Wednesday, October 27, 1982
More of the same again last night; a University of Watermouth Tenant’s Association meeting in the Westway Loop Bar, followed by a few of us polishing off a bottle of gin belonging to Marco. He started staring with those cold, humourless and slightly bulging eyes and hacking at the kitchen table with a knife: he cut a huge chunk out of it and threatened Jamie in his absence for being a “little shit.” This place will drive me mad!
We all ended up back at the Loop, got drunk, and swayed and slurred our way back to Barry’s room for dope. I felt quite desperate and frustrated by this point, and only when Relics was put on and I heard "Julia Dream" and "See Emily Play" did I feel my spirits lift, my mind harkening back to the moods of the moors.
Today is bright and sunny, but the sunlight has the weak and watery look of winter and there's a bite in the air that warns of impending cold weather. Rowan came round to my room this morning in her nightie, just to talk. She sat on my bed and stayed an hour; I think she sees me as her confidante. She left a note in my locker asking me to explain the knife joke to Russ, “in case he persuades people I need to be committed.”
As a protest against the £10 Health Levy, UWTA organised a picket of the Senate meeting in the Cafeteria Building (this was what last night's meeting was about). A hundred or so people turned up and we all stood on either side of the staircases leading to the meeting rooms, intending to give the Senate representatives our hard, ‘silent-majority’ treatment, but it all degenerated into a bit of a farce when we realised that the informal groups of people walking up the stairs who we thought were other students were the representatives we were supposed to protest. Disorganised anticlimax.
I haven’t talked with or written to Mum and Dad for three weeks, or anyone else for nearly two. Tonight everyone's going to some nightclub or other in Watermouth which has reduced entry for students.
I don’t know what I want out of my time here. Marco was asking, almost desperately, “Is this all there is?” and I agree with him. Is it!? It seems I’m always looking for something, always, but I never find it and somehow, I doubt I ever will.