Sunday, November 28, 1982


We felt as if we hadn’t eaten for days, so Barry and I took a trip into Watermouth to eat a big meal at the China House. Stu and (groan) Russ ended up coming along too. We had a great time: we ordered a huge meal for four (mushrooms, chicken pieces, sweet and sour pork, prawn fried rice for extras, plus a dessert of delicious pineapple fritters). Although we felt bloated, we still managed to cram a large doner kebab each down us before getting the train back. Satisfaction.

I never quite got round to work today and tonight I reached a complete low point. I have my Descartes essay from a fortnight ago to write plus this week’s essay as well, but I knew as soon as I sat down to try and write—everyone around me, distractions galore, feeling desperate at my lack of willpower—that I wouldn’t get anything done.

So I ended up walking down to the lake, ducks quacking occasionally, the moon whitening the sky and casting a silvery, bluish light across campus. Now I feel like a waster, thoroughly ashamed.

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