of twenty-four. Well, I'm hardly going to lug that in one hand and a bag full of food in the other, am I?

Yesterday Mrs Jing Jo solicitously enquired as to whether I needed any more cigars! Stunned, I wrote 2,600 on an empty fag packet lying on the counter and with a bemused expression conveyed to her that I still had a few left in stock. If I am staying here another year then I may well request a few come June but for now my cheroot cathedral is still blocking incoming daylight to my study.

The influx of students is in full swing as of yesterday (hopefully they will turn the internet speed up again to accommodate) and so when I return from BHG tomorrow I expect once again to have my taxi prevented from entering the grounds, happens every term. It seems rather unfair on the students who are forced to haul heavy bags all the way to their dormitories while those who arrive in their parents' cars are allowed to pass security with impunity. Thankfully, being a foreigner helps, as does my practise of always hailing the guards whenever I walk past their station.