I have been so busy with coursework and a new boyfriend, I almost forgot this stuff. Dave, my friend, is on the rugby team of the medical school and can get tickets for some of the Wales’ games. That will get my father’s approval immediately, and hey, I might even get to see an international rugby match for real–all that beef running about, hmm! I might just have to think more about anatomy than I have recently.

The course is tough, we have to remember so much, I almost asked if I could have a silicon chip implanted to help me. According to Dave, who’s in the second year of his clinical, it gets harder every year. Oh poo! Then I see some of the other girls who have made it, and think it can’t be that hard or they’d never have made it.

I don’t consider I have any more issues with my ‘rents than anyone else of my age. I believe they care about me, and I don’t have any probs with my name, even if some of you lot do. When I’m a qualified doctor, saving lives an’ things, the last thing I’m going to worry about is that some bimbo in the States thought I had a funny name.

I have to go, Dave is coming around and he’s borrowed his dad’s beamer and we're going off around Cardiff Bay, to the Millennium Centre, where Duffy is doing a gig. Dave's got tickets.

As we say around here, 'Nos Da.'