It’s 3. 42 p.m., and Alan, Dave and Clive, the last of Stu’s friends have just now gone, Dave tall with black hair, beard and glasses, Clive evil-looking with greased black hair, and Alan blond and denim-clad.
I'm inexplicably depressed and I can only think that perhaps it’s the after-effects of the acid. We all went up to the Westdorgan at dinner time and I gradually felt worse, becoming reticent and sullen.
Barry finally showed up in the early evening after spending most of the day at Heighton-By-The-Sea recording the band’s demo tape. He said that everyone else was really pleased with it except him and he had more criticisms of Jason (who’s now dyed his hair burgundy), calling him a “male Cyndi Lauper.” He said the studio crew are sufficiently impressed that they’ve asked Barry and co. if they want to put a song on a tape of local bands they’re putting together. The Holland thing seems more likely too.
Barry couldn’t understand why I was so moody and monosyllabic.
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