Another idle day, disturbed only by the tea-time appearance of Marco’s friend Roy, a slimy and devious looking bloke who, saying he had twenty five minutes to spare, sat down and launched into idle conversation. He came out with some real crap. I was reading Puddn’head Wilson until finally I couldn’t stand it any longer and left, remembering I’d promised myself I’d go see Aguirre, Wrath of God and Burden of Dreams at the Phoenix cinema.
It was fresh and sunny, a fine, clear evening. I immediately resolved to get drunk. I tried to intellectualise this, even while realising the uselessness of such a course and how stupid it would be, but still I bought a ½ bottle of whisky before going in to see the films.
Aguirre was very good, especially the final scene with Kinski raving insanely on his becalmed raft, swarmed by shrieking monkeys and littered with the bodies of his exploration party who’d all been shot by Amazon Indians.
I left the film feeling empty and calm: I got drunk on the whisky and smoked dope in Alex’s room with Alex, Pete, Barry and Alex’s friend from Cambridge.
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