12.14 LADIES NIGHT

We are the women who have infiltrated the man's world that is journalism at NTU. We only comprise one third of the head count in the program but we are a strong and willing force, collected tonight to celebrate a semester's end.

We started out at a local pub where we met the boys for a few drinks before heading to our dinner reservation, leaving the boys is a disarray. How will they organise themselves without us? Where will they go on one of the busiest nights of the year without reservation?

They followed close and parked it at a pub around the corner from our dinner reservation where they remained until we enjoyed an exclusive dinner which we absolutely did not spend talking about boys.

12.13 FLEECE

School's nearly out and thing's are winding down. Papers are handed in, deadlines are passed and we're all just a bit more cheerful.

Lunch at the fleece found a group of nearly 20 slowly diminish until only four of us (die-hards?) remained. Simon, Paul, Jenny and I had one last well-deserved pint before departing.

With no stories to chase, no reports to write, no library books to check in, what's the hurry?

12.12 MEMSAAB

The lineup: Sean, Maddy, Dion, myself and Jake.

We shared Indian curry before going our own ways for the holidays. Sometimes it's nice to get out of the house.

12.11 CHERRY PICKER

Paul is another spring fever baby. He is turning 25 and has never before tasted a cherry.

At his ripe old age, I figured what better time to break the spell and have him sample a ripe old cherry. They're out of season in most parts of the world, but the market had a crate of imports that I dug into.

We all watched while Paul maneuvered the pitted fruit clumsily as any cherry virgin would. He seemed impartial to the taste and after a few pieces conceded that they were, "alright."

I beg to differ.

12.10 FROST

This is frost. It is quite possibly the closest I'll come to seeing snow in Nottingham and therefore worth documenting.

Actually, the thin layer of opaque ice on the forest ground this morning was beautiful. Knowing it would melt by mid day brought me to a halt on my bike ride to school to capture the icing on the foliage cake.

12.09 BURGER QUEENS

For five long years I fasted from fast food. It started as a short-term resolution to detox over a season of cross country training, in the hopes that a nutritious turn would mean a faster turnover. I was 15.

It turned into a long-term abstinence. It wasn't so much an active effort to avoid fast food. I just stopped craving burgers alltogether.

It took until the end of my teenage years, before I was old enough to sense a nostalgia for fast food. It might have been a fleeting sniff of a whopper, an advertisement for a juicy char grilled burger that triggered the sentiment. Whatever it was, it brought me to my senses enough to realize that it was time to break the spell.

I would ring in my 20th birthday as the Burger Queen.

Since then, a birthday lunch at Burger King has become ritual. Every year I am joined by a different group of friends or family for a hit of greasy burger and fries - and a wash of coke.

It has been eight years running. I haven't missed a beat. Every year it has been a different BK to boot. Once I even celebrated in Kaukura, New Zealand at an obscure BK joint. This year, Maddy and I made our way to Nottingham's city centre for a bite. It was enough that Maddy had never seen the menu at burger king and neither of us really new where to place and pick up the order. But we stood out even more wearing plastic star-shaped shades my sister had sent just for the occassion.

They were a nice disguise in case anybody we knew saw us mawing down Whoppers in the city centre. Not that I have anything to hide - it's a shameless ritual....one that I take pride in for sticking to for so long...

At the end of the ordeal our digestive systems had taken a hit. But my birthday tradition had been satisfied. And the tradition will continue - so save the date for next year.

12.08 BRICKLAYER'S BACK

It was the ultimate birthday splurge. I treated myself to an Indian Head and Neck Massage. I was long due for some therapy as my spine has felt the crunch of hours spent day after day hovering over my computer desk in a demonstration of the most unergonomic spread.

My massage therapist, Emma, took one look at my neck and head, but started with a firm grip at the rolled-in shoulders. She then treaded slowly up my vertebrae with her knuckles, kneading through knots here and there until she hit my traps.

Here she dug. She dug until I had tears in my eyes, was clenching my fists and yelping in excrutiating pain.

"You will thank me for this later."

A line you never want to hear. Ever.

My confidence rested in her strong hold, however. I certainly wasn't going to argue with a woman who's pinky finger could put a dent in my sternum.

Emma had never worked on a back as tight as mine.

She asked if I was a bricklayer by day. There was only a faint hint of sarcasm in her voice.

The emotional and physical pain was excrutiating.

I made a resolution today - an early New Year's vow - to take care of my back come January. I plan to see an osteopath and check in with Emma every 6-8 weeks. I bought a new back pack for cycling into school and plan to start weight training and doing pilates once a week with a friend from uni. In the meantime, I will take careful consideration of the hand-made bricks in and around Nottingham. Wouldn't have wanted to be the one laying those down.