When I got up around eleven, Shelley and Rowan were in the kitchen rolling a joint, which they proceeded to smoke before retiring to S.’s room and shutting the door. I heard Barry and Shawn in there too but I stayed where I was and read a book The Souls of Black Folk. I’ve got Huck Finn and Puddn’head Wilson and a few Dickinson poems to read before next Thursday, not to mention essays to think about and so on.
Trevor came up to visit Barry in the afternoon. He’s just come back from Holland and within minutes he was asking Penny if she’d got his letter. She said she hadn’t. No one was particularly glad to see him I don’t think, save for Barry who seemed a bit annoyed at the reaction some people gave him.
Trevor left at teatime and I for one was relieved to see him go. He was in usual self-assured and semi-jocular form, saying that the “potential for drugs and orgies” he’d sensed last term has now gone and the place is instead “riddled with apathy.” On this latter count, at least, he’s right. Barry reckons Trevor’s attitude is a form of piss-taking and mockery of the sexist stereotypes he sees here but only a few people (including Barry presumably) seem “clever” enough to see this. I still don’t like him.
I went out for a drink in the evening with Graeme, Penny, Stu and Barry. Lindsey came along later; she’d had visitors and it hadn’t been very pleasant, and she sat there hardly speaking, deep in thought.
I’ve finally managed to get hold of some LSD from Barry. I have unashamed expectations and a lot of curiosity.
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