Middlesbrough music live!! A free festival set in the Bladerunner-esque post industrial urban sprawl that is Middlesbrough. The town achieved national recognition last year for being voted one of the five worst places to live in the UK by craptowns.com. But the festival was great: loads of odd bands that no-one has ever heard of (my faves being All Beak No Teeth and Future of the Left), plenty of emos to take the piss out of, and Ash headlining. Fantastic! Chris got licked by a crack fiend, and we felt really old for not braving the chemical toilets.

And again i am racing off to Sheffield. I am now getting accustomed to this journey, reluctantly accepting the extortionate cost and the unreliability. At the weekend, Rachel made me try her toy fortune telling thing. I asked if my train was going to be late on Monday. The answer was a definite Yes. Yet strangely, this train was perfectly on time! Amazing given this is only the fourth occasion it's been on time on a monday morning since i started commuting in back in October! I wonder if this is significant; indicative of a good day all round maybe?

I am intrigued by the peculiarly western concept of depression. As I've mentioned before, my friends provide interesting case studies! Today i went exploring and ventured as far as Stocksbridge to stay with Ol. Stocksbridge is very pretty, very green, very small, and very isolated. The trip took 45 minutes on two different buses. There is a Co-op, two pubs, and absolutely nothing else to do. Ol currently lives on his own there. Whereas a great night was had by all, I do not think there will be a repeat performance. That would be enough to make anyone depressed!!

I do not feel good. I am so tired my eyes hurt focussing on a screen. We have got an insane amount of stuff to do for uni and it is mightily stressful but there is no way of getting out of it. Tonight I completely forgotten it was Jo's birthday so I overcompensated by rushing out and buying her much booze and chocolate cake. Tomorrow I have to work even harder. And all the while I am getting increasingly anxious about having another panic attack. Self-fulfilling prophecy. This is not conducive to a good sense of well being!

Talking of panicking. I have an unpleasant tendency at times to compartmentalise the world around me in order to make sense of it; but it doesn't always work. The day cannot be clearly divided in to positive and negative today, more a mix of the exhilarating, exciting, terrifying, supremely irritating and depressing. I got offered Happy Pills (specifically, Betablockers) to deal with panic attacks. I've been offered a job in Nicaragua; someone from the coffee plantations actually phoned internationally about it. I've just got something published in a journal. I rang him, and he seemed barely aware of my existence.

A medically necessary day off: I went up to Durham to see the lovely Paula. She is quite, quite mad still, a quality I appreciate at the moment. We sat in the sun drinking Summer Ale in the garden of the Angel. I feel special for this; the Angel had a reputation for being one of the rougher pubs in Durham, because it was filled with locals who hated students. (Understandable, really). Paula is not a local, but she did marry one, so We Are Allowed. Her husband is outcast for marrying a student, worse, a southern student. Poor bloke.

Got a call from my Dad last night: apparently my uncle has just died. This is not exactly unexpected; he's been very ill for quite some time, not exactly helped by his seeming disinterest in looking after his health in the first place. Still, it is very sad, I was always pretty fond of the bloke. He leaves behind my two cousins, aged 19 and 16, and I am sad for them more than anything. I spoke to the eldest, Pete, and he sounded so grown up and sensible about everything; it's a lot to deal with for them both.

This is an odd entry because I wrote it originally actually on the 8th, but for some reason when I came to upload it, two entries had vanished without a trace, for no obvious reason. So, a week later, I've absolutely no idea what I was waffling about it. This was a procrastination effort however, because I know that last week, I really shouldn't have been writing 100word entries. In fact, I was typing emails to Joby and Anna, trying to sort out our conference without actually having any face-to-face contact. It took 54 emails in the end!

The conference: talk about anti-climax! This was the Project 4 workshop, us foodies telling the rest of the Waste of the World team exactly what we're up to, and how it's relevant to the rest of the project. This was not only nerve racking because we had to stand up and talk to a group (which I loathe) but we also had to spell out our research's worthiness, and detail the common themes between our individual projects. All comparisons are odious, and the niggling doubts about my own academic ability set in, especially when faced with 'colleagues' like them.

Our first night of Kendo with appropriate costume! I needed to go hit blokes with lumps of bamboo; it is an excellent stress-relief technique. especially after the last few days at uni. We splashed out and bought the kit – not the full armour yet, but a Gi (over-sized top reminiscent of flannel dressing gowns) and hakama (skirt-like fancy pants) each. Apparently women are supposed to wear white. I disagree with this on principle, so instead I have a bright red hakama and black Gi. Sure I stand out, but distracting others means I'll get hit less hopefully!

Not feeling happy today. Got to pondering too much. I start questioning my own academic worth... I don't feel like I am on par with the others. Everyone around me seems to have a much deeper understanding of the topics and theory we have to deal with. I feel like I'm constantly blagging my way through even the simple stuff. I also question if I should be there at all. Applying for the PhD was a whim, and they called my bluff by accepting me. I love what I'm doing, but can't help feeling I am just delaying the inevitable.

“I'm a ssssoooooooooooock!” Tonight we went to see the Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre. It was truly fabulous. Wonderfully unpretentious, just a guy with a sock on each arm, a few cardboard props and an insistence of the audience's need to 'suspend disbelief'. The two socks massacred Romeo and Juliet (“It this a dagger I see before me?” “That's the wrong play!” “Fuck it!”), pointed out that Tom Jones's “Baby it's cold outside” is a song about date rape, and taught us valuable lessons about body odour. Now why can't the arts centre host drama of this quality every night?

I wish I had the strength not to allow myself boredom. I wish I was capable to stopping my mind wandering into depressing thoughts the minute I stop consciously distracting myself. I wish I had the sense to leave well alone. I wish I could dispel anger on my own, rather than confronting the source of it. I wish I was strong enough to detach myself completely. I wish I could see sense. I wish I had the self-respect to know when I can do so much better. I wish I hadn't been rejected. I wish I was loved.

Jo and Graeme are the perfect company when I am feeling bored and lonely. They are deliciously random and can be called on at short notice to engage in nonsensical conversation and/or song. We met them in the pub (late) and talked bollocks all night; Jo only started singing once, I think. I love her to bits, but I curse her for changing The Undertones to “My depressive cousin, what I like to do he can't be arsed...” because that is now so engrained that I can't remember the original, or look Ol in the eye for that matter.

Today I was rudely awoken by a CHAV FIGHT!!

“Will you get over here and look after your FOOKING KID!!”
“I AM!”
“No you're not you've just fooking DUMPED HIM ON GRANDMA.”
“I DINT! I'M FOOKING LOOKING AFTER ME OWN FOOKING BAIRN!”
(someone gets punched in the face, and Grandpa appears) “Right. That's enough. I am fooking SICK OF THE LOT OF YA!”
Grandma: “Just get in the house, all o'ya.”
Grandpa (to his wife:) “FOOK OFF”
Daughter, sobbing: “Don't fooking talk to her like that!!”

(So, it's ok to swear about your kid, but not at your wife. Logical.)

Another looooooong, deranged “conversation” with my 'friend' in Sheffield who shall remain nameless. Dear Christ on a bicycle.... she was drunk. Again. She told me five times that she's putting her house on the market (which I knew anyway) three times that I am my mothers daughter (funny, that!) twice that (although my mother has never said it specifically,) wouldn't it be wonderful if Carl and I had children? And twice that she would be so pleased if Carl and I would buy her house...(“but then Carl would have to commute and I'd be a lonely wife”) HELP ME!

A nothingy sort of day, or so it feels, spent wiling away the hours in a café, supping excellent coffee, people-watching, being attacked with an umbrella by the irrepressible Pole, and in one case, waitress-ogling. And of course, marvelling in the fact that I can justify wasting time in coffee shops. Hell, I am studying waste and coffee, right? With all the important stuff handed in at the last minute, I felt I deserved it anyway. I wrote to the Scary Italian Matriarch who runs the café, saying I wanted to research there. I didn't get a response.

Rather bizarre and unexpected phone call on the train home last night. A bloke – I didn't catch his name – found my coffee blog. This is good. I wrote a brief review of a coffee shop in Darlington on there, and this bloke turns out to be the owner of said shop. I said I'd like to work as a barista again (I always need the money, and to be honest I actually miss it!) and it would help immensely with my research. He is supposed to be calling me soon to sort me out with a few shifts there. Woopedoo

Thursdays are rapidly replacing Wednesdays as Coffee-with-Rachel afternoons. We nattered and consumed caffeine and then went to TK Maxx and tried on the most ridiculous, over the top and downright hideous dresses we could find, with no intention of buying anything. I ended up in a huge, heavy black evening gown with bat-wing sleeves down to my knees and a huge fishtail train out the back. I dropped gold glitter everywhere but Rach informed me it was well-worth fighting my way in to it. Now I need £75 and an excuse to wear such a thing.

Afternoon number 4 in the coffee shop; I am so wanton, I am in there with a different girl every day. Today's special guest was Darlo-Anna, who I haven't seen for a long time. So long, that this was the first time I got to meet her new born son, who is nearly eight weeks old. He is still so small, and pink and warm and wrinkly about the nose. Cute on first impression, but don't be fooled. The kid was born with teeth!! Not just front teeth, but molars too! Quite freaky, especially as Anna is breast-feeding.

Carl and I went to the cinema tonight, to see different films. He watched something scary, and I finally saw Sex and the City. I am not ashamed to admit I like that series, and the film was just like an extended episode, so I enjoyed that too. But its all about love, sex and girly friendships, and you need a bunch of silly girly friends to see it with. I love my friends, but not a single one of them could be described as 'girly', which is why I had to see the film on my own.

I've spent the last two days solid writing blogs, emails, catching up on these entries (guilt-guilt) and chatting online. And now I'm writing to tell you that I've been writing. Anna stuck a cartoon on my desk a while ago: one character tells another how in the future we will all be sat in front of screens watching each other's daily activities on blogs until the world explodes with an ever-repeating spiral of self-absorbed introspection. The other character then goes home to write about this on his blog.

I thought it was funny until I wrote this.

Apart from admiring the new bathroom (finally completed, woohoo!), I've done very little today. I packed my stuff to go to Anna's for a few days. We're having a party so I have my uber-silly bright green dress. I feel like I'm getting ready for some big date or something! Exciting..! On less flippant notes, I am looking forward to just getting out of Darlington for a while, I need a break. Carl got paranoid, wanting to know if that meant a break from him- of course not, I wish he was coming too! I am just extremely bored.

Off on my mini holiday to Sheffield, for a few days staying at Casa Anna's. The sun is shining (for now) and best of all, I am getting out of Darlington! Woopedoo! Ignoring the scary upgrade vivas tomorrow (gulp), this should be a fun few days. Idiot Anna is gorgeously silly, and Ol is around too for our entertainment – Anna shares my delight in teasing the poor guy. Girly-flirting comes so much more easily when you have an active audience. We have food and squeaks and “something nasty in the woodshed...” too and all is well in the world.

The upgrade interview (and technically, the reason why I'm in Sheffield this week) was utterly horrific. I felt so stupid and ignorant having questions fired at me like that. Hated every single second of it. But anyway, we shall not dwell, because I have my lovely loon, and the fellow foodies are all here. We had a few drinkies tonight, and Anna-from-Brighton got more amusingly tipsy than we've ever seen her before. Polish-Anna and I staggered home (in my heels, it was a stagger) and cuddled up to watch Dracula. A near perfect evening; screw the upgrades.

Got my 'results' back from the upgrade interview yesterday, and now I feel awful. It's not really that bad – I got 'category 2' which is basically, rewrite a few bits and resubmit, nothing major. They even said I had “the makings of an interesting and highly original thesis.” Yay me – so let me bloody well get on with it then!! Gah. I feel awful because I reckon I got complacent, and too up my own arse about the whole thing. The bit they want rewriting is the bit explaining the academic worth of the project, ie: What is the point?

I am on my way home, tired, aching and still a little hungover. Last night was Anna's party, and it was -”amusing, or diverting, but never 'such fun'” Not unpleasantly drunken, but very.. friendship-sealing. I am feeling so loved up today. It was a great crowd, nobody irritating and everybody a little mad. I love Anna to bits, and this was a fitting end to a barmy, funny, lovely, beautiful few days. I love spending time with her, and others, and just being in Sheffield. There is only one reason why I want to return to 'real life' now.

I logged into Facebook this afternoon: “You have 73 new notifications”. 72 of those turned out to be other people commenting on my photos from the party that I posted this morning. This is an age of virtual social-networking after all, but in this case at least, the socialising and friendship is very real indeed. According to one friend, 'a snapshot of anything is a lie'. I disagree here; certainly the photos were selective, some incriminating ones are obviously removed, others highlighted to humiliate the guilty, but in general they provide a pretty good overview of the debauchery, methinks.

I am lousy. That is an odd word. It is devoid of any logical meaning – I am not, contrary to popular opinion, louse-ridden. But the word is nicely onomatopoeic too, just by pronouncing the world LOUSY, you immediately understand how I feel, run down, damp, contagious, generally unpleasant. I am full of cold with acute hayfever as an additional affliction. Furthermore I did something, probably drunkenly, to my back the other day and now it hurts moving. I’m also worrying about the damn upgrade, and it is raining and grey. Basically, I am feeling very melancholy and sorry for myself.

Nine years ago today, I was in Aberystwyth. I had endured an eleven-hour bus journey up there on some thinly disguised excuse to get out of school for a few days. I was 16. The bus was delayed, I got hopelessly lost, and I didn't know a single person in the town. I started talking to the nearest, friendly-looking, long haired bloke. We ended up in a pub, got drenched in Welsh rain, and then got locked out of where we were staying. Nine years later, we are married with ferrets, and planning emigrations, babies and cafés together.