Thursday, June 21, 1984


Four years on from June 8th 1980 → FORWARD →

Pete and I called in at Westdorgan Road last night and were both struck by the atmosphere of boredom, ill-temper and cynicism. We were glad to leave and I began to rue my decision to move in at the end of the month. I put my foot in it yet again when Ade uncharacteristically refused the oil as it was passed to him. I bluntly commented “perhaps you should try reading a book,” and he left shortly after scarcely saying another word.

Since Monday the weather has been consistently hot, not a cloud in the sky. This morning at ten the thermometer in my east-facing bathroom registered nearly 80°F. I’m finding it impossible to work and apply myself to the task in hand. I struggled all morning with the writing of an extended essay on Burroughs for Colin Pasmore, an essay that should have been written and handed in on Wednesday, but by mid-afternoon I’d failed even to make a start and so missed another tutorial (on Alice Walker), which is my second for this course this term. I can hardly look forward to a very encouraging report. I managed two-and-a-half sides and then spent four hours looking at books on photography and film, Rodchenko’s 1924 portraits of Mayakovsky, etc.

I finally managed to write eight sides in rough, and copied up 2½ sides, and at ten-thirty, Pete and I went to the Lancaster to see Jeff Fowler and Miles Beattie’s band That Whole Panic! The music was fast funk, Jeff’s girlfriend Laura on keyboards, M. Beattie all arms and legs, pouting, on vocals (“Trees and sky, no reason why . . .”), JF an excellent bassist. Lindsey, Barry, Stu and Susie were there too, Lindsey and Barry in particular quite drunk.

Our LSD extravaganza is set for the end of next week and the number of participants is now some half-a-dozen. I sat there watching the sparse crowd and wishing I had the wherewithal to perform ‘live.’

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