Sometimes when I have free time, or an exam that I should be studying for (which, honestly, is how I spend a lot of my time), I look at the stat counter on this page to see who's been visiting and why.

I'm constantly surprised at the search terms that send people here, including such gems as, "chlamydia", "puffy eye," and "ellie pratt." Now I'll admit two things here: I'm not sure if those commas need to be inside or outside the quotation marks, so I did one of each for good measure; the "ellie pratt" search term is mostly me googling myself. I'd also just remind you that the chlamydia I had was not the STD, but a chest infection from a different strain. There's quite a big difference.

Today I saw that someone had been reading archives from around the time I started blogging, which in itself isn't unusual, but I decided to have a read over them myself and I realised that I gotten progressively more boring over the years. Maybe it's because shlepping around in a lab coat for a few hours everyday has finally eroded my fragile psyche, who knows? Anyway I'd like to dedicate this post to those of you who've kept reading (God knows that's not many, hi Mum), and apologise for the humdrum.

Aside from that revelation, I felt that I should share this story with you, take whatever message from it you like...

Monday was an unusual day because I went to class, which is more remarkable than it might seem, and I saw someone get hit by a car. Well it was more of a red van really, and it was my friend Ingrid who got hit. I screamed, it was my only real option. Luckily she didn't come off the bike, but the impact broke off the cover of the headlight on the van, so I think he hit her reasonably hard. The weirdest thing about the whole thing was the driver's reaction. He was so calm, it was almost like hitting cyclists was some kind of daily occurrence. He also allegedly didn't speak English, which seemed an extremely dubious claim, and so we had to conduct the whole encounter in mangled Swedish. Not once did he apologise or ask if she was ok, he just poked her bike around a bit, yammered about Ekeby Bruk, pointed toward Ekeby Bruk, declined to say why he kept saying Ekeby Bruk, and then jumped back in the van and drove away. Strange times. Ingrid's ok, but was understandably a little shaken up.

As if he couldn't speak English. Bastard.