Saturday, June 11, 1983


I was awake at ten. I could hear Barry, Mike and another voice—Patrick’s— laughing and joking across the corridor. Gareth and Stu arrived back too—I recognised Stu fumbling with his keys and so I got up.

They’d had a really good time, sleeping in parks, railway stations and even the hoverport. The Bowie gig really impressed them both and Stu said he would’ve paid more. They brought back duty free fags and a litre bottle of whisky.

Barry and co. set off into Watermouth with Shelley and Penny, leaving me alone, desperately unwilling to face work.

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