Stayed in instead of going to the nightclub; Pete and I went to Biko’s and met Barry and two of Barry's friends and I got enthusiastic after hearing them talk about melting-wall and dripping-ceiling LSD experiences. Pete said there's always a chain linking you back to reality.
Marco's sister Valerie is visiting the University, and she seems nice and was genuinely amazed at the dirty state of our kitchen; yesterday the mess was so bad the Domestic Bursar came up and took an incriminating photo.
Today is vaguely summery and sticky. I went down to Graeme’s room and he pulled out a box full of books he’s bought 2nd-hand since he's been here. It made my attempts at building up a reasonable library look paltry and feeble in comparison.
At six thirty, Lindsey, Shelley and Lindsey’s sister Nikki and I went to a CND meeting in the Town & Gown and we're going to Greenham Common on Sunday, even though I think CND is futile, because disarmament just takes the gun away from the psychopath. You might stop him from killing for the moment, but he's still a psychopath. I tell myself I'm going to Greenham Common just for the experience, but who do I think I am? Samuel Pepys?
Everyone's gone to the pub’ and I stayed in again saying I had work to do, which I have, but I doubt I’ll do it . . . I get cobwebbed into little traumas and flurries of abject indecision. Oh God!
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