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Thursday January 27, 1977

Don't ask me how I felt today. Oh, my head! Oh my eyes! Oh, my throat &c! To be honest, I think I'm going to die. Yes, it's that bad.

Chris Ratcliffe.
To the Hare at the usual time after taking a whole day to recover. Joined at the pub by Martyn & Chris and at first we're somewhat lethargic. I even sup tomato juice. Our indifference to enjoyment and total lack of vitality is reduced by the arrival of Denise, Naomi, Carole and Karen (a vassal of Miss Akroyd and a pupil of Fieldhead in days long gone by). The reason for the glut of female revellers can be put down to the fact that Miss Downing is celebrating her birthday tomorrow. At 10.30 in snow, shit and hail we all go to the former Minstrel's Gallery (Il Travatore) again. Martyn wrapped himself around Naomi all night and I paid more attention to Denise than I should have done. Talked with Carole and she seems to think that I loathe her and frowns, scowls, and passes doubtful glances in my direction all night saying I've 'changed'. Well, we all have to change, don't we?

Il Travatrore, Ilkley.

Blimey, we can't go on living life exactly like we did the year before. We come home at 2.30 and Chris and I have a nasty incident in the van over the moors. He just lost control of the vehicle, went into a skid and left the road. A sobering little move it was.