Done Diddy Done Done

So my precious dudes, I'm done.

I'm moving to Done-caster, I'm riding on a done-key, my favourite character on old school 90210 was Done-a, I'm a blood done-or.

I'm finished my effing thesis! (470 pages, 140,000 words, 11,000 lines and 1,380 paragraphs, the thickness of a McDonald's quarter pounder). Hurray!

Andrew took photographic proof as I was reviewing the thing for the last time :


It's quite glorious to be finished with it. While I have no confidence that it's actually any good, what matters is that I don't have to think about it anymore (or at least until the defense... oh God, the defense. Barf...)

My friend Monica (who defended her doctorate in November) came along to help me carry the necessary six copies to the secretariat where I submitted it and she brought along her camera, so even that is recorded for posterity (or blogerity, at any rate):

Just to be clear, what I am holding in my hand is only volume ONE -- it was too big to be bound in one volume, so it's in two. Have I ranted before about how insane the Belgian system is... It's all about providing bulk -- volume is what matters ... oh well, I didn't have to write comprehensive exams, so I should shut up. Also, it doesn't matter anymore, because I'm now eating done-cakes with a generous dollop of maple done-rup. Also, as a further aside, are you admiring my glorious yellow leather bag? I am.

So, that's it. Now I just have to wait to defend it, which will be in mid-May. Tra La La.

Your friend,
Done-y Brasco, Done Corleone, Done-y Osmond, Done-attella Versace