The Pixie and I clogged up the phone lines for three hours the other night. She had a very bad run of luck that day -- most of which was attributed to CityRail and their over-zealous appetite for profit (and blatant disregard for actually running the trains).

During the course of conversation, we remembered events surrounding a certain alcohol infested camp in second-year uni. Many a thing happened that weekend, none too splendoured, all too hazed.

We met Mr. Saudi Arabia at the camp. With blue eyes and blonde hair, he is not really from Saudi Arabia, but claimed he was to get Pixie's attention. The effect was adverse. His Sheikhness has been subject of our cruel jokes ever since. He was very pissed the first night of the camp. A nudie run was inevitable, though regretably, we missed his glory.

It was only this year that my paths crossed again with his Sheikhness and I still need a moment to maintain my giggles when in his glorious presence. His glory is now in other endeavours. He is the golden boy of the Statistics department. Lecturers beam at the mention of his Sheikhness. Had Pixie been as equally pissed, or more aware of his advances, she could very well on her way to be Mrs. Dr. Sheikh Saudi Arabia.

A mouthful to say, to be sure. But the glory! She laments the sailing of the her oil ship.