Ascension

I eventually went out for a drink last night with Pete and we got very drunk. At one point I could hardly focus my eyes: the world swam and my speech was heavily slurred. We rushed about pestering people who were revising for exams tomorrow. Thank God I’m free of such worries until next December. I ended up in bed by two, although I don’t remember getting there at all.

The inevitable pangs of remorse tinged with shame bedeviled me when I woke at nine. I got up at ten, proud to have upheld my new term's vow in one respect at least.

In the afternoon, Gareth, Stu and I headed into Watermouth where we ran into Gareth’s friend Ted as we exited the railway station, so we all wandered around town looking in record shops. I bought Coltrane’s 1965 album Ascension, which is some of his freer stuff, and my fifth album by him. It plays as I write. It's interesting to trace his musical progression from the straight melodies of ’57’s Dakar, through 1964’s A Love Supreme, right up to the final improv free stuff of 1965-67.

Anyhow, we said goodbye to Ted until a supposed all-nighter at his house in town on Friday. We picked up my boxed records and record player at the station and struggled back with them on the train.

It's good to get everything set up and hear my records here in this setting. I’ve spent the evening in, listening to discs, apart from a couple of quick drinks at the Town and Gown. The Art Ensemble's Reese and the Smooth Ones has appalled everyone—especially Shelley, and Charlie Parker lasted thirty seconds, if that!