Seachain an duine a bhíonn ina thost

Last day at work before Christmas and all I want to do is go home and sleep.

That's my Christmas presents solved.

Special meeting of the Management Liaison Group today to discuss Students' Union funding. I think we put across our case quite well (despite my blushworthy comment that Sam has so kindly blogged about already).

Anyway, we're all in holiday mode here. No power in the morning until 11, so a bit of a lie in seems in order. Christmas party tomorrow evening, half day Wednesday then it's holidays for two weeks.

Imagine that. Two whole weeks. I'm not sure I can sit still for that long.

I've been meaning to add Mum to my list of blogs for some time (although Sam managed to find her without my help). In these busy busy times when I don't get to phone home as much as I'd like it's nice to read up on what's happening Chez Goggin.

Had a leisurely wander around town today, and was delighted to find a present I'd been considering buying had been reduced by 30% since I looked at it earlier in the week. Bargain. Now to get wrapping.

Finally finished, printed and distributed the December issue of Il Popolo del Sindacato, our SU newsletter.

We may get some angry questions at Council.

Playa Ancon. How jealous are you?

It's hard work, this Union newsletter business. The first issue of Il Popolo should be going to print tomorrow for distribution on Thursday, but I'm nowhere near finished writing the text.

I think it'll have to be a door-closed sort of day.

Sam asked me if I was drunk when I got dressed this morning. My outfit is perfectly co-ordinated! The yellow of my t-shirt and red-and-white of my skirt match my yellow, red and white wellies perfectly! How dare he.

Back from Cuba now. The internet connections there were too slow to blog regularly, and now I'm back it's hard to summarise the entire holiday. But I think my favourite moment was when we went horseriding in Vinales and our (very unofficial) guide took us to meet his friend Chico (who, he kept telling us, was 'loco').

Chico was a proper Cuban cowboy. He was sitting in this hut made out of palm trees and bamboo, wearing a cowboy hat and no shirt, chopping the tops off coconuts with a machete. He poured in rum, sugar, lemon and lime and served it to us with a straw. Only the Germans with the antibacterial hand spray (give up! It's Cuba!) objected to alcohol at 10am. He rolled us cigars from his home-grown tobacco, again chopping the tops off with his machete (which our guide kept pretending to slit Chico's throat with).

It just seemed properly foreign, and brings to mind Chris's old band, Fidel Castro And Those Crazy, Crazy Cubans.

You know when you have so much to write about you end up not writing anything?