What on earth has dogmat been up to?

I have arrived in London. Before coming here, I spent my final weeks in Coventry mostly in a pleasant 'pub' on campus, drinking, smoking and talking 'philosophy' with other students too jaded to want to do anything else. I was re-acquainted with Tome, discussing Bergson and the thing in itself. I also spent time with Favela, who reawoke my interest in Neil Young (and other things which I don't care to mention).
Yes, it is true, I got my results, but they were poor, very poor, except for the dissertation on perception which stumbled into a fair mark. On the plus side, Axel outdid himself - and everyone else - proving that 'marijuana and David Lynch' is not a recipe for disaster after all.

I put my nose around the door of Tate Modern the other day, but I only looked at the Francis Bacon, whose paintings I have never seen - dare I say it? - 'in the flesh' before. I have made the embankment my new home, sitting around with my flask of coffee, reading Lowry's Under the Volcano, and dreaming of ice cold cerveza.
I've not been reading much lately, though I did delight in consuming a book called - mysteriously - La vie sexuelle d'Emmanuel Kant, written by a mysterious man named Jean-Baptiste Botul, and recommended to me by M, who was introduced to this marvellous thinker by one of his mysterious co-conspirators.