I'm running out of food again. 
If I sit here motionless well then tomorrow I will have nothing for meals except 4 bananas.
Therefore, at the time of  8:03 PM, I decided to take a taxi, and dropped in at TESCOS.
Apparenly TESCOS too has ran out of food at this time of the day ---- scarred dwarfty apples, floppy pimpled grapefruit, stale bleeding straberries ... but all at discounts. one good thing huh?

8:58. SISU Dormitary. I was back. with wet oily messy hair, soaked high school uniform ---- my ugly, repulsive winter coat, size XXL, but unbelievably heat-trapping, and of course, the smoky panda eyes, thank to my inability to resist the temptation of seinfield. 
Two full thermos at one hand.
A 2.28kg wounded twisted apples, 6 deranged oranges, several teeny tiny pears at another.
My Northface is falling off from my shoulder. I gather I may well be the pioneer in the field of bag-abusers, who creatively and unprecendentedly throw fresh strawberrys and ice milks and hot eggtarts in a satchel. What a smell! 

When Nicolas Sarkozy met Carla Bruni for the first time at a dinner party in November 2007, their host, Jacques Séguéla, described the encounter as an "unexpected game of seduction between two wild beasts". He also, apparently, took notes, which is how we know that when Bruni told the recently divorced French president that she knew about his reputation for womanising, Sarkozy replied: "My reputation is no worse than yours. I know you well without ever meeting you. I understand everything about you . . . You make love because no one makes love to you. I know everything about you because I am so much you."

For some unexplained reason Bruni missed the opportunity to switch seats at that point, but everyone else at the table stopped talking. Sarkozy went on: "We will announce our engagement. You will see, we will do better than Marilyn and Kennedy," he said, citing a relationship not often used as a benchmark for success. How hard do you have to try to do better than Marilyn and Kennedy?

"Engagement? Never!" replied Bruni. "From now on, I will only live with a man who gives me a child."

To this, Sarkozy said: "I have already brought up five. Why not six?"

At some point in the conversation, Sarkozy raised a few potential difficulties, including the effect of the paparazzi on their relationship. "When it comes to the celebrity press, you are an amateur," said Bruni. "My encounter with Mick [Jagger] stayed secret for eight years. We passed through all the capitals of the world and no photographer ever caught us."

"How could you have stayed eight years with a man who has such ridiculous calves?" said Sarkozy. Who thinks the most ridiculous thing about Mick Jagger is his calves?

So far, so excruciating. But then Sarkozy apparently leaned over and whispered in her ear: "Bet you don't have the nerve right now in front of everyone to kiss me on the mouth." Perhaps this sounds better in French. Bruni made no reply. He asked her to spend Christmas with him. She said no. Then, for reasons that are not at all clear from this exchange, they got married seven weeks later. Go figure.

Tony and Cherie Blair (The library, Lincoln's Inn, c1976)

Enter Tony Blair, carrying guitar, humming Dreamer by Supertramp.

TB: Hi there.

Cherie Booth (glancing up from her book): Hmm.

TB: Whatcha reading?

CB: The Law Relating to Estoppel by Representation.

TB: Representation, yeah. I've read all his stuff.

CB: I should really be ...

TB: Hey, check this out (plays guitar riff from Lido Shuffle by Boz Scaggs).

CB: I don't think you're allowed to do that in here.

TB: Who cares? Doing what's not allowed is what I'm all about.

CB: It's just that I'm right in the middle of ...

TB: Hey listen, Cherie. I'm a pretty straight kind of a guy, ask anyone. Actually, don't ask just anyone - I'll give you a list of people to ask. What I'm trying to say is, when my gut tells me something is right, then I know it's pretty right, and I'm thinking that you and me are pretty right for each other. So what do you say? You wanna come over to my place later, maybe listen to some Hall & Oates?

CB: Sorry, but who are you? Do you work here or something?

Bill and Hillary Clinton (A crowded cafeteria at Yale Law School, Spring 1971)

Hillary Rodham, carrying a bowl of cottage cheese, passes a table where Bill Clinton is seated.

BC: Hey, I like your glasses.

HR: (flustered, but quickly regaining her composure) Thank you. Nice boots.

BC: Why don't you join me? What's your name?

HR: (taking an empty seat across from him) Hillary.

BC: I'm Bill.

HR: And who is she?

BC: Who?

HR: The girl sitting in your lap.

BC: Oh! Sorry. This is Mindy. Mindy is ... Mindy, what is it you're studying again? Remind me.

Mindy: I work at the dry cleaner's.

BC: That's right.

HC: How long have you two known each other?

Mindy: I'm not sure. What time is it now?

BC: So what is it that you do, Hillary?

HC: Researching childhood brain development, volunteering legal services to the poor, working on the Senate subcommittee on migratory labour. You?

BC: Oh, I've just been to Oxford - organising anti-war demonstrations, playing rugby, pretending to smoke pot. Stuff.

HC: Let me be frank with you, Bill. I find you strangely sexually alluring, but also boring and a little bit irritating.

BC: Oh my God! I was gonna say the same thing! Do you believe in fate, Hillary?

HR: I don't ... I don't know

BC: Let me tell you what I think. I think something very special is happening right here. I think you and I were destined to be together, for all time.

Mindy: I gotta go, my break is almost up. Your shirts will be ready at five.

BC: See you then, darlin' (winks).

Gordon and Sarah Brown (A plane travelling to Scotland in 1994)

Gordon Brown, the shadow chancellor, sits beside Sarah Macaulay, a partner in a PR firm.

GB: ... but the endogenous growth theory overcomes this by building macroeconomic models from macroeconomic foundations ...

SM: That's a very nice tie. It brings out the red in your eyes.

GB: ... even if we assume a constant marginal product of capital at the aggregate level, or let's say that the limit of that marginal product does not tend toward zero. It is possible, therefore, to construct an endogenous growth model in which a relaxed assumption of competition ...

SM: It's funny how we've known so many of the same people for years, but we've never really talked before.

GB: ... the benefits over the Solow or neo-classical model - the exogenous model, if you will - are obvious, in that we are able to explain both the savings rate and the rate of technological progress, thereby affording us ...

SM: I guess you don't really know anybody until you sit next to them on a plane!

GB: ... a way to account for spillover effects, for increases in the quality and quantity of goods, for emerging technologies, the vagaries of human capital, all within ...

SM: Oh, look! The sun is setting. Isn't it beautiful?

GB: ... and if I might posit an example here featuring two sectors, R&D, and the producers of final output, we see how any monopoly profits are dissipated by spending.

SM: Huh. Are you going to eat your bread roll?

GB: Almost certainly.

Barack and Michelle Obama (A table for two in a Chicago restaurant. The year is 1989)

Michelle Robinson, a lawyer, is sitting with Barack Obama, a first-year law student and summer intern at her law firm, whom she is mentoring.

MR: I wouldn't worry about it. My middle name is LeVaughn, for chrissakes.

BO: That's a very beautiful name.

MR: Yeah, so anyway, we've gone through your duties, the hours, the ID badge. Anything else?

BO: No, that's great (lights fag).

MR: I don't think we can smoke in here.

BO: Yes we can.

MR: Whatever. Can we just order?

BO: Yes we can.

MR: Fine.

BO: Can I have the lobster?

MR: No you can't.

Everyone in the film except for Sylvia has a prize collection of nervous tics. Mike Leigh, who directed ''Bleak Moments,'' emphasizes his characters' fidgetiness and loads the film with long, uncomfortable silences, perhaps in an effort to highlight the gulf they must bridge to communicate with one another. If this is an interesting tactic in theory, in practice it becomes excruciating. The film, while it has been handsomely photographed, seems entirely given over to pained, wordless interludes.

Bleak Moments'' culminates in perhaps the most agonizing awkwarddate sequence ever seen on the screen. Sylvia and her suitor go to a restaurant, where they are so intimidated by the waiter that it takes them forever to order. They try to talk, but they can only stammer. A few remarks are made about curry. The only other patron of this dreary restaurant, a man, wolfs his meal and stares at the couple with apparent contempt. They wince. They eat. They wince some more.