Vision from afar

I went into the library at mid-day to work, but it’s now six p.m. and so far I’ve done nothing. I met Barry and Pete in the library cafeteria at four; that old sense of claustrophobia, dull irritation and boredom seized me. Shelley made a brief appearance; she’s moved out of Jubilee Street and is now sharing a flat with her three friends from K.F.C.: “My room faces the sea and in the evenings it’s filled with the glow of sunsets!” etc. She stayed about a quarter of an hour, that was all.

I’m reading America, A Prophecy by Blake, and at home I’ve begun to read The Magus by John Fowles. As I started it I was filled with a feeling of loss and self-recrimination about the wasted summer.

Barry and I paid our rent today. It was late and we’ve been speculating that perhaps we haven’t been hassled because the flat is in such a shit condition. We’ve been thinking of getting the Rent Assessment people in to force Crown Racing’s hand into doing repairs. We’ve now discovered damp in the back sitting room; the wallpaper in one corner of the ceiling is hanging off in great sheets, which are black underneath. Barry’s bedroom is damp too, and the staircase seems afflicted with the same. Everywhere is still a mess, the kitchen grotty and cluttered with dirty washing up.