Soup

I wandered round Watermouth with Lee.

He bought a 1951 vacuum flask for £1.50 and since then has been transported into ecstasies over said item. He enthusiastically talks about making soup and filling the flask with said soup (it seems more about the flask than the soup). I bought the smallest iron I’ve ever seen, which comes in a box a little over five inches long and attaches into a light fixture. If I make a supreme effort of will I think I can actually end the term £70 in the black, saving £320 over last term.

Tonight Barry’s going to a party in Neville Cliffs, miles along the seafront in the opposite direction from New Lycroft. He’s been invited by Tina, the seventeen-year old secretary he met at the Cellar last Tuesday. She’s invited him to stay the night and he has high hopes; he’s been shy and serious about it all week. He invited Lee and I but we declined. From Barry’s description, her friends seem like a bunch of teenage hippies.