Flush

Just when I thought we were getting normal (awful) events conspire to trigger delight. Scott and Julie arrive in the Misty Mountain by accident. I thoroughly recommend lunchtime drinking; why drink yourself to death at the end of the day after work when you can avoid work all together and make better use of your time. Julie is in hell because her university want her to run studios of 65 plus with no equipment but a fresh promotional paint finish on the corridors. It was a whole nights' work talking through such lunacies. When I finally resurfaced and had slept off her university, I sit permanently with my fingers crossed in the hope that what is going to happen to me will happen, but it's touch and go(as ever) There is calamity round every corner at this time of year- the Phony War before real hostilities resume. However we reconvene our little revolutionary cell by joyous accident and with great humour, simply because everything outside the pub windows looks seriously deranged. 'Bang me up before you go go' George is hopefully enjoying more drugs and cottaging in jail than he would outside it, there's a Pope in a box being lauded by streams of young girls and boys, and the whole thing looks more and more absurd; this we say, is the end of the Roman Empire all over again (bought Gibbon yesterday). Our conversations revolve around numpties such as the Baader Meinhoff Group and maths. I never thought I would enjoy rationality so much (for we are surely not living in any). Then I go to the cash machine and ask for £30, it feeds me £200. I think it's lobster tonight and please don't shop me.