Saturday, October 9, 1982

Three a.m.

Yesterday at about five, Alex brought another dope-fiend friend up from Watermouth who told us about his travels in Europe: “You’ve got to burn up the time between 17 and 22.” Another three-a.m. night in the stark bright kitchen, We listened to cassettes.

This afternoon Barry, Guy and I went to see Watermouth Trinity play Marlan Bay: we got on really well but I was painfully aware of my stilted comments and silences. Watermouth 's ground was unnimpressive and it reminded me of Hydebeck Town’s Danum Lane. There are rumoured to be loads of skins among Watermouth's supporters so we half-expected trouble,  but I was surprised to find how family oriented the crowd was.

The game started off well but degenerated into a toothless dreary punt-about and ended 0-0.

Afterwards we wandered around Watermouth talking and ended up at a seafront café and ate chicken pieces and sausage rolls for 10p. I felt brighter and more cheerful; conversation came a bit easier. It was early evening and the street lamps came on and everywhere was a great bustle of enthusiasm and unknown nighttime potential.

I still haven’t done any work. I have to start today. I got a postcard from Claire and wrote to Mum and Dad.

I emerge from my first week here so utterly innocent that I can’t really believe it. Ninety percent of people I've met have done/still do drugs, mostly smoking dope but some acid too. Somehow I doubt I ever could be like that. I seem destined to go through life feeling guilty.

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