Friday, March 9, 1984


In the last week we’ve done a lot of trailing round Watermouth, and at last we’re on the brink of moving in to the vicarage. We’ve set tomorrow at twelve noon as the date. Eight of us are going to live there; me, Lee, Barry, Pete, Alex, Gav Heppell, Ben Beresford (a friend of Alex’s who “knows a lot of people and can get a lot of drugs”), and Nathalie.

She’s lived in squats in London and expects this one to be run along similar lines—no paying for electricity or water etc.—and the £3-a-week we’ve all agreed to pay for bills she deems “too expensive.” Perhaps there will be trouble.

Ben Beresford (“a good old English name”) is one of the only other clouds on the horizon: he reminded Lee and I of Vic Banasiak with his crude attempts at dominating conversations. He’s going to be a real bellyful of laughs.

A van is coming round to pick up all our stuff tomorrow morning; we’re meeting in the Pembroke at noon and, within the hour we hope, all should be finished.

Keith and Morris very keen on a conservative, offend no one policy and we agreed to this just because it would be suicidal not to at this stage. Morris says he’s on first name terms with most of the Watermouth town councilors and is proud of what he’s achieved here in the heart of the Tory South (again the editorial in the Herald was waved about). He’s no doubt a good ally to have in our battle to stay put in the vicarage. Both of them have too much knowledge and experience to ignore, but I’ve had mixed feelings about agreeing to go in with them.

I was put in charge of the money which is about as far as I want to take the idea of communal living. I hate the idea of rotas and the entire ‘community’ thing, so hopefully there won’t be too many hassles over money or people not wanting to pay up. Keith and Morris are strong on this idea.The more people are involved the more mixed my feelings become. I want it to be just like living alone, but   inevitably it won’t be, and I dread to think of myself getting irrevocably immersed in the communality of the venture. This term has seem me existing in other people, even though I’ve made a brief go of cutting myself off. All this has produced is a purely financial benefit—I’ve spent only £40 in five weeks. 

Alex has been sleeping at Jervis Terrace for the last week and we’ve all become very friendly. I like him; he’s easy to get on with and he’s a good bloke. I’ve also got to talk to Gav more than I have before, and he too strikes me as an OK bloke, very straightforward and in control of things. Ian is as mysterious as ever.

In my new role as treasurer I bought locks & bolts today. I pocketed a £16 mortice deadlock in Tesco’s. Too easy. One day I’m going to get caught.

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