MY OH MY.
‘Exile’ – Enya
I don’t honestly know what to think of all this Portsmouth/Southsea lark.
Later on, I’ll tell you all about my ‘female visions’ and my BEATLES LPs.
‘Only a Northern Song’ – The Beatles
I AM BACK!
I’ve been to Miranda’s Mexican place for me dinner: a beautiful chicken burrito. Miranda was, of course, working so I had a few drinks with her whilst there. She’s been going on about drinking tequila, which is apparently a very bitter Mexican piss that you get very, very drunk on. Also, at the bottom of each tequila bottle is a dead worm. She’s heard rumours that to eat the worm provides the brave swallower with something closely resembling a hallucinogenic experience. I am, of course, eager to try such a worm, so we’re going to try it tonight. It had better work – and the hallucinations had better be good, because I can’t think of anything much more repulsive than noshing away on a booze-soaked worm.
I’ve been out and bought two more BEATLES LPs:
…and Let It Be.
As for yesterday’s LPs, I really like HELP! and RUBBER SOUL. YELLOW SUBMARINE is okay, given that side two is all George Martin. I only really bought it for the cover and the nostalgia (it was the first LP I was ever aware of, you see, as a very small child when my Dad painted the characters on my bedroom wall), but it does feature two brilliant songs.
‘Chariots of Fire’ – Vangelis
As promised, here we go with the old tequila/worm adventure.
‘Drive My Car’ – The Beatles
The worm has been eaten.
As Miranda just said, ‘I bet nothing happens’.
We had this shot of tequila each, with some brown Mexican (?) salt on our wrists (I’m pretty sure it was sand). Lick the salt, shoot the tequila back (which burns) and then we chopped the ‘worm’ (more like a fat caterpillar, with a weird ‘spine’ thing inside it, somehow) into two parts each and took the parts like pills.
I hope it is hallucinogenic.
‘I’m Losing You’ – John Lennon
The worm wasn’t hallucinogenic.
Miranda and I went out tonight to THE WINE VAULTS, had a few pints and started giving each other the old home truths. We were frank and honest with each other.
Basically, she’s a stuck-up, lying, conceited snob and I’m egotistical. Apparently. I can hack that, actually. In recent weeks, yes, I have definitely found myself getting wrapped up in my own ego. Oh, if I were only a legend unfolding, rather than the nobody I’m trying my best to escape from. I’m sure time will iron out my arrogance. But right now I’m rock ‘n’ roll, sex ‘n’ drugs, fish ‘n’ chips.
I told her straight out that I’m hating my stay here, whilst also getting some bizarre kick out of it. She told me she’s feeling the same and neither of us can wait till Monday when hopefully a train ticket to Doncaster (paid for by Betty) will arrive in the post. If it doesn’t, I’m gonna get right fucked off.
We came back after the pub. And she’s sex-obsessed – with underlying homosexual instincts. I think I’ve scared her about the possibility of war. Anyway we came to bed and repeated Thursday night’s ‘sex’.
I’ve got chronic gut-ache tonight.
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Next time: ‘Purgatory (and Notes From the Future)…’