TV eyes

An anticlimax after the excesses of yesterday; we wandered about in a very subdued, tired, and unenthusiastic haze. I didn’t get my things organised and packed until the evening, and by the time I'd ‘phoned the taxi and had two thirds of my stuff delivered to Westdorgan Road, it was going on for half-past nine.

Barry and Stu were the only ones in when I arrived, and they helped me carry my things into Gareth’s now empty room. Almost immediately I began to feel I’d made the wrong decision, Barry whining round for money to go down to the Frigate to meet Kamran. The atmosphere felt wrong, somehow.

My room is quite small compared to the roomy quarters I’ve considered ‘normal’ since March, and it lacks character. It also costs £18 a week (I paid Gareth £36 yesterday which puts me temporarily in the red). I worry my presence here will create tensions and constant niggling aggravations. Perhaps I’m wrong—I hope so, but I feel an intuitive premonition that things might go sour, and I'm quite down hearted.

I didn’t get much sorted out before, to my chagrin and irritation, Barry, Stu and Lindsey came back from the pub and were in my room watching TV. I have to move it out of here, and I’ll probably come in for criticism for this, but move it out I must.