Frames

More of the same. A heavy uninspired afternoon inside with Susie in my room listening to the Velvet Underground while everyone else played football.

In the evening, everyone went out to a party in the Cellar. Stu and I stayed behind and kicked the ball about. Then we sat at the back of Wollstonecraft beneath the stars and talked about science fiction. I got to thinking about my old astronomy fixation of years ago, and how I used to get so lost in sci-fi stories and transported away, wrapped up in the sheer fantasy of it all. There was nothing quite like those nights spent in the deck chair in the back garden, face turned skywards to the icy star-strewn wastes above.

I got quite nostalgic about it.

We got back to our corridor to find Shelley in a fury at Barry and Guy who’d picked her to pieces down at the Cellar. She was fuming, calling them “pathetic, childish, pretentious.” Barry, in one of his usual pedantic moods no doubt, had seized on everything little thing she said and equated her defence of the right of the people at the Cellar to enjoy themselves to Hitler’s gassing of the Jews. I could well imagine the scene—Barry’s refusal to be seen as wrong, his superiority complex, backed up by Guy’s willing cynicism and put-downs.

She was pretty upset and angry at their attitude and came out with some dark threats and curses. I could see Guy framed in Gareth’s orange-lit window.