There are very few moments when I’m actually happy, but likewise there aren’t many occasions of real unhappiness either; my life just becomes one long blur of vague frustrations and malcontent, a succession of similar non-emotions, non-thoughts and lifelessness.
Last night we all went out to the pier and got drunk. Barry was penniless as usual and borrowed a fiver from me. He’s supposed to be moving out today to a place on Gaveston Street which he’ll be sharing with Elaine and Raven (Paula), two of Jason’s punk-hippy acquaintances. The two girls found the place and now all he’s got to do is raise the deposit and four weeks advance rent, which considering he’s already £380 overdrawn, is presenting some difficulties. This morning he went on to campus and managed to screw another £100 out of the bank, and it seems he’s actually got the place. He keeps raving on about how “brilliant” it is, how near to the clubs and the shops and cafes but as we’ve all heard this dozens of times before we take it with a pinch of salt.
His enthusiasm for the band has wavered a bit just recently. They’re still nameless despite various suggestions—One Floor Down seems to be losing out to the current front runner Feed of Man. They’ve been practicing a lot (four days last week) and are booked in to a studio in Heighton-By-The-Sea to record a demo tape, with which they hope to secure a ten-day tour of Holland and the usual record contract etc.
Barry played me a cassette of one of their practices. Barry’s friend Mike plays drums, Ade’s on guitar, Barry plays bass and Jason sings. The music sounds quite competent—Ade’s reverb’d guitar and Hendrix flourishes and Mike’s Nick Masonesque drumming give it a psychedelic feel—but Jason’s singing is crap. I think so, and apparently so does everyone else. He spits his words out petulantly and sounds like a whining cross between Alice Cooper and Marc Bolan but it’s all but unintelligible as it’s smothered under echo and phasing.
I told Barry what I thought and he said he was pissed off with the band and feels like he has to either kick Jason out and find someone else to replace him or stick with him and probably fail. Of course Jason has been telling everyone about the band and how he “has what it takes” and how “if we get big I’m gonna get addicted to everything I can, yeah?” and other such crap statements.
Barry also complained about what he calls Jason’s “arrogantly mindless anti-intellectualism” which goes with the whole hippy bit and the drugs.
We hardly see Lindsey most days. She works at the tax office working out arrears and rebates 9-5 and three evenings a week goes straight to the Admiral until 11.30 (where she’s regularly pestered by a Texan rodeo rider). Susie is still going out with the bass player from Atom Dance Eight and she’s hardly ever in either. I’ve seen Shelley twice all term. She’s moving into another house with old flatmate David.
Stu and Stan and Paul are upstairs listening to The Smiths (“I’ve never had a job/ Because I’m too shy . . .”). – We’re going to Masquerades tonight and then Paul wants to go to the Smith Square crypt.
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