I woke up as the train set off back to London, hurtling through the darkness unlit and unannounced. I had hours to wait for the nightbus to Waterloo and wandered wearily around the busy station, very hungry and very tired. Got back to Watermouth at seven or so in the morning and went straight to bed.
In the evening Stu and Barry and I went round to Ade and Jason’s. Jason has been to the Stonehenge Festival he had to borrow £40 from Stu & Gareth to do so, and when we got there he was cycling around on Lindsey’s bike looking like a circus act in tails, pirate belt & pinstriped trousers tucked into his Doc Marten boots. We smoked some oil and a tiny bit of scag—my first—although not enough to have any effect.
Ade casually remarked that Lindsey has been sleeping with Jason. He stayed the night after they all went to see the films at the Phoenix last night. This hurt a little at first. Lucky bastard! My singular lack of success in this department has crushed any confidence I ever had in my own abilities and qualities.
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