Conception

Another warm day. Spring is here, rat poison to buy, the plumbing to get fixed up, numerous small but pressing jobs which must be done before I leave Watermouth in five days time. Gav seems to be taking the death of his dad well, and apart from a couple of nights and an afternoon of drunkenness and the occasional gloomy turn he’s much as he was before.

I trailed round Watermouth most of the afternoon looking for wicks and paraffin for a heater I bought for 50 pence from Ron’s junk shop in Andrew Street on Tuesday. Paraffin £1.50 a gallon, wicks £2.90 each. . . .

Alex said last night that he couldn’t imagine me taking drugs and he seemed surprised when I told him that I used to do speed. My two-month abstinence has given Gav, Alex, Ben—people who’ve only recently met me—a false conception of what I’m usually like. I haven’t been drunk or drugged in the two-and-a-half months since January 1st.

Last night Ade and Gareth drove onto the Teacher Training College campus with the intention of buying drugs. They found the dealer’s door locked and his window open, so while A. waited with the car, lights off, engine idling, Gareth crept in through the window and stole £155, and bought everyone drinks and food at the L.A.